Krasilof's Foreign Ministry residence stood in the administrative district of downtown Saint Matilene, amid well-paved roads and streets frequented by wealthy citizens.

The national emblem depicting a gray grizzly bear snapped fiercely in the wind. Unlike the graceful buildings of Thilles, the Foreign Ministry residence rose like a fortress, its solid exterior unmistakably Krasilof's.

"Halt. Beyond this point, you are no longer on Thilles soil."

An enlisted guardsman with a long spear growled at Ivan and Pavel. Surely they couldn't treat everyone who visited the Foreign Ministry residence this way. Ivan mentally deducted a point. (For reference, he was the commander.)

"What is the problem with a Krasilof man visiting Krasilof soil?"

"Do you have identification?"

"Take a look. And put that spear away. Someone could die if you're not careful."

"... This is a warning. I have no intention of killing any—"

"You, I mean."

Pavel smirked and caught the spearhead between his fingertips. The shaft spun half a turn and settled neatly into his hand.

The flustered guardsman stammered and hurriedly reached for the gun at his waist, but Pavel stopped him with a disapproving click of his tongue. After studying the identification in Pavel's hand, the guardsman quietly bowed his head.

"Your training is abysmal. Making such a spectacle of yourself beneath the national emblem! What a bleak future our homeland faces!"

"My... apologies, Sir Pavel Sergeyevich Orlov."

"I'm quite sure notice of my appointment was sent in advance."

"... Yes. Please proceed inside."

"Unbelievable."

Pavel had arrived a day ahead of Ivan. He had spent that day contacting informants and laying the groundwork for their operation. The extra day was also intended to allow ample notice in an age when information traveled more slowly than people.

Pavel and Ivan were intelligence operatives dispatched by the central government. Unless the diplomats were imbeciles, they would certainly know that.

Krasilof was a civilized nation operating under a strict administrative system. And an administrative system inevitably meant friction between departments. Foreign intelligence belonged to Counterintelligence Command, while diplomatic residences abroad belonged to the Foreign Ministry. When their jurisdictions overlapped like this, a battle of wills was unavoidable.

From the residence's perspective, an official from another ministry might suddenly turn up, stir up trouble in the name of official business, or destroy carefully cultivated diplomatic relations before disappearing. And wouldn't the resulting failure be reported as the Foreign Ministry's fault?

"Tsk."

Pavel scowled fiercely. This was why he had wanted nothing to do with foreign intelligence work. Too many sneaky bastards.

"Playing power games with a central official on a direct assignment from Her Highness? I just can't stand those Foreign Ministry bastards."

"They served under Alexander."

"Then she should have rooted them out entirely."

"That would have wiped out our entire diplomatic network."

Pavel slowly shook his head at Ivan's indifferent reply.

As had been recalled before, the Foreign Ministry had been the stronghold of the Crown Prince's Faction until Crown Prince Alexander's ouster. Its members scattered throughout the country could all be purged, but the diplomats already established in foreign postings could not be dealt with so easily.

Diplomacy meant more than negotiations between nations. Purging every diplomat who had already built a substantial network abroad would leave Krasilof isolated.

Untrustworthy subordinates or not, they had to be retained. Fortunately, those serving abroad had left their families in the homeland, so they would not easily dare contemplate treason.

In any case, the country was a fucking mess. Just like every other country in this world.

Ivan pushed open the heavy doors of the Foreign Ministry residence as he thought this.

* * *

"I heard there was an altercation with a guardsman. My sincerest apologies, Sir Pavel."

"Don't concern yourself."

Pavel took a sip of tea and waved it off. Grigory Schmidt, the consul at the residence, bowed his head slightly in courtesy.

Watching the exchange, Ivan lifted his teacup at Pavel's signal.

No poison.

This was why field operatives worked in pairs. One of them could identify potential dangers first, allowing them to respond accordingly.

Apparently oblivious to this, Grigory continued with the same feeble smile.

"I was surprised to hear of your sudden dispatch from the capital. All the more so because we haven't met. Thilles is a major ally, after all, so the Foreign Ministry takes care to select whom it sends here."

"I was rather carefully selected myself."

"Ha ha, my apologies. That wasn't what I meant."

It was exactly what he meant.

An unheard-of official had appeared. Grigory didn't know whether the man was a noble, or even a noble of the robe, but apparently the Princess had sent him. That meant he served directly under her, and anyone she could deploy would surely belong to Counterintelligence Command.

So who are you, and what exactly have you come to do?

Grigory's gentle smile carried that meaning.

"A noble from Thilles studying in our country has 'gone missing.' At first, we thought he might have gotten drunk and passed out somewhere, as children his age do. But days went by without any sign of him."

"Oh dear. And?"

"With a noble abducted, we couldn't be certain whether it was the work of villains after a ransom, or some foreign ruffians trying to pin the blame on our country. We've been looking into it, but it hasn't been easy."

Pavel tipped his teacup to wet his throat. His green eyes gleamed sharply.

"So shouldn't we notify the student's family and ask for their help before this gets any worse?"

"Will the student be safe?"

"Well, I rather doubt it."

"We weren't this sort of thug state. Until quite recently, wasn't our principle that we would never take hostages, under any circumstances?"

"That's a dangerous remark, Consul. A hostage? Doesn't that imply he'll be coming back?"

Grigory recoiled at Pavel's reply, looking sickened. Those words reeked of blood.

They had abducted the student. And they intended to kill him. They hadn't taken him hostage. He would never be going home.

The implication had a razor edge. It was more than a consul serving in a long-standing ally could stomach. Grigory nervously set down his teacup and quietly lowered his head.

"What do you want? I've spent over twenty years in service, establishing human assets in this country, regardless of the central government's policies. In this post, I have been the face of our nation."

"I'd like to thank you for your hard work. Sincerely."

Grigory's face twisted at Pavel's indifferent reply. At that moment, Ivan, who had been waiting quietly, spoke.

"You are not the only one who has served our country. Everyone here has done the same. We served without seeking compensation. Did those years pass for you alone? Did the last war sweep over no one but you?"

"Who are you..."

"I am Colonel Ivan Petrovich Yeremov, commander of Counterintelligence Command and the officer in charge of this operation. Let's end this pointless argument. What I need is the human network you claim to have built, the material resources you can provide, and every intangible asset you have planted in this country."

Grigory, who had not dared meet Ivan's eyes, jerked his head up in anger at those words.

"What on earth are you planning? Is our country preparing for war with Thilles?"

"Of course not."

Ivan gave a short scoff and leaned back against the sofa.

TAP, TAP, TAP.

After drumming his index finger on the table, he addressed Grigory.

"We've come to save this country. You might call us reinforcements."

"What do you—!"

"Enough. We aren't here to satisfy your curiosity. Assemble every agent belonging to Counterintelligence Command, and arrange contact with Count Grandmartel."

"The student who was... 'abducted' was Grandmartel's son?"

"Mm."

"Mad... This is madness! And you still claim this won't start a war?"

"Naturally. Why would there be any need for war when we're offering to find the villain who abducted his son?"

This was Krasilof diplomacy.

Ivan regarded the consul with the demeanor of a reasonable assistant diplomatic officer.

Grigory pressed his fingers between his brows and let out a groan.

"Count Grandmartel... is in no position to come to Saint Matilene at present. If you wish to meet him, go to his county yourselves. If you make it back alive, I'll arrange a train home for you."

"That won't be necessary, Consul."

Ivan gave a brief nod and rose.

"We have plenty of other work to do. I'll arrange our return myself when the time comes."

"Lord help us."

"Yes. May the Lord protect us all."

At Ivan's reply, Pavel choked back his laughter and rose after him, red-faced. He patted Grigory on the shoulder.

"Thank you for your hospitality, Consul."

This was how Counterintelligence Command spoke. It was weakest when dealing with foreigners, and twice as strong when dealing with its own country's nobles and powerful officials.

Specializing in domestic rather than foreign intelligence, Counterintelligence Command never lost a battle of wills with its own nation's nobility. Daring to try to establish dominance over agents dispatched by such an organization had been the problem in the first place.

After the two men left, Grigory sank into the sofa, sweating coldly.

"Perhaps I should seek asylum..."

He probably couldn't. His wife and children were still back home.

Grigory rubbed his face and muttered under his breath.

"Goddamn thugs..."