# Enhanced Translation
I often hear a common misconception that rain obscures scents. This is a minor misunderstanding that could be corrected simply by raising a dog.
In the rain, one's sense of smell may be dulled, but body odors are not. And a transcendent being's senses aren't impaired by something as trivial as summer rain.
When caught in the rain, body scent naturally amplifies. This would happen even if you dripped distilled water on a lab mouse in a sterile room, let alone in this pre-modern state of public hygiene.
Add to that the fact that the tracker is a man from Droan who just arrived in the city after days of traveling on foot.
Setting aside Droan's notorious disregard for public health, foreign scents are always easier to distinguish.
"The Foreign Affairs residence...?"
Ivan muttered in astonishment as he followed the trail of scent.
Even by Earth standards, there are three places illegal immigrants without visas should never go.
Rural employment offices offering suspiciously high wages.
Provincial factories (or farms or any workplace with "field" in its name) where an unusually high number of people from the same hometown work.
And finally, the Foreign Ministry.
As with all such lists, the last item is the most important. The first two cases merely end with exploitation to the point of death, but the last case handles actual execution as an official duty.
In South Korea, illegal immigrants are neatly sent back home. The generous Krasilov Kingdom offers two proposals in such cases:
1. Return home and die at the hands of your king.
2. Die at our hands according to our laws.
To put it more "aristocratically," they offer the remarkable choices of deportation or citizenship. (In this world, even dead citizens are citizens. Because they still have to pay taxes.)
Krasilov's Foreign Affairs Office is a massive department combining South Korea's Ministry of Foreign Affairs, military branches (those not belonging to the Court Ministry or Military Administration), and a police force targeting foreign nobles (this world has no principle of personal jurisdiction).
Moreover, the head of Foreign Affairs, the Foreign Minister, is none other than Crown Prince Alexandr, the eldest son of the current King Kirill II.
"This is... too sloppy."
Ivan frowned.
Looking at the situation logically, the cause of this commotion in the capital is Crown Prince Alexandr.
This mysteriously missing royal, whose whereabouts are unknown, must have colluded with the Capital Guard military to smuggle dwarves into the country.
The targets are likely the children of the Hero Party, and the purpose is probably to create internal division or chaos throughout the United Kingdoms.
Making several strategic moves with a single play marks him as an excellent chess player, which makes the current situation all the more strange.
Even in South Korea, the Foreign Minister's life wouldn't be guaranteed if they harbored foreign illegal terrorist immigrants in the Foreign Ministry. (In Krasilov, it can be guaranteed. He would die.)
Ivan rolled his shoulders once and attached a rope to his axe.
'It's been a while since I infiltrated a central government agency.'
He never said he hadn't done it before.
During his active service, he had experience with almost every special operation with "infiltration" in its mission name. (Except the Demon King's Castle.)
Currently in Pritzenkaya, three crises are unfolding simultaneously: righteous civic activists plotting bomb attacks, national separatists kidnapping VIPs, and armed communist bandits (literally communist bandits, as they're dwarves) conducting guerrilla warfare.
In this chaotic situation, the first responders should be the Capital Guard Division and the Counterintelligence Command.
Among them, the Capital Guard Division seems to be under Alexandr's influence, given their tolerance of the armed communist attack.
Here, Ivan can't help but wonder:
'What on earth is the Counterintelligence Command doing?'
The reason this valid question can't be answered right now is that almost all agents of the Counterintelligence Command are currently split in half, each performing national duties in different locations.
"This is, this is... treason!"
"It is treason."
Dmitri and the Counterintelligence Command agents were now occupying the Guard Division commander's office.
He sat cross-legged in the commander's plush chair, taking out an exquisite premium cigar that had been stored in the drawer.
-Scratch.
The adjutant standing beside him quickly cut the tip of the cigar and lit it with magic from his fingertips. The tobacco smoke, infused with almond and vanilla scents, rose hazily as the cigarette burned with a sizzle.
"Do you know the meaning of treason when you say it?"
"You, you... what you're doing...!"
"No. Treason is a charge brought against failed losers. Attempting is revolution, failing is treason, and succeeding is..."
He took a deep drag of the cigarette and slowly exhaled.
Through the thick smoke, the lieutenant colonel's blue eyes flashed.
"A royal decree."
"How dare...! You rebels, how dare you!!"
"To speak of rebellion in our presence. You're quite brave, Brigadier General."
Dmitri chuckled and flicked his hand. The adjutant placed a heavy pistol in his grasp.
He tapped the table with the gun in hand. Two reports and one handwritten copy lay on the table.
"This is the probe investigation report you wrote after the dwarf terrorist incident on the outskirts of Pritzenkaya. This is your perimeter guard log from the past month. And this... is something we 'accidentally' acquired. A 'handwritten copy of confidential telegrams.'"
"How did you... get that...?"
"When something is labeled confidential, it becomes our job to find out what it is."
Dmitri smiled wryly as he flipped through the handwritten copy.
"The recipient is Crown Prince Alexandr. The main report content, oh. You created construction and field training plans to conceal the excavation sounds of dwarf engineering battalions heading toward the capital's underground? How meticulous."
"It's, it's slander! That's slander!"
"Perhaps you misspoke 'adventure'? That great adventure of bringing demons into Pritzenkaya... You have unexpectedly great adventurous spirit. Perhaps you shouldn't have become a soldier."
Dmitri looked down calmly at the brigadier general who was kneeling, covered in blood and sobbing.
With the cigarette in his mouth, Dmitri asked casually:
"Where is the real Crown Prince Alexandr now?"
"Real? What do you mean...? His Highness is naturally in the West Palace..."
"Well, we should learn from your skill at covering tracks. How do you manage such a complex plan without revealing a single location?"
Dmitri rose with a bitter smile. He slowly raised his pistol and stood facing the brigadier general.
"Let me ask one thing before carrying out the sentence."
"Spare me. I, I know nothing. Slander, it's slander. The Princess... no! No! Let me see His Majesty!"
"Where does your loyalty lie?"
"What, what are you saying! Of course, of course to this country... to the great Krasilov royal family...!"
-Click.
-Bang!
A thick mist, qualitatively different from cigarette smoke, dispersed from the gun barrel as the brigadier general's mouth closed.
Dmitri handed the gun to his adjutant, put on his gloves, and turned around.
"Record this. The punishment for the rebel faction plotting national treason has been carried out by royal decree as execution."
"Yes, Lieutenant Colonel."
"The fake Crown Prince?"
"Teams 2 and 5 have successfully suppressed the West Palace."
"Team 3?"
"Fifteen minutes ago, they successfully 'protected' the 'former king' from the 'traitors'' terrorist attack."
"Good. The explosives in the city?"
"Team 4 has completed identifying all placement locations and quantities. Lieutenant Colonel, shall I order the dismantling operation...?"
"No, that's not it."
Dmitri opened the commander's office door and said quietly:
"How can we have a coronation without fireworks? If they want to blow up Pritzenkaya, let them."
"...Then those at the explosion centers..."
"Evacuate the civilians. There's no need for blind bloodshed. What matters is the explosion, not the casualties."
The bombs were planted by foreign criminals.
Those criminals were hired by Crown Prince Alexandr to blow up Pritzenkaya.
The Crown Prince aimed to seize the throne amid the chaos in Pritzenkaya. This was successfully prevented, and the Crown Prince subsequently disappeared. The king, shocked by his son's rebellion, abdicated his power.
Since everything was based on facts, all the Counterintelligence Command needed to do was announce this to the citizens and the international community.
"Then the children of the Hero Party..."
"That was always your senior's job. Don't interfere. Lieutenant Colonel Petrovich dislikes intrusions into his area of responsibility."
The only one left to button up this situation is a single woodsman.
The best field agent produced by the Annihilation Squad during wartime, Ivan Petrovich.
With this, everything is finished. Dmitri smiled slightly with a lightened heart.
Asidis trembled with pain ringing in her head as she barely managed to open her eyes.
The dark interior was extremely bleak... just like a prison... no, it really was a prison.
What's this? Why am I captured? Prison...? What crime did I commit...?
Asidis, who could look up to the sky without a single shame, felt wronged.
"You're awake, Essie?"
"Bella! And even Mr. Oskar?!"
She discovered the two people in a corner of the prison and smiled brightly. Of course!
"You came to rescue me!"
"No, we were captured too."
Isabelle and Oskar replied with helpless smiles.
'So the Tilles folks were captured too.'
Ivan clicked his tongue as he looked down at Dionarr, who was unconscious with injuries.
He was found in an interrogation room on the second floor of the Foreign Affairs residence.
Unlike Mord, this one had no fatal wounds. That was fortunate. It meant there were no traitors from Tilles.
If Tilles had been involved in this incident, Dionarr wouldn't have been kidnapped alive. They would have had to kill him to silence him.
Ivan clicked his tongue and opened the interrogation room door.
'The Counterintelligence Command... needs training.'
How can a domestic intelligence unit have so many holes in their protection of national VIPs?
Ivan was dismayed. Such things could never have happened when he was on active duty.
He moved forward, contemplating numerous training plans to implement for the Counterintelligence Command.
-Splash, splash.
In the corridor of the Foreign Affairs residence, broken magic lamps flickered.
Blood and rainwater pooled across the floor, making squelching noises with each step.
Along the shortest route to the top floor, the remains of all armed forces that had tried to stop Ivan flickered red under the lights.
Without even his breathing becoming rough, Ivan walked silently down the corridor.