Became the Villainess’s Guardian

The Demonic Tribe did not naturally spawn within Belfast.
However, it was true that they lay in scattered pockets, as if occuring spontaneously.

The reason stemmed from the realization that the Demonic Tribe had been covertly administering pervasive hypnotic spells.
Prior to the actual rebellion, Belfast’s initial zeal to apprehend every suspected Demonic Tribe member had led to sloppy follow-through once the fervor subsided.

“In Londinium, they apprehended a hundred within a week!”

“How many have we caught so far? Surely no more than thirty, at best.”

“Does it make sense for the more distant Londinium to harbor more Demonic Tribe than this very Antrim? They are still lurking insidiously within this city! Arrgghhhh!!”

Conveniently, a direct point of comparison fueled the indignant outrage.

The police force had its grievances as well.
Unlike Inspector Valder’s case in Londinium, they lacked anyone to pinpoint the Demonic Tribe’s operational bases within the city.

No matter how capable, even Freugne could not realistically monitor a city half a day’s train ride away.
Her abilities only extended to witnessing the future of those she touched directly. At this juncture, their initial response had faltered.

“They’re said to frequent the slums primarily. Is there a department familiar with that area?”

“One that specializes in intelligence gathering…? No, none that I’m aware of.”

“If such a thing existed, we wouldn’t be running around like this, would we? It would certainly be helpful.”

And the other reason was the absence of a proper intelligence agency.
Ordinarily, personal information was only required for tax collection purposes. And with scant taxes levied upon the impoverished slums, even the police remained oblivious to those districts.

“We must establish a dedicated intelligence-gathering agency without delay.”

“To conduct counterintelligence on the Demonic Tribe’s activities. Otherwise, we may remain ignorant until the morning war breaks out!”

“Your words ring true!”

“I share your sentiments, esteemed councilors. But do you know why we have never established such an agency until now?”

“Might it be because we lacked a genius like myself to lead it?”

“Genius, my foot. Then where do you propose securing the necessary budget? Surely a genius would have already addressed that.”

Observing the Council’s fruitless circular debates devoid of substantive progress, Carno realized:
For the time being, he alone could restore Antrim’s peace and stability. And this presented an opportune chance to demonstrate his capabilities to the boss.

While perhaps undeserving of the grandiose title ‘intelligence agency,’ Carno had established modest intelligence-gathering means within the slums and decided to take direct action.

And upon learning of Carno’s intention to personally apprehend the Demonic Tribe, Freugne readily provided him with pertinent intelligence:

-‘They primarily operate within the slums. They lack the foundations to emerge into the open.’
-‘Focus on the areas surrounding textile mills within the slums. The Demonic Tribe are likely working there, being an industry they are familiar with.’
-‘They also frequently work near the coast or rivers leading to the sea – ideal for covertly transmitting information and funds.’

These were insights only someone like Freugne, who had meticulously apprehended and incarcerated seven out of ten Demonic Tribe members herself, could impart.

Through Carno’s relentless searches to consolidate Antrim’s wealth, prestige, power, and now intelligence under his purview, his informants scattered throughout the city reported sightings of suspicious, perpetually hatted men muttering furtively within the slums.

“How shall we proceed?”

“We have yet to locate them all. If we act prematurely, they may flee deeper into nearby cities or rural areas. For now, maintain surveillance.”

“Understood.”

“Ah, and one more thing. I shall need to pay a visit to the Bergson Hotel shortly.”

Being a model citizen, Carno naturally did not neglect prompt reporting.

For most, the term ‘hero’ referred to the singular individual who slew the Dark Lord.
But initially, during the outbreak of war, all those who ventured forth on perilous quests were collectively dubbed ‘heroes.’

Such reverence seemed fitting for those risking their lives with humanity’s very survival at stake.
Yet it was inevitable that the one who returned with the most resplendent accomplishments would garner all the glory.

“This is the shrine where, a thousand years ago, the hero is said to have received divine revelation. In those times when religious authority held sway, heroes were not perceived as self-appointed, but rather believed to be chosen by the divine.”

“Since then, this site has traditionally served as a place to offer prayers. Even the final hero, decades ago, came here to pray.”

“Now, let us proceed. Over here, you can see weapons used four centuries ago on display-”

At renowned tourist attractions, guides were customary. While a paid service, the rare opportunity warranted the expense.
Thanks to my flawless disguise evading detection, I commenced an enjoyable sightseeing tour, accompanied by the guide and mingling with other visitors.

Surveying our surroundings, Freugne remarked:

“Seeing all these hero-related facilities and landmarks, it truly drives home that we’re in Belfast.”

“Demonic Tribe incursions seldom reached the Kingdom, after all.”

“Indeed. Hopefully such threats never resurface.”

After briefly gauging my reaction, Freugne cautiously inquired:

“By any chance…could war with the Demonic Tribe truly break out?”

“…Have you heard any rumors about the Demonic Tribe?”

“A few. At school, friends have been spreading war rumors. While largely baseless hearsay to be taken with a grain of salt, these particular claims carried a measure of persuasiveness.”

“Persuasiveness, you say?”

“You did come to Belfast, uncle. And I’m perceptive enough to not buy the excuse about expanding the martop operations.”

While I had refrained from divulging too many complexities to Freugne, she clearly possessed some awareness.

And she posed the quintessential follow-up question regarding such subject matter:

“Say, uncle.”

“Hmm?”

“If there was a way to avoid war, what would you do?”

“Avoid it, you mean? Not prevent it?”

“Yes. Supposing everyone else became embroiled in conflict, but you as an individual could escape.”

“I’m uncertain at this stage. I suppose we’ll have to see when that time comes.”

In truth, I had already determined my answer.

“Still, if necessary, I would fight. But the future remains unknown to all, does it not? Dwelling on it now would only induce headaches.”

“…I see.”

“We’ll miss the curator if we linger. Let’s proceed.”

While aware such thoughts were ill-advised,
Freugne occasionally found herself pondering how life might have unfolded had she and Edan been born around seventy years earlier.

In the immediate aftermath of the Dark Lord’s invasion, a lifetime unburdened by further threats until their dying days.
Even if she had still indulged her ambitious tendencies by establishing a shadowy organization, at least this complex quandary could have been deferred to subsequent generations.

‘In the past, there was a belief that heroes were chosen by the divine.’

Admittedly arrogant, yet if such ‘chosen ones’ existed, she believed herself to be among them.

It was not an entirely unfounded assertion.
Others might mock her bloated ego, but she possessed the credentials to justify such haughtiness.

As the pale-suited Demonic Tribe member had stated, she was deemed a subject worthy of the Dark Lord’s overtures.
Her very existence had been acknowledged by none other than the Dark Lord himself as one of the gravest threats to their invasion of humanity.

While Antrim’s southerly location rendered it warmer than Londinium, a bone-chilling breeze still permeated the air around the historical sites.
Casting her gaze towards the gnarled branches, Freugne found herself meeting Edan’s eyes as he idly nibbled on a ham sandwich purchased from a street vendor after concluding the tour.

“…Want another? I wouldn’t normally share, even with Professor Magni, but you’re an exception.”

“It’s not that. I was just reminiscing over how quickly this year has flown by.”

“Now that you mention it… You’ll be turning nineteen soon, won’t you? After completing the spring semester in Londinium, you’ll be graduating.”

How much time remained?
Two years? Her utmost efforts might prolong it to three, but a single misstep could hasten that future’s arrival within a year.

“It’s about time I broached this subject. So, what are your plans after graduation?”

“My plans……”

She harbored no particular need to earn money. Her personal stock portfolio alone was substantial, and even without it, she knew numerous individuals who would readily provide funds to acquire a factory or two upon request.
No, she need not go that far – Edan’s affluence rendered employment unnecessary for her. He was considered wealthy even among the affluent business tycoons populating the city.

“Could it be that you desire-”

“Do as you wish. I won’t object if you decide to pursue the arts at this juncture.”

“……”

“And if you remain uncertain, there’s no rush. You can explore your options going forward.”

I knew he would respond thus.
For that was simply Edan’s nature.

From the apex of wealth and power he had ascended, he appeared the most peculiar among the myriad human subjects inhabiting this city.
Clearly an orphan who had overcome countless adversities to reach his current standing, yet he made no attempts to revel in that hard-earned position.

While I appreciated his warmth, I occasionally entertained fanciful notions – that he had inexplicably fallen from another realm, so disparate were his ways of thinking from those around him.
And it was precisely that nature which compelled him to express a willingness to fight.

“I suppose I’ll apply to work at a martop as a magician.”

“Which field?”

“Naturally, I should pursue what I’ve studied – an electrician like yourself, uncle. Perhaps I’ll submit an application to Ceres Martop?”

In good conscience, she could hardly declare an intent to live as a freeloader after he had nurtured her thus far. Yet neither could she candidly admit, ‘I’m seriously contemplating betraying humanity.’

Ultimately, Freugne resorted to deflecting the immediate inquiry with a falsehood.