Became the Villainess’s Guardian

After returning to the hotel with Freugne, I lay upon the bed, eyes closed, lost in contemplation.

‘A mistake, a mistake…’

It was not a night conducive to sleep. I replayed Freugne’s words repeatedly, ruminating over their implications.
I harbored no resentment about her concealing something from me. Rather, a profound sense of puzzlement pervaded my thoughts.

What could she possibly be hiding to elicit such a response? In the nearly decade I had known Freugne, I had never witnessed that demeanor.
If I were to draw a parallel, it resembled a child’s reaction after secretly devouring all the cookies behind their parents’ backs – the key difference being that she had preemptively confessed before discovery the following morning.

No, there had indeed been subtle signs…

Recently – around the time the Demonic Tribe had instigated their rebellion in Londinium, to be precise –
Freugne had frequently adopted a pensive, solemn countenance. At the time, I had not found it particularly disconcerting.

A rebellion had occurred, after all. It would have been more unsettling had she exhibited no emotional fluctuations amidst such turmoil.

And that prolonged state had been among the reasons prompting my suggestion of this Belfast excursion.
Apart from fulfilling a prior promise, I had hoped that accumulating joyful new memories might alleviate her burdens.

I suspected Freugne’s uncharacteristic behavior stemmed from the “mistake” she had alluded to.

‘The only plausible inference I can draw is this:’

I prided myself on knowing Freugne better than anyone – as her guardian, her father figure.
I was well-acquainted with her favorite foods, places, and academic interests, to a certain extent.

So to be unaware of the precise reasons behind her actions, to have failed to discern them sooner, felt somewhat shameful.

Yet I harbored no intentions of actively prying into the matter.
Had she not stated her intention to disclose it at an appropriate juncture? To intrude prematurely would constitute a betrayal of the trust and candor she had extended.

I chose to have faith in my assessment of Freugne as one who does not utter frivolous statements.

Within the dimly moonlit room, I slowly turned to avoid disturbing her slumber.
Then, gently caressing her serene visage, I whispered:

“Take all the time you need to prepare yourself. Do not be too hasty.”

“……”

Two days later,
I transitioned from fleeting leisure back to pragmatic endeavors.

“Please sign here and here. For taxation matters, refer to page four of the document below.”

“You have reviewed the regulations pertaining to your industry, I presume? Certain provisions may vary slightly depending on the martop’s location, so exercise particular caution – a common oversight among rookie martop owners.”

“You mentioned having already secured the factory premises? Then you needn’t peruse these documents… Instead, we shall dispatch personnel to verify compliance with Antrim’s laws at a later date, to be determined shortly.”

Specifically, establishing the Belfast branch of Ceres Martop.

As any misstep could have sparked political contention, the practical aspects fell under the purview of government bureaucrats. My role, alongside Carno’s research institute, entailed actively consulting and explaining the magitech devices I had procured.
But establishing a new martop in Belfast inevitably involved paperwork, permits, and financial calculations.

Still, the process proceeded relatively smoothly.

“Have all matters been concluded?”

“Yes, thanks to your assistance. I am deeply grateful.”

“Not at all. Truth be told, I had hoped to cultivate a personal rapport with you, fellow magician, so I am glad to have been of service.”

That morning, I had received a letter from the institute’s director, Carno, offering his aid.
While rather abrupt, outright refusal would have been discourteous. So he had agreed to the meeting, albeit somewhat preoccupied, providing sporadic supplementary guidance as we progressed.

“We are not complete strangers, are we?”

“Admittedly, this is only our second encounter. Yet I have heard much about you previously, sir, so to claim total unfamiliarity would be somewhat disingenuous.”

Thanks to Carno’s foreign status prompting inherent vigilance, as well as his expertise in identifying obscure regulations often overlooked by others, the proceedings unfolded seamlessly.

While appreciative of his goodwill, I had initially questioned his motivations for assisting a potential competitor. Yet his vague response – “We are likely to collaborate frequently, so I thought it prudent” – betrayed no ulterior motives.

The Ceres Martop personnel who had arrived belatedly in Antrim inquired how I had managed to secure the renowned institute director’s cooperation. But I had no satisfactory answer, for I wondered the same.

“Issues that could have been resolved independently, albeit with more effort.”

“Nevertheless, you saved us considerable time and potential conflicts, thereby minimizing potential losses for the martop. My gratitude.”

“If you truly wish to express your appreciation, I shall accept it at the institute later. While integrating your weapons into the hero’s suit, certain queries arose regarding the techniques employed – I would appreciate a detailed explanation then.”

Weary from shuttling between government offices and the acquired factory and martop premises since early morning, I decided to seek momentary respite at a roadside cafe.
Carno joined me, and over refreshments, we exchanged cordial small talk as I cleared my head.

“In any case, having expedited matters, I now have ample time to spend with Freugne – a fortunate turn of events.”

“Freugne, you say? Might that be…”

“Yes, my daughter. A child anyone would be proud to call their own.”

“Ah, I see. Yes, of course.”

“But enough on personal matters. You mentioned the magitech suit would soon be complete?”

After a brief murmur, Carno turned to respond:

“Indeed. Truthfully, the ideal scenario would be for no one to ever require donning it… But the world seldom unfolds according to our desires.”

“I heard some high-ranking Belfast military officers would be attending the unveiling – is that accurate?”

“Yes, and should it impress here, it may be officially adopted as the hero’s uniform.”
That’s right.
The time had arrived for the fruits of my preparations to be unveiled.

The Strategic Planning Department of the Greater Belfast Republic.

A pitiful Demonic Tribe member who had stared too deeply into Londinium’s abyss, exchanging eye contact with the abyss itself before plunging into the depths of communist destitution – this was the department akin to a fraternal order for Hugo’s division.

The duties of the Demonic Tribe members assigned here differed little.
While minor distinctions existed, their overarching objective ultimately aligned: to quietly lurk before orchestrating widespread chaos within Belfast when the opportune moment arrived.

However, their plans to utilize grimoires for mass indoctrination had long been derailed, and their sanctuaries had been trampled underfoot by Antrim’s police forces.
Having preserved their lives at the cost of instantaneous homelessness, the Demonic Tribe had retreated deeper into the slums.

“Let’s look on the bright side. At least we evaded capture.”

“In Londinium, they’re force-feeding the apprehended Demonic Tribe their own meals, I hear.”

“How utterly barbaric. What then, do they pluck out our nails and sprinkle salt here in Antrim?”

“Enough. Soon, we shall receive further instructions and reinforcements from our superiors. We need only endure until then.”

They derived solace in their predicament being preferable to their Londinium-deployed brethren.
Prior to the tightened security measures impeding information flows, the letters exchanged had conveyed similar sentiments from those dispatched to the Kingdom:

“Our operational funds have long been depleted. And attempting to procure locally is unfeasible, for the boss… the boss has been withholding our wages, leaving us starving……”

“Behold, the wretched humans!”

“Why don’t we just instigate the rebellion now? Eh? Ultimately, confidence is paramount. With confidence and resolve, what is impossible?”

And they had descended to the point of being subjected to indoctrination themselves, ultimately confined underground at the Metropolitan Police headquarters.

Compared to their plight, the circumstances here were considerably more favorable.

It would be a lie to claim their situation was not arduous, but they maintained legitimate employment and avoided undue suspicion from other humans.
Rather than engaging in indoctrination via grimoires, their role involved transmitting internal Antrim intelligence – ensuring they evaded denunciation from neighbors.

With one notable exception:
When someone possessing Satan’s level of Demonic Tribe detection prowess happened to take notice.

“Shh, shh! Quiet down. I hear approaching footsteps.”

“Surely not a snitch? Have we been compromised…?!”

“No, their attire suggests an ordinary human. But their suspicious demeanor warrants caution. Act naturally, light up a cigarette.”

“Whew.”

Freugne had decided to plant someone she could trust, while simultaneously fostering a sense of shared adversity with the Demonic Tribe as displaced outsiders. Fortuitously, such an individual resided in Antrim.

“Excuse me for a moment.”

“Uh, watch your tongue, buddy……”

“My apologies. I’m still getting accustomed to the language here, being a recent arrival.”

“Ah, a foreigner. Well, in that case…”

“If I may inquire, is this the construction site for the riverside warehouses?”

“Seems we have a fellow worker here. You’ve found the right place, lad.”

Having obtained a disguised identity from Carno to avoid arousing police suspicion short of deliberate interrogation,
Ulr had now embedded himself among the Demonic Tribe as an impoverished foreign laborer in Antrim.