Became the Villainess’s Guardian

Philip’s cell had not been under strict surveillance.

While he had been assigned a solitary cell, it was not due to the severity of his crimes, but rather because he had taken a punch to the face and lost three teeth after an unfortunate incident in another cell.

The guards could not entirely deny their lax management.
Since Philip was neither a trained mage nor a martial artist, he would not be able to tear through the bars and escape on his own, would he?

They were already overwhelmed dealing with terrorist-mages who could blast through walls with fireballs.
Dangerous individuals who could put up a decent fight against a ten-year-old and potentially cause a rat infestation in Londinium if not securely restrained with both physical and magical measures. The matter of priority was clear.

Relegated far down the list, Philip was thus condemned to a life of battling boredom.
He was merely fed on time and given roll calls twice a day, morning and night, as proof of survival.

With such neglect, it was only natural that no one would notice he had acquired an imaginary friend.

“There’s… a hole?”

“Find it, immediately! I confirmed it was there until this morning, so it couldn’t have gone far.”

“He’s just an ordinary, powerless civilian anyway. Focus on tracing his movements by seeking the cooperation of nearby citizens!”

When the guard conducting the night roll call belatedly discovered this, Baldur was lying on the fairground street.

Up to this point, it could have been dismissed as a mere unfortunate incident.
Pinning the responsibility on a few designated guards and firing them would have been enough to gloss it over.

However, when they examined whether Philip had perhaps been under the influence of drugs during the subsequent investigation:

“Aah, that scoundrel lied to me! He said he would help me regain my position and reputation, only to ditch me alone!”

“This bastard really has gone insane.”

“…Investigator, sir. You may want to take a look at this.”

“What is it? What… Oh?! Really?”

“I’ve double-checked, but it’s Demonic magic.”

“But that’s impossible. Why?!”

The Demonic Tribe’s magic differed from that of humans, which drew upon the forces of nature.
Through means such as inducing illusions or manipulating minds, their magic possessed the power to control people.

While not as overt as Professor Magni’s ability, it was merely a crude form of propaganda magic optimized for mass dissemination, if one considered the scale.

Furthermore, additional traces of Demonic magic were discovered in the cell where Philip had been held, rendering it impossible to dismiss as a mere examination error.

“This is not an issue I can resolve.”

“Then what shall we do?”

“What else, report it up the chain of command and let them handle it. Needlessly probing further will only bring trouble upon ourselves later.”

“Understood.”

“The Royal Academy might send an investigator later. In any case, do absolutely nothing until then! Absolutely nothing at all.”

Thus, the incident snowballed until it reached the ears of the kingdom’s highest authorities.

Central Londinium District, the Parliament Building.

This place, where shouts never ceased, was unusually raucous today.

“Spies are infiltrating Londinium! Everyone, flee!!”

“They were roaming freely in the capital, and no one noticed? Huh?!”

“Kyaaahh!!”

“Enough! Order, order!”

The mere occurrence of a madman committing attempted murder at an international fair would not ordinarily mobilize Parliament.
It might seem a tad inappropriate to state directly to the parties involved, but it was a trivial matter, hardly worthy of a newspaper article.

However, if the Demonic Tribe was involved, the situation changed.
Regardless of which Demonic Tribe member or for what reason, their very presence within the kingdom after entry had been barred was an affront to the kingdom’s public safety.

Thus, an urgent and discreet hearing was convened, one that would not find its way into any newspaper.
The chief and deputy chief of the police force, responsible for overseeing public safety, were summoned and rushed in, shaking their heads in denial while profusely acknowledging their responsibility.

“Area Commander, what were you doing when the incident occurred that day?”

“Well, you see…”

Unlike the preceding pair, who had at least made some attempt, however inadequate, instead of outright trolling, the area commander, having entirely delegated his duties to subordinates and taken an unauthorized vacation, did not have much to say.

However, fine. Let’s generously assume he was entitled to that break.

The speaker, rustling through the documents before him, frowned at a particular section and inquired:

“There was a report submitted the day before, warning of an impending incident and requesting reinforcements, which you ignored. Is this correct?”

“Yes, that’s correct.”

“Please explain.”

“…At the time, I thought the report was an overreaction.”

The information Freugne provided was only the future outcome.
If asked why it turned out that way, she could only offer flimsy explanations along the lines of ‘the prime minister has three moles, so it must be the Illuminati,’ no matter how hard she wracked her brain.

However, unlike the likes of Lord Norton, who could mechanically make trades without considering how such results came about, Baldur was a police officer.
To mobilize his subordinates, he had to provide some rationale for the outcome to his superiors, even if he had to stretch it.

Of course, leveraging his access to police records, Baldur had packaged it with slightly more persuasive reasoning by linking it to other incidents, but being partially fabricated, there were inevitably holes galore.

Therefore, the justification could only sound either meticulously thorough, putting it positively, or like the ramblings of a mild delusional, to be blunt. An unenviable situation for an area commander.

“So what if it was an overreaction? In the end, was the report not accurate?”

“……”

But that was only if the outcome had been innocuous.
Subsequently, Parliament erupted.

“Is that what you’re saying now?”

“By any chance, are you not an accomplice of the Demonic Tribe?”

“Look, everyone! The Demonic Tribe’s weeds are still spreading in this Kingdom of Glassgow, just like before the last war!!”

The speaker, who had been keeping the beat by striking his gavel in a bid for order, ultimately gave up halfway and let the chaos unfold.
Only when the exhausted members leaned back in their seats, panting, did the uproar somewhat subside.

And following the chain of command from the chief, deputy chief, area commander, down to the chief inspector, the next batter was naturally:

“Now, the chief inspector who was present at the scene.”

While Chief Inspector Baldur had only been discharged from the hospital the day before, he knew that playing the injured party here would be futile.
After all, the very audience surrounding him had long mastered such theatrics, so any half-baked acting on his part would only appear ridiculous.

Thus, Baldur decided to go for the manly meta.
Removing his dress shirt, he delivered an impassioned speech to the assembly:

“Chief Inspector Baldur! What did you do that day? In the end, the incident occurred, and a civilian was harmed!”

“I did my utmost in my position. Blood still seeps from this gunshot wound that has yet to heal.”

“Oh……”

“These are the injuries I sustained merely five days ago while subduing that raving madman! A clean through-and-through, leaving two holes.”

“But did you not ultimately fail to achieve any results?”

“Do you know the state of mind I was in when I sent my subordinates to prevent that…!”

Baldur then proceeded to recount the somber, solitary tale of his preparations to confront the Demonic Tribe, a well-worn fable.
Admittedly, there was a slightly exaggerated tone, but he could at least claim, ‘In any case, while I did not know it was the Demonic Tribe’s doing, I sensed something was amiss.’

An officer who had tripped over a rock and sprained his leg while running was thus elevated to an unparalleled patriot.
Leaving some members considering entrusting him with an autobiography, the chief inspector was able to survive the parliamentary session unscathed.

Of course, one could nitpick by asking, ‘But it was a civilian passerby who subdued Philip, so what did the chief inspector actually do?’ However, Baldur had been the only one who had at least attempted something.

“I understand. Thank you for your attendance despite your injury, Chief Inspector. You may leave now.”

“Yes, thank you.”

Leaving the prison warden to face the assembly’s barrage of questions regarding his mismanagement, Baldur was able to retain his position.

While not immediately dismissed, it was clear that the area commander, having drawn the entire parliament’s aggro, would be demoted to some remote local post.

His position would be taken over by his superior, the superintendent, and that vacant superintendent position would…

‘In any case, start making preparations.’

‘Preparations, you mean…?’

‘Promotion.’

It was evident whose it would become.

While not openly stated at work, it was a rumor circulating underground.
That conjecture became a certainty when the superintendent advised him to have a sleek new nameplate made, excluding his current rank.

Seeking a moment of solitude, Baldur locked his office door and sank into his chair.

“In the end, it transpired as you foretold.”

Though there was no one to hear him, he muttered to himself.
Or perhaps Freugne or someone else was listening without his knowledge. Even so, he would not have found it strange at all.

Just as Conan invariably encountered a murder case wherever he went, making him the prime suspect at every scene, yet the police gritted their teeth and refrained from arresting him.

What could be the reason for their restraint, despite his constant presence?
Because he was an elementary school student? Of course, such stereotypes played a role to some extent, but few would have the audacity to apprehend something that had been frozen at the biological age of seven for forty years.

To Chief Inspector Baldur, Freugne, with her apparent foresight into the future, was akin to that.
The courage to confront something beyond the realm of comprehension was a rare talent.

Yet he had witnessed it.
He had seen Edan collapse after being shot in the heart immediately after casting a spell, only to get up unscathed shortly after.

From that day onward, Edan’s name had been added to Baldur’s list of incomprehensible individuals.

And Baldur remembered.
He had clearly seen Freugne clinging to his waist, sobbing.

‘Judging by how she cried for Edan like that… could Edan be Freugne’s superior?’

‘Surely Freugne could not have deceived even her own father in orchestrating all of this. She’s only just entered high school.’

In the end, Baldur could only conclude that either Edan was the organization’s mastermind or shared a close relationship with him.
For a high school girl to be the elusive, shadowy presence infiltrating this kingdom was simply too far-fetched a notion, even for him to entertain despite his open-mindedness.

Yet in that moment, Freugne and Edan truly appeared to be a devoted father and daughter.
If this had all been a deception, it would have been a chillingly convincing performance. And Baldur did not know which was their true nature.

“I just don’t know anymore.”

Abandoning his thoughts, Baldur lit a cigarette.
The more he tried to understand, the more his head ached. It seemed easier to simply accept it.
The hazy smoke filled the room.