Became the Villainess’s Guardian

The reason for creating the railgun was, in truth, that such endeavors require no particular justification.

Professor Magni had once made this observation:

“I received the schematics you sent. However, even with reduced unit costs, it still seems impractical to issue them to every soldier.”

“You would be correct. I understand that conventional firearms, while offering weaker firepower, are far more affordable and familiar.”

“Then why-”

“Isn’t it just goddamn awesome?”

“……”

“We’re not making these for everyone to use. They’re too precious to hand out – I’ll be the sole user.”

The professor had repeatedly opened and closed his mouth, as if struggling to formulate a rebuttal that nearly emerged from his throat, before ultimately remaining silent.
The railgun possessed a primal beauty and awe derived from its grandeur and spectacle. Commonly referred to as romance or romanticism.

And if the adults wished to indulge in such fanciful playthings out of boredom, there was no grounds for objection.
At most, the concern would be my intent to use it against fellow humans – an unfounded worry.

The original purpose of the ‘Big and Awesome Weapons Manufacturing Club’ had been simple:
To satiate personal desires by squandering the Royal Academy’s funds, as the name implied.

However, the current circumstances differed slightly.
While such logic would have posed no issue had the club funded these projects independently, having the government and Parliament as sponsors necessitated adhering to their broad requirements.

Of course, those requirements did not significantly deviate from our existing activities.

One, to develop high-powered anti-Demonic Tribe firearms.
This was indeed underway at the far end of the site, euphemistically dubbed the ‘clubhouse’ but functionally a weapons testing range. Several magicians, joined by a military veteran posing as a civilian, engaged in intense discussions.

“Utilizing marestones imbued with fire essence, we could achieve a maximum of 20 seconds of continuous operation. Pushing it might extend that to a minute, but the unit cost would be prohibitive.”

“And the output? It seems significantly improved compared to the military’s current arsenal.”

“By incorporating cutting-edge theories from the past three years, even a few seconds of discharge could reduce an entire room to ashes.”

“Or induce asphyxiation, for that matter. Demonic Tribe or not, they cannot breathe without air.”

While their tone was solemn, their exhilaration was evident as they launched volleys of flame skyward.

Two, to manufacture machinery for battlefield deployment.
This was primarily addressed by reinforcing Ceres Martop’s specialized automobiles with steel plating. A portion of the research team had also been tasked with wireless communication studies. Given time, some progress could be expected.

Reportedly, a martop established by aeolomancers in West Londinium was researching aircraft.
As insufficient lift could be supplemented through magic, our role as non-experts was limited to providing the engines, so I could not elaborate further.

And finally, three, to covertly develop formidable weapons as potential superweapons.
The reason I could legally engage in such taxpayer-funded endeavors.

I inquired of Professor Magni, who was documenting the live-fire data.

“Would this not suffice?”

“With the safety mechanisms disengaged, it effectively becomes a crew-served weapon unsuitable for individual deployment, unless mounted on a ship or artillery piece.”

“And in terms of performance?”

“The performance itself… I’ll admit, it’s not bad.”

Its intended purpose was, of course, predetermined.

“For a hero, perhaps.”

“A hero……”

I mulled over that appellation.
An epithet rather ill-suited to this modern fantasy realm.

The hero.
The traditional archenemy and spiritual counterpart of the Dark Lord.

A fact often forgotten amid the harshness of reality, but the world of [Chronicles of Londinium Survival] had adopted a branch of the conventional heroic fantasy genre.
Of course, it would pivot to an apocalyptic setting within a few years, but for now, that remained the case. Hence, following the narrative thread, the existence of the Dark Lord necessitated a heroic counterpart.

During our initial contract negotiations, the government official had listed the requirements before lowering his voice to convey this off-the-record:

“This is not yet a confirmed matter and remains subject to change, but please be advised.”

“Understood.”

“Should tensions with the Demonic Tribe de-escalate, this could become a moot point. However, given the current trajectory, we anticipate officially recruiting and training a hero in the near future. Candidly, we consider this a high probability.”

“Ah, one moment. Could you clarify the precise duties of a hero? Knowing that would help me determine which aspects to prioritize.”

“A hero is… an existence solely focused on the Dark Lord himself. You could consider them a special forces unit, but tasked with the perilous mission of vanquishing the Dark Lord. Should war break out, they would be deployed to the Dark Citadel at an opportune juncture.”

However, at this juncture, one might raise an objection:

‘Instead of sending a hero, why not conquer and plant our flag in the Demonic Tribe’s capital ourselves?’

Unfortunately, someone had already entertained such notions decades prior.

The era of soldiers wielding scythes and mattocks being brutally massacred by sword-wielding Demonic Tribe members had passed. Did we not possess resplendent magic and magitech!
Guided by that rationale, they had dismissed the heroic role as an antiquated relic, deploying musket-bearing troops to the vanguard instead.

“Take this.”

“This is…?”

“With this weapon, you have been empowered. Now, charge forth!”

“Uwaaaaaahh!!”

And the result was them being torn asunder by the Demonic Tribe’s own crude yet equally effective muskets.
Disturbingly, some Demonic Tribe members were even impervious to gunfire, according to accounts. At this point, humanity’s mere survival seemed miraculous.

The Belfast Republic had temporarily lost its capital before hastily deploying a hero who, despite inadequate preparation and meager support, successfully vanquished the Dark Lord.
In the immediate aftermath of the Dark Lord’s demise, the fracturing Demonic Tribe descended into internecine conflict during the Ninety-Six Tribe Era, enabling humanity to conclude the war. Incidentally, the hero did not return.

I would wager that if humans could similarly depose and divide their rulers – kings, prime ministers, or presidents – the Demonic Tribe would have dispatched their own ‘hero’ equivalent.
The sole reason they refrained was likely the difficulty compounded by the random event consequence: even if successful, humanity’s morale would crumble, consumed by vengeance and triggering a berserk buff.

I addressed the pensive-seeming Professor Magni:

“What weighs on your mind?”

“Nothing grave. I was merely contemplating who might wield such a weapon.”

“Ah, since we’re on the subject, allow me to ask – who might become a hero?”

“Would the true title and glory of a hero not be bestowed upon the one who vanquishes the Dark Lord? Who can say?”

“Well, your connections are rather extensive. I was wondering if you might know of any suitable candidates.”

The professor met my gaze with an intensity bordering on discomfiting.

“…Why that reaction? It’s a tad embarrassing.”

“Enough with the strange implications.”

“Could it be… you were considering me?”

“……”

Hero Edan.
It simply does not suit me. Originally, as one of Londinium’s few surviving residents, I had been destined for a slow demise.

Certainly, I could instantly recover from most injuries and was immune to fall damage.
But to be deemed a hero? I lacked the requisite strength, technique, and proficiency.

The previous hero could fire beams from his eyes.
Scant records remain of his predecessor, but he purportedly wielded aeolomancy powerful enough to uproot entire forests. Compared to that lineage, my qualifications seemed dubious.

“Then allow me to pose the opposite query: if a genuine crisis were to arise, would you be willing to serve as the hero and vanquish the Dark Lord?”

“In other words, you’re implying humanity would be on the brink, with Londinium itself on the verge of falling.”

“Precisely.”

“In that case, I would have no choice but to go.”

I had steeled myself for such an eventuality.
Though I hoped such circumstances would never manifest.

Seeking to dispel the gradually darkening future, I changed the subject.

“In any case, have you considered accompanying me to Belfast? We could still procure train tickets.”

“At my age, I lack the vigor for overseas travels. You should seize this opportunity to witness and experience many things. While the weapon technologies may be comparable, there will undoubtedly be lessons to learn.”

Those repeatedly struck tend to learn how to properly take a beating.
While uncertain of other aspects, the Belfast Republic – the initial battleground and punching bag whenever the Demonic Tribe invaded – likely understood their foe better than this kingdom.

Their magitech and weaponry developed to counter the Demonic Tribe had likely received greater emphasis than the Glassgow Kingdom’s efforts, presenting opportunities to gain insights.

“Have any areas for improvement ready upon my return.”

“I shall, thank you.”

Leaving the professor to resume his refinements, I began preparations for our impending departure from the kingdom.

Thus, on the following Monday:

“Ticket inspection.”

“Ah, here they are.”

“Two for Belfast, up to the border… Yes, confirmed. Enjoy your journey.”

I boarded the train bound for the Republic alongside Freugne, laden with the prototype railgun, an automobile, and assorted other magitech.