Became the Villainess’s Guardian

The Kingdom of Glassgow.
The Londinium Parliament Building along the River Thames.

“How shall we respond to this provocation?”

“Well, why don’t you, esteemed member, initiate a direct armed provocation? Perhaps wave a dagger around menacingly at the border zone?”

“Oh, that’s a good idea. Then you can stand beside me and shake some tambourines!”

“Silence! We are facing a far graver matter for discussion. The Demonic Tribe has violated our sacred homeland!!”

“We are unprepared. Have you forgotten how we have become complacent in peace, neglecting our weapons and military? For heaven’s sake, use your heads if they’re not just decorations!”

Even in this situation, none in Parliament proposed war.
For if such discussions were to be leaked, their approval ratings would undoubtedly plummet to rock bottom, no matter how hypothetical the scenario.

Unfortunately, Glassgow’s last warmonger had perished decades ago in the literal meatgrinder against the Demonic Tribe that had claimed millions of lives.
There were no brave souls present who would willingly press the political suicide switch.

However, the fact that a critical national security flaw had emerged was undeniable.

“Do you know where the problem originated?”

“To be honest, there are many areas to scrutinize, but umm…”

“Vigilance and morale have hit rock bottom. Well, it’s only natural after such a long period without facing a proper adversary.”

“So what shall we do? We can’t overhaul everything overnight.”

“That’s something you’ll have to start considering now. Isn’t that why you’re paid with taxpayer money?”

While the leak could still be contained by silencing the parties involved and the limited scale of victims, what if someone brainwashed by the Demonic Tribe or an actual member carried out a bombing in the city?
If there were no precedent, excuses might have been possible, but now that it had occurred once, the possibility of similar incidents would always linger.

In fact, Parliament had recently reached a consensus along the lines of ‘not that we’re actually proposing war, but couldn’t we invest somewhat in our military just in case?’ upon receiving news that Edan’s cherished defense companies might receive major government contracts, their stocks had gradually risen.

And when the members who had returned home over the weekend to slowly coordinate the details saw the morning papers the next day, they collectively spat out whatever tea or coffee they had in their mouths, doubting their own eyes.

[Black Monday Strikes Londinium Stock Market!]

[Historic Crash Not Seen in Decades… Harbinger of Recession or Temporary Phenomenon?]

[The True Nature of Sham Companies Masquerading as Solid Businesses? Londinium University’s Professor M Warns of Impending Chain Bankruptcies.]

As if waiting for this very moment, newly bankrupt individuals who had squandered their entire fortunes, companies facing chain bankruptcies, and the newly unemployed began flooding the streets.

“Finance Minister, what is the situation?”

“We’re fucked.”

After about a week, even the most economically illiterate could grasp the general situation.
This was not a temporary correction but an outright panic.

The immense economic shock had partially paralyzed Parliament’s functions.

The Prime Minister summoned the Finance Minister, hoping for some breakthrough, but the man himself exuded an aura of having endured a miserable week like no other.

From his mouth gushed forth data painstakingly compiled by the Ministry’s bureaucrats, all conveying the gloomy message of abandoning any hope for the next election.

“The Demonic Tribe had been scheming to destroy the kingdom from within!!”

“They even claimed there were the Demon Lord’s weeds infiltrating this very Parliament. How utterly terrifying!”

“Enough! Enough!! If you continue to spread such malicious rumors and foment an atmosphere of suspicion-”

“See, even the Speaker is one of them! I knew it from the moment I read his palm.”

“Kyaaahh!!”

“I really should just resign.”

Members raving with well-founded paranoid delusions trembled in fear, while only the Defense Minister shed tears, seeming to foresee the future.
He realized that in the game of soccer, he occupied the position of the ball itself – the first to be kicked, in other words.

There was no way he could advocate for increased military spending here.
With unemployment already emerging, tax revenues would inevitably decline. To boldly propose tax hikes would provoke voters to gleefully tear the suggesting member limb from limb.

Conversely, even if he claimed understanding was needed due to the Demonic Tribe’s infiltration, would they accept it?
They would only fan the flames further, demanding to know where their taxes had gone until now. A domestic insurgency event times two was practically a foregone conclusion.

As expected, with priorities existing, various budgets faced cuts.
The unfortunate first target of these brutal slashes was the military.

When faced with a situation beyond their individual capability to resolve, people turn to something transcendental.

Once, that existence had been natural entities like the sun or moon, later shifting to gods, and after the age of faith had waned, to lords or kings.

And what I, graced by the boon of ambiguous future knowledge, believed in was none other than that.

I finally sensed that the time had come.

“Status Window.”

“……”

Neither a status window nor any dim semblance of one appeared before my eyes.

Strange. It should have appeared by now, shouldn’t it?
Wasn’t it a universal rule that status windows emerged as mysterious towers rose across the world, spawning monsters?

“Towers, you say?”

Long red candles had been hammered into my account.

“And… monsters?”

Look at those people roaming the streets over there.
Do those wretched souls, howling as they wander the roads, truly appear human? They are monsters.

Just before the weekend, my precious little defense company stocks had been recovering to their book values.
I had drifted off to sleep with pleasant thoughts, only to awake and find them plummeting endlessly like fallen flyers.

Monday.
The day when, despite contorting in bed in an attempt to remain, one ultimately headed to work out of a sense of responsibility as a patriarch.

An already considerably unpleasant day, made even worse by the greatsword thrust into its back.

People, hoping this would be a one-day aberration, called it Black Monday, but their wish was dashed as the devastating plunge continued relentlessly through Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday – a Black Everyday becoming reality.

While it had taken years for everyone to sing praises of optimism, it took less than a week for them all to become pessimists acting as if the world would end tomorrow.

“Thank you for your unwavering support as shareholders until now!”

Just a week ago, the defense companies whose shoulders had soared into the stratosphere upon news of the government contracts had declared thus:

“As you all know, Tyr Defense has overcome difficult times to reach this point. We wish to share this experience and sense of achievement with our esteemed shareholders.”

“We will continue striving to be a company that meets your expectations! Thank you.”

These words were soon exposed as utter nonsense on the level of ‘Hwasanpa Jangmunin Namgung Cecilia’ when Parliament slashed the military budget in half.
Whether the ‘experience’ they wished to share referred to the difficult times or not, their stock prices plunged endlessly, as if carrying a millstone like other companies.

Let me clarify in advance – my account was not the only one battered in this manner. Everyone was hit equally.
While Parliament began scrutinizing the military first, it did not mean other areas were left untouched.

And I was able to retain my job. I was one of the few cases deemed an irreplaceable workforce.
Even if I had been fired, the money I had saved would have been sufficient to sustain my own livelihood for the rest of my days.

In that sense, what truly concerned me was elsewhere.

“What am I going to tell my family tomorrow?”

“Surely they won’t fire me, right? After all the dedication I’ve shown this company. It doesn’t make sense. To discard me first, after I’ve been here through the toughest times.”

“Phew……”

“Haa……”

The number of people crowding my path to the Martop steadily increased over time.
If they had been gathered in one place, their collective sighs alone would have been enough to not just create a sinkhole, but an entire reservoir.

Their identities were none other than Londinium’s day laborers, or rather, the unemployed and soon-to-be-unemployed.

The investors who had literally fed their money into shredders were absent here.
Those extreme foreign currency offenders were dithering at the crossroads, debating whether to march to their bankrupt companies with Molotov cocktails or take a dive into the River Thames.

While the full effects of the panic had yet to manifest immediately, the dead-eyed individuals roaming the streets even during weekday daytime hours seemed like a prelude to the impending main event.

[Londinium Survival Log] had never depicted such scenes, at least not in my memory.
Come to think of it, with the grand Demonic Tribe invasion event looming, it was perhaps only natural for more trivial incidents to fade from recollection.

And one more thing, slightly more trivial than the previous, but still.

Creak

“…I’m back.”

“Welcome back. I’ve prepared dinner, so change your clothes and let’s eat together.”

As I headed towards the dining table, Freugne was already seated, patting the chair beside her.
And perhaps in an attempt to dispel the awkward atmosphere, she asked routine questions like whether anything had happened today, or if something specific had occurred.

Rather than her triumphantly declaring she had been right, her quietly gauging the situation only served to weigh more heavily on my mind.

At this rate, my patriarchal dignity would… no, wait, I was still properly employed and providing for my family, so it was fine.

“Ah, that’s right, Mr. Edan.”

“What is it?”

“A letter arrived for you today. Do you know the sender?”

Freugne handed me a letter.

“Let’s see… Yes, I know this person.”

The sender was Lord Norton.