Became the Villainess’s Guardian

Martops manufacture magic tools. A magic tool production factory is essentially a Martop, so this is a definitional truth.
And while mass production can guarantee a relatively low unit cost, a portable heater magic tool will inevitably be more expensive than simple daily necessities like matches.

The Keres Martop specialized in home appliance magic tools.
The field people cut consumption first during a panic.

For costly items like washing machines or refrigerators, if they weren’t outright broken, people would simply close their eyes and use them for a few more years, even if they were old. In the abnormal recession, purchasing new ones was an unaffordable expense.

In this wild West End, where debt-ridden Martops had gone belly-up and banks had gone bankrupt before they could truly be milked dry,
the Keres Martop, not undeserving of being called a strong survivor by the law of the fittest, nonetheless faced mounting losses over time due to its home appliance specialty, despite having the most cash on hand amidst the general insolvency.

That is, if they had done nothing at all.

“Starting today, the Keres Martop will be holding a discount promotion on several products!”

“If no one in your family has a job, we’ll gift you a heating magic stone stove as a free gift to keep you warm this winter. Come take a look, everyone!”

It was something my foundation had done before.
When we first released the vacuum cleaner, we had used foundation funds to discount the chimney cleaning models. Consider this an extension to more products and a larger coverage.

“Thanks to your support for the Martop, we’ve been able to drastically lower the unit costs. Even if the prices seem burdensome, just submit a few documents, and you’ll receive a subsidy!”

“Edan! Edan! Edan!”

“The inventor of air conditioning!!”

“But if you give everything away like this, what will be left?”

“Precisely… you will remain.”

“Aahh……”

“Ah, I almost forgot to mention. Part of the subsidy is also sponsored by Norton Investment.”

While I said that, I had contributed a significant personal sum as well.
When Lord Norton silently questioned where the constant influx of money was coming from, I replied it was the value of labor – royalties and sales proceeds.

Even I, the prospective pioneer of Londinium’s next generation of electrical magic tools, had not been spared the crippling of the defense industry, or I would have been perfect.

And this was not the extent of my measures.

“Shouldn’t we reduce the workforce a bit?”

“The economy is not doing well. Consider this carefully, Martop Head. Won’t we have to cut labor costs and increase profit margins for the Martop to survive?”

At the performance review meeting, investors who had witnessed the slightly declining graphs suggested staff reductions like the other Martops.

“It’s my Martop. And those are my employees, the family I promised to stand with till the end…!”

“It’s not that I begrudge the money, nor is it that the Martop cannot truly survive without these measures!”

After Freyja mustered her courage and defiantly howled, the motion was abandoned.

“And if we had followed the investors’ advice, the Martop would have already gone under long ago.”

While the final remark went unspoken, the implicit message was enough to render the guilt-ridden investors speechless.
While a stock company was supposed to represent the will of its shareholders, since the majority stake was held by Freyja, myself, and Lord Norton, there was no need to cave to pressure.

Having been able to boost performance even in this recession by drawing on foundation funds, I agreed with Freyja’s stance.
For some reason, Lord Norton seemed to defer to me slightly, but he ultimately consented as well.

Although people claimed the harsh law of the jungle pervaded Londinium’s underbelly,
it seemed the world retained at least some warmth.

The roadmap Freugne had proposed was as follows:

Consumption declines, leading to increased unemployment.

So create jobs to reduce unemployment!

People earn money, revitalizing the economy.

Profit!

A notion so oblivious to basic economics, let alone how the world functioned, that only a child could conceive of it.
If it were that simple, the Prime Minister and Finance Minister would not have been forced out after receiving chair shots.

For this to truly work, people would have to move as commanded, abandoning their greed, while the upper echelons responded favorably. If anyone, be it the Prime Minister, the Queen, or whoever, could accomplish this, Lord Norton would have been willing to break dance in front of the Parliament Building.

For if one could move people as they wished, they would either possess a hypnosis app or be the shadow ruler of the kingdom – either way, prostrating himself would only be natural, would it not?

“Well, shall we proceed accordingly?”

“Understood.”

Thus, Lord Norton prostrated himself before Freugne, who had made this possible.

Employment gradually increased at the Keres Martop and businesses owned by organization members or Martop heads.
They were all potential organization recruits, and it was evident that even without knowing the organization’s true nature, they would serve as its hands and feet.

Of course, the authorities would also detect this encroachment into administration and welfare, but these were not leisure times when they could conduct sweeping investigations as usual.

Londinium.
The Parliament Building along the River Thames.

“And yet, didn’t the Prime Minister speak some truth?”

“If we wait, things will improve. The unseen hand of omnipotent capital will surely make the necessary adjustments.”

“With our already tight budget, what more could we do? Fortunately, some charitable foundation is even offering discounts on purchases.”

After a round of joyous musical chairs, the members shared similar thoughts.

A scent had wafted in.
The cloying, sweet aroma of money, honor, and power.

Being members who would instinctively seek to leech benefits or file nuisance lawsuits the moment someone achieved success, their first thought was to levy taxes or regulations, certain they could strike a significant blow.

“…But it probably won’t work, will it?”

“Too risky. So let’s just quietly let it pass. Whew, it’s only been a few days since that mess was cleaned up.”

If they made the wrong move and the other party simply played dead, proclaiming, “Oh, I too wished to continue, but Parliament objected, so there was nothing I could do,” a Molotov cocktail would undoubtedly come flying into Parliament that very day.

Even before the chairs of the ousted Prime Minister and Finance Minister had cooled,
in this sensitive period, any misstep could trigger another wondrous cabinet shuffle.

Thus, with the tacit approval of members who had absolutely, definitely not met Lord Norton at a restaurant and absolutely, definitely only shared a box of fruit,
the discussions were obfuscated and ultimately shelved, deciding against major intervention in this matter.

Of course, given the substantial sum Norton Investment had handled, investigations were launched on various suspicions, but the conversations during those sessions, whether entertained or interrogated, generally went like this:

‘No illegal activities, I presume?’

‘No.’

‘Very well, carry on.’

It was more of a formality, a mere show of due process.
In the end, Lord Norton had simply passed the time eating fish and chips with Superintendent Baldur before returning.

Having experienced the rarity of leaving the interrogation room without being imprisoned, Lord Norton finally realized the game had been rigged for Parliament to turn a blind eye, and he marveled at the depths of that inscrutable influence while feeling a slight chill at Edan’s nonchalant demeanor, as if oblivious.

For his part, Edan simply had no particular thoughts on the matter.
He was merely pleased that a newly wealthy investor was providing funds, having initially worried they might demand something in return, but since no such requests came, he decided to simply enjoy it.

However, no matter how abundant the fallen budget may have been, some semblance of action was required once an incident had occurred.

The new cabinet, which had regained power by blaming the previous Prime Minister’s incompetence, ordered an investigation into the Demonic Tribe.
Of course, they had no intention of allocating a budget to reinforce the police force, but in the midst of slashing all other departments, simply refraining from cutting theirs was considered a generous gesture.

And by treating Demonic Tribe-related matters as classified, the number of informed individuals had to be kept to a minimum.

“Congratulations on your promotion. Here is your first mission as Superintendent. I’m counting on you.”

“I will do my utmost.”

“I have high expectations. I hope you will demonstrate the same dedication as before.”

The Chief Commissioner of the Londinium Police Force handed him his appointment letter and a warrant.
Baldur, the charismatic man who had earned Parliament’s trust by passionately pleading while revealing the two bullet holes in his body, then saluted.

Limiting it to field operations, he was made the number two in the police hierarchy, with only the regional commander above him.
Of course, while there were a few others of the same rank as Baldur, the fact that the new cabinet had entrusted him with such a weighty task implied they intended to utilize him significantly going forward.

Thus, a portion of Londinium’s law enforcement authority fell into Freugne’s hands.

As he calmly accepted the handshake, one voice overlapped the Chief Commissioner’s words in Baldur’s mind:

‘Congratulations on your promotion. And I’ll be counting on you going forward, as you’ll be quite busy.’

While obedience to one’s superiors was proper for a police officer, Superintendent Baldur had witnessed far too many instances of superiors acting improperly.
As long as he could maintain law and order, and properly apprehend only the criminals, as long as he could ensure his family’s safety, he cared little whose orders he followed.

Despite swearing allegiance to the city and nation, Baldur’s mind was already focused elsewhere.

‘Edan.’

In their one-on-one encounters, the seemingly cold Freugne would merrily stroll the streets with him, giggling like a girl her age.

Diligently building her reputation, steadily climbing the steps towards higher social status.
Yet, unless one was an organization member, no one could even suspect that she was devouring the kingdom, a fact Baldur found bitterly amusing.