Became the Villainess’s Guardian

For most citizens, ideology and politics were mere noisy, complicated nuisances.

They found the immediate concern of a loaf of bread for tomorrow far more pressing than indulging in armchair philosophizing about the world’s troubles.

To those already grappling with the realities of everyday life as their greatest worry, whatever was being shouted from the sidelines fell on deaf ears.

If given the choice between a full pig and a hungry Socrates, opinions might be divided, but if the only options were a hungry pig or a starving Socrates, the answer was predetermined for all but the most self-destructive individuals.

However, the fact that the simple slogan “Let’s skewer those who worked you 18 hours a day in the factories with bayonets for some delightful revenge!” held considerable allure was also undeniable.

“What… is this?”

“A book that shall guide your future.”

The book handed to him by the man in the white suit was a crimson shade bright enough to strain the eyes. Within its pages, that vivid discontent and seemingly straightforward solutions were laid out in simple terms.

The drunkard warily flipped through the book, skimming its contents.

And in mere minutes, he stood up, declaring the need to unite against the wicked Londinium before disappearing somewhere.

The man in the white suit, left alone in the filthy alleyway, remarked:

“Well, you know what to do from here, right? Take it from here on your own.”

“Yessir, yessir.”

“Just show them this, and their minds will crumble, readily accepting the new ideology.”

At his gestured command, a member of the Demonic Tribe who had been silently observing emerged from the shadows.

His telltale horns were concealed beneath a baker’s cap befitting an ordinary laborer, and the small wings on his back were folded neatly beneath his attire, rendering him largely indistinguishable from humans at a glance.

The Demonic Tribe are undoubtedly intelligent beings.

Thus, they too have governments, nations, ideologies, and political systems of their own.

In the past, they had merely been an unruly amalgamation surrounding the Demon King’s forces, defying central control, but times had changed.

The Demon King, who had played a pivotal role in the previous war between humans and the Demonic Tribe more than anyone else, may have lost his JRPG archvillain identity, but had at least gained the power of strong centralized authority.

Hugo was one of the Demonic Tribe members dispatched to the human nations on the Demon King’s orders.

To be precise, his superiors had relayed the orders from the pertinent department, which had then been passed down to him, but his mission was undoubtedly an important one.

He had a single task:

To unleash the crimson plague upon the Kingdom of Glassgow – an affliction transmitted not through respiration or wounds, but solely through language and thought, for manipulating minds was their specialty.

Although the human nations’ panic had been largely imperceptible due to a lack of economic exchange, a meeting had been convened in the Greater Glassgow Kingdom’s Operations Planning Department, to which Hugo belonged.

‘The human realms have been struck by economic crisis. How naive. Since we have been granted this rare opportunity, does anyone have any good ideas on how to proceed?’

‘Perhaps we could demonstrate our newly developed offensive magic in the border regions, flexing our might?’

‘His Majesty the Demon King does not yet desire such direct conflict. We must bide our time for a more opportune moment.’

‘How about releasing balloons filled with rubbish?’

‘Do you think that would capture the humans’ attention? Use your head, for once.’

‘Let’s foment rebellion in the capital. Unleash the crimson flavor with full force.’

‘Yes, that’s a good idea!’

The Operations Planning Department decided to sow chaos among Londinium’s lower classes as their base.

Hugo was then selected as the one to be dispatched to the Kingdom of Glassgow.

‘Infiltrate their ranks and instigate unrest. Torment the kingdom by any means necessary, but exploiting their grievances will likely prove most effective.’

‘Oh, that reminds me. Didn’t one of our own write some strange magic tome? Let’s modify that and unleash it upon the humans.’

‘A senior operative will already be in the field carrying out their mission before you arrive. Make contact with them, and then I’ll relay your next assignment.’

And after a long, arduous journey stowed away on a smuggling vessel, Hugo finally arrived in Londinium.

As for the alleged senior spy, the Demonic Tribe member in the white suit who had preceded him… he had no idea.

When asked for a name, the man had simply told him to call him whatever, so Hugo had dubbed him “Mr. White Suit,” but he had been unable to glean any further information.

“Any questions about my demonstration?”

“No, none at all.”

Sensing the white-suited figure’s ghostly awareness of his gaze, Hugo slipped away under the pretense of selecting a human target.

Disguising his Demonic Tribe nature by wearing a cap was fine. Concealing his wings, too.

But insisting on that conspicuous white suit that stood out like a sore thumb in this Londinium, where everyone else wore gray shirts faded to near-monochrome or outright black to avoid visibly soiled attire, was maddening.

No matter how many reports he submitted to his superiors about this individual’s eccentricities, the only response was to silently follow orders.

Having come to the enemy’s deepest territory, the capital Londinium itself, Hugo knew that disobedience would only result in death, leaving him no choice but to obey.

He sought out those leisurely roaming the streets on a weekday afternoon.

In the slums rather than the city center, practically all such individuals were the unemployed, highly likely to harbor immense discontent towards the world after losing their livelihoods in the recent panic.

“Who might you be?”

“Greetings, I am Hugo. Have you perhaps heard of a world where all workers are happy and well-fed?”

“You don’t seem drunk, yet you’re spouting strange nonsense. Could such a paradise truly exist?”

“Of course. First, please read this book.”

“I’m not particularly well-acquainted with knowledge……”

“It’s alright. Just take a look for now.”

Seemingly reluctant yet accepting it since it was offered, the worker picked up the book, and before long, let out an exclamation.

While the book’s thickness suggested it would take hours to read through sitting in one place, it was a Demonic Tribe magic tome.

Rather than imparting knowledge, its purpose was to subtly adjust the reader’s mind in the desired direction.

Unsurprisingly, the human, who had raised his head with seemingly clear eyes and a lucid expression, had become an entirely different person.

“It was like my eyes were finally opened!”

“I’m glad you think so. What were your impressions?”

“This world has been wrong all along!”

As expected, it was easy to exploit his unsettled state with the magic tome.

After meticulously listing the problems of reality that would have been difficult for an ordinary laborer’s educational level to even conceive, he arrived at the conclusion that establishing a communist regime in Londinium was the answer.

But then, something seemed amiss.

“I’ve worked 18 hours a day without rest, but the wages from the factory weren’t enough to provide my family with even a single proper meal. I just wanted to let my son eat his fill, at least.”

“I’m terribly sorry. You had a son, it seems. But for his sake-”

“No, he died after quitting his job at the dye factory and struggling for a while.”

“…My condolences.”

“But it’s alright now. As long as I can set things right from here on. My wife would surely agree from heaven.”

“Your… wife?”

“The doctor said it was cholera. And I just buried her a while ago. With what little money I had left, I intended to drink myself to death.”

The more the conversation continued, the more a part of his heart felt like it was shattering.

“You have become a ray of light in my gloomy life.”

“……”

“Last year, plague swept through our neighborhood. Last month, I was robbed. And today, after holding a solitary funeral, events I could never have imagined!”

Truthfully, as a Demonic Tribe spy, he knew these were not words he should be uttering.

Londinium.

Was it truly alright to leave it as it was?

Would the humans too become adept at mental assaults in order to resist the Demonic Tribe?

If this was a trap set by the kingdom to provoke sympathy, Hugo could only admire its meticulousness. And if it was not a trap, well…

He didn’t know. Let it simply be damned, then.

‘No, remember why you came here!’

Hugo shook his head, forcibly dispelling the momentary pang of compassion.

They were of different races – who was he to concern himself with whom? He had come to plunge Londinium into chaos, after all.

Gaze into the abyss, and the abyss gazes back, they said.

The deeper Hugo peered into Londinium’s darkness, the more he felt spellbound. Truthfully, even the Demonic Tribe’s lands could hardly be called livable, let alone subjecting people to such dehumanizing treatment as mere cogs in a machine.

Having barely overcome his qualms, Hugo scanned his surroundings for his next target and chanced upon someone who appeared unoccupied.

With slovenly attire, a youthful face marred by calluses symbolizing a harsh life –

his dissatisfied demeanor seemed to qualify him as an ideal candidate.

“Excuse me, greetings.”

“Hm?”

“I am Hugo. Pleased to meet you. Might I inquire as to your name?”

“Call me Ulr.”

“Could you spare me a moment of your time? It will only be brief.”

Ulr responded with a slight upturning of his lips, his smile nearly imperceptible:

“Of course.”