The Prelude (7)

Edan’s statement was only partially accurate.

The orphanages managed by his foundation could be broadly categorized into two types:

One involved indirectly exerting influence by sponsoring existing orphanages operated within cities, while the other entailed directly constructing buildings to house orphans.

“You repurposed them for other means?”

“No, no! I’m still human, after all.”

As Edan seemed poised to express disappointment, Freugne swiftly waved her hands in denial.

It wasn’t an outright lie – the former category still functioned properly as orphanages.

Constructing new facilities and recruiting personnel was an extensive and costly endeavor.

In an era where “cheap child labor” remained an oxymoron, operating orphanages akin to workhouses constituted a basic survival skill – one that could be largely eradicated through sponsorships, precluding Freugne’s direct intervention.

However, the latter category entailed orphanages where Edan had delegated some authority to Freugne.

And with that authority, she was compelled to exercise it somehow.

Edan’s original intent in entrusting her with these children was likely to leverage her personal experiences, guiding and nurturing their development into upright individuals.

Yet Freugne discerned an opportunity.

“That was definitely… when you were in your early teens, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, you remember correctly.”

Prodigies navigating the streets of Londinium.

Freugne had witnessed numerous futures where their potentials, if left unrefined, tragically dissipated or combusted into vengeance.

Sif and Ulr represented merely the most extreme cases – tragedy did not discriminate.

Naturally, providing guidance to every child would have been ideal. However, Edan’s finite resources and numerous commitments imposed practical constraints.

It was at this juncture that Freugne, whose coffers were effectively limitless, assumed the baton.

She handpicked children to mentor, sparing them fates toiling in factories until crippled and consumed by rage.

“In fact, I was one of them, as Uncle is now aware.”

“……”

Edan’s expression conveyed complex emotions.

His gaze seemed directed not at her, but towards a distant past over a decade prior.

Truthfully, he likely never envisioned such an outcome. Yet he had vocally disavowed any regrets, so it was acceptable.

Of course, Freugne was well-acquainted with the adage that humans could not be “refurbished.”

However, she saw no need to discard what was never broken. Assigning culpability for hypotheticals seemed irrational.

Thus, children formerly eking out meager subsistence through menial labor or outright begging on the streets emerged from the orphanages with a newfound lease on life.

Ironically, this virtuous cycle aligned with Edan’s original intentions.

“Though it did engender some peculiar misunderstandings along the way.”

“What sort of misunderstandings?”

“Just… the kind Uncle need no longer concern himself with.”

“…?”

“For we have effectively become one and the same.”

“……?”

While it may not have constituted the sole basis for organization members perceiving him as the shadow cabal’s true power, it certainly contributed significantly.

“A minor rumor suggesting Uncle is the organization’s true mastermind.”

“That hardly seems trivial. More importantly, who believes this?”

“Oh? You were unaware? Lord Norton, Commissioner Balder, and a few others you’re acquainted with already subscribe to this notion.”

“I merely informed them you were an important member, not that they believed as such.”

“Ah.”

Yet their discretion seemed remarkably steadfast.

While Freugne had indeed instructed them against revealing her involvement, she did not anticipate such prolonged silence. Inwardly, she elevated her assessment of their discipline.

Clandestine paramilitary groups within cities were undoubtedly illegal.

For citizens had collectively deemed any unregulated forces as tantamount to coup attempts.

However, there remained one scenario most overlooked: the leader effectively assuming control over the government itself.

With Commissioner Balder’s willful blindness and the council’s calculated deafness, Freugne could nurture her forces unimpeded – a phantasmal partnership.

And the time had come to deploy this elite vanguard, cultivated for such contingencies.

Contingencies, of course, like the entire city turning against her or Londinium becoming a Demonic den.

Yet since such futures no longer warranted concern, Freugne had expunged those contingencies from her mind.

Thus, the following day,

individuals gathered in a concealed subterranean chamber near the orphanage operated by Edan.

“You were summoned too?”

“Yeah. Who else would attend if not me?”

“We’ll earn a fortune as mercenaries, eh?”

“And squander it all gambling again, like last time. Honestly.”

“Shh, shh! The instructor is arriving.”

Recompense for dedication is not an inevitability in this cruel world.

One may shelter, feed, and provide warmth to a vicious beast, yet humans instinctively harbor different sentiments entering and exiting restrooms.

With bellies full and comfortable beds, further desires arise – an innate compulsion. Some may even attempt to devour their own benefactors, metaphorically or otherwise.

It had been an eternity since the instructor – a former military veteran – had witnessed an exception to this norm.

‘Such impeccable character development. Could this be implemented in the military?’

Despite the prolonged peace, the armed forces did not indulge in idleness or neglect training. For while an “era of peace,” localized conflicts and minor Demonic skirmishes persisted, affording some combat experience.

The elderly instructor was among that elite minority. A veritable specialist, one might say.

Naturally, he had battered and molded numerous trainees, witnessing unrestrained defiance soaring to the heavens.

Yet when this organization, driven by his daughter’s medical expenses, requested he impart proper combat techniques to these fledglings, his dire circumstances compelled acquiescence.

Unexpectedly, they embraced the teachings with fervent dedication –

as if exclusively comprised of those inherently capable.

“Listen up, you ingrates! The time has come to repay the investment in rearing filth like you.”

“Even vile beasts comprehend gratitude, so I trust you useless runts grasped at least that much from your education?”

“Yes, sir!!”

They had received a fundamental education during an era when it constituted a privilege.

At their most destitute and impoverished junctures, they had been provided warm meals and shelter.

Those exhibiting potential yet lacking fortitude for critical tasks, or possessing upstanding character but meager combat prowess, were reintegrated into society.

Only those remaining had prepared solely for this moment – a feat impossible for most, yet achievable for the cookie-glimpsing Freugne.

While the instructor never discerned this secret, the pivotal moment had undoubtedly arrived.

“Then let us march – to slay the Demonic Tribe!”

“For humanity!”

---

Openly infiltrating Demonic territory with spies proved unfeasible, but intelligence periodically trickled in.

Materiel and troops were steadily amassing along the Belfast border.

“Participation seems rather lackluster. The prolonged peace, perhaps?”

“Yet a contingent from Londinium recently enlisted en masse. We can only hope they prove capable.”

“Peculiarly, there were no substandard applicants – as if they had undergone separate training. Remarkable, considering their solely listed experience was emerging from orphanages and performing odd jobs.”

The council members, previously clamoring about mercenary recruitment, simultaneously entertained an identical thought:

“…Could it be that organization I’m aware of–”

“Best to feign ignorance. No need to invite unnecessary afflictions.”

“Instead, let us ponder what delicacies to savor this evening.”

They each rolled the word “war” upon their tongues.

Grating, with an unsavory aftertaste – not a particularly pleasing vocalization.

Yet war could not be averted through mere disinclination.

The Demonic Tribe invariably struck first, a wearisome pattern of delivering blows only to receive retaliatory strikes.

And they seemed intent on reigniting this ancient cycle once more.

Traditionally, the most crucial element in instigating war was establishing a justifiable pretext to motivate the troops – a direct link to morale.

Yet no such pretense was required against the Demonic Tribe.

There was no need to contrive a flimsy pretext when the simple utterance “I want to tear those bastards apart” sufficed as ample justification.

Even if humanity lacked enthusiasm for war, war appeared keenly interested in humanity.

Responding in kind, Glasgow gradually roused itself.

Munitions factories resumed operations, and Ceres Martop’s plants regained their cadence.

From rural villages and urban centers, people congregated with aspirations of becoming mercenaries, as conscription and training commenced.

And amidst those war preparations stood Eryne.