Alicia's Triumphal Procession
Alicia's triumphal procession could truly be called a lavish welcome. The colossal bug that had threatened Britain fell to the queen's own hand, and afterward, she toured the provincial cities tormented by monsters, purging the beasts that plagued the British Isles. Even horrors the locals couldn't hope to handle crumbled before the march of the queen and her Royal Guard. With each victory, her prestige soared higher and higher.
Yes, this procession was only natural, considering the merits she'd piled up in this latest campaign.
"Long live Queen Alicia!"
"Your Majesty, you're incredible!"
The reason her exploits spread so swiftly to London was simple. Monster outbreaks had physically severed connections between cities and provinces, but the queen and her Guard had reopened those roads. Word spread like wildfire: provincials flocking to London with the news, or Londoners venturing out to check on family in the countryside. Inevitably, the tales proliferated among the civilians.
Above all, with the capital intact, Britain's information society—hallmark of the modern age—still functioned. SNS and online media could disseminate accurate updates to the public.
"Is this... Mary's doing?"
"Yes. Through the connections she still has in political circles. She's spread the word far and wide."
And besides, for all appearances, Alicia was this nation's queen, with Mary as her closest attendant. They retained ties to the London cabinet and political elite, making it child's play to commission a publicity blitz. Reclaiming the city naturally boosted support for the cabinet and crown—especially useful for curbing the Protector's influence. The London cabinet had no choice but to trumpet the queen's feats.
"That said, Your Majesty. Wouldn't you like to say a few words to the people? They're all waiting for you to appear."
"D-Do I have to say something?"
"It'll have the desired effect."
Thus, amid a web of political machinations, the grand procession took shape. The queen paraded boldly through cheering crowds alongside her Guard—a much-needed morale boost for a nation shrouded in apocalyptic gloom, further darkened by the recent palace coup. If not the star of the show, who else?
With reports confirming her pivotal role in the expedition, imprinting her image on the masses was key.
"Citizens! I shall be the guardian of this land! May this first step prove my power to you all!"
"""God save the Queen!"""
The queen swore to protect the realm, drawing thunderous acclaim. Alicia delivered her line, then ducked back into the carriage, collapsing with a sigh.
"Th-That was good, right?"
"Yes. That was enough."
Her hands trembled slightly at the expectant gazes of the crowd—equal parts thrilling and terrifying. Mary offered a gentle, admiring smile at her queen's nerves.
As Alicia gradually earned the people's trust, one faction reeled in unexpected dismay.
"Who would've thought she'd actually succeed."
"I figured she'd just run off in disgrace."
London's major political players—the Conservatives and Liberals—watched the procession with rapt attention. The queen, once a powerless puppet swaying to public whim, had thrown down the gauntlet as a true contender. And with irrefutable achievements no one could deny, she'd seized a heavyweight presence even they couldn't ignore.
Their thoughts turned to this:
"We never imagined she'd meddle directly in politics."
"Too young. No grasp of statecraft to wield the throne effectively."
They hadn't anticipated it one bit.
Frankly, as a distant heir, Alicia had received scant royal education before stumbling onto the throne. The parties had little faith in an unawakened child, viewing her as a mere sympathy magnet. No one expected a ten-year-old to step up.
"A kid that age taking center stage? Impossible."
"Strip away the title, and she's the same age as my daughter. Queen or not, that's absurd."
"I pitied her forced early ascension, honestly."
They'd assumed she'd remain a figurehead until adulthood. Never dreamed she'd smack them so spectacularly from behind. Admiration mingled with their surprise at her growth.
"Plenty pitied the young queen from the start. But no one thought she'd rack up feats like this."
"And summoning a holy dragon? Classic propaganda... but her league's jumped too high."
Yet that elevation felt too extreme. If she pulled her weight as queen, she could check even the Protector—a prospect the cabinet desired. This queen had the clout to rein in his excesses.
"Can we handle her?"
"Doubtful. Power might shift from parliament to the crown."
But they didn't want her that formidable. Real authority flowing to her would undermine the cabinet entirely.
"That infamous Bahamut, eh?"
"Bahamut—the massive dragon from the Far East? We doubted its existence. Turns out it's real."
London's elite had intel on Bahamut's renown, prioritizing U.S. ties for Asian updates. They knew of it... but never dreamed it'd contract with their queen—or why it chose her when she had nothing to offer.
"This'll revive royalists in London politics."
"Royalists from a bygone era. But if she's truly contracted a dragon as declared, her savvy's credible."
Not everyone lost out. Royalists—inevitable with a monarchy—surged on her feats. In the apocalypse, raw power shone brightest, and she'd proven hers.
"Her name'll dominate British politics for a while."
"Time to recalculate."
"Indeed. The queen's era returns."
Alicia's gains: etching her name indelibly in London circles, shedding puppet stigma for commanding presence. Repaying pity with trust, she'd won much from this expedition.
"God Save the Queen... Never thought I'd utter those words again."
No longer a figurehead. A queen with real power.
It feels good! All those doubting eyes... I've finally proven myself to them!
Of course, she grasped little of her political windfall. Pure joy at public acclaim filled her as she secretly reveled in the carriage.
And if some gained from the expedition, others suffered grievously.
"...Who'd have thought she'd pull it off."
Watching the procession, the Protector muttered in fury-twisted tones. His sour expression betrayed the shifting gazes in London's elite. One or two more feats like this, and they'd flock to her banner as royalists without hesitation.
"This derails every plan."
The failed coup forced political concessions; for the throne, he'd schemed relentlessly. Sabotaging the international assembly, colluding with Orleans' Saintess—all to plunge Britain into crisis, showcasing his resolve while exposing cabinet weakness.
The queen and royalists' rise chafed him sorely.
"Damn that puppet queen—still loyalists clinging to her?!"
Worst: her Guard's unwavering devotion. He'd assumed no one would back a powerless girl. Yet three full regiments followed her unhesitatingly, shaking the rest. To stem the unrest, he'd assured his followers of her failure. But here she was: triumphant, brazenly claiming London's streets for her parade.
"If only we'd had time, I could've swayed the rest!"
Timing foiled him. Delay the expedition, and his assembly prestige could've peeled away her Guard. But she struck in the gap as he cleaned up his messes. Infuriating.
"Too soon. Too swift. The throne's path glimmers right before me."
Frankly, much was self-inflicted. From the moment an unestablished regent eyed the crown, elite backlash was predictable. Pre-apocalypse, politics distant, he'd fixated on the throne, staging his coup and tainting his heroic fame.
His chief flaw:
"What of the queen's watcher?"
"Detained."
"Execute him."
His ego dwarfed all. Even loyal aides faced instant disposal post-failure.
The lapse was critical, punishment fitting. His adjutant detained the spy without demur, expecting repercussions—but not this.
"Pardon?"
"Yes. Useless trash who reported nothing while she pulled this stunt has no place in my future cabinet."
He hadn't foreseen summary execution. The adjutant balked at the verdict—deemed worthless, ousted from plans after exhaustive service. Ruthless discard.
"...Understood."
No defiance; silence, then compliance. Harsh, but given the damage, somewhat justifiable.
Satisfied, the Protector pressed on.
"Any fresh intel?"
"The queen contracted with Balhut Cult's Bahamut."
"Bahamut. Hah. Daring such nonsense in my country. Damn it. Damn it all."
His followers weren't incompetent; they'd identified her contractor as Balhut's Bahamut. Enraged at the slight from an ignored faction, he lacked reprisal means. Distance shielded Asia from him, as it did Balhut from retaliation. No sanctions or diplomacy viable now; he'd already alienated nations aplenty.
Powerless against Balhut.
If only Europe—hand it to that scheming wench. But the Far East? Opposite my sphere. Damn it.
Glove thrown: he couldn't ignore it.
"Relay to Orleans' Saintess: a pesky foe hinders European union."
Ally or not, he'd use what he could. Contacting his co-conspirator, the Protector opened talks on the road ahead.