175. Contractor (2)
Alicia felt like she'd just heard something utterly unbelievable. What the hell was this woman talking about? She could understand her? Fine, contracting with the Dragon God might let someone grasp Alicia's position, but this bitch hadn't even made a contract with the Dragon God. So how could she strut around claiming she could surpass it?
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Looks like you misheard me, Your Majesty." The Orleans Saintess beamed with pride, opening her arms wide as if introducing her god to a fellow Dragon Priestess. She was making it clear: Dragon Priestesses were no longer anything special. "I've contracted with a great being just like yours. Which means, Your Majesty—no, Dragon Priestess—you're not special in this world anymore."
Alicia had no idea if that was true or bullshit. But one thing she knew for damn sure: in this apocalypse, contracting with a special entity granted an awakener immense power. That was the whole point of being a Dragon Priestess.
I have no idea. I heard she was right on the verge of level 20 from the start.
Still, Alicia sensed nothing extraordinary from the saintess before her. She wasn't a detection-type awakener herself, and on the surface, the woman looked unchanged. Was she hiding her mana? Or just bullshitting to test Alicia? Luckily, figuring that out wasn't Alicia's job.
Her mana feels dramatically increased compared to when I first saw her.
"And that means...?"
Not quite enough to dismiss as pure bluff. She seems to have some basis for it.
Bahamut, who could sense mana, judged her stronger than at their first meeting. That had been at the international reconstruction conference; she hadn't hit level 20 back then, so it made sense her abilities had skyrocketed upon awakening.
She's still no match for Yuna or Seol-hwa. But give her time, and she might grow even more.
Yet this saintess before her didn't just seem improved—she radiated power like she'd leaped straight to the heavens. Enough to convince Bahamut she had something real backing her confidence.
"So you're dropping the alliance with the Protector? That bastard's just a shit-stirrer in our country. No need for us to fight over him, right?"
"Oh? That won't do. The Protector's a fine business partner—easy to deal with. He's given me tons of political support. Call it loyalty?"
All Alicia could do was issue a harsh warning to cut ties with the Protector, but it fell flat. No matter how much power the Orleans Saintess had gained, she needed that political partner to wield influence in the international council and the European Union. The Protector backed her lavishly as her sponsor, and together they controlled their base regions in a symbiotic setup. Little more than a political pact, really. Alicia smirked wryly at their antics.
"What a joke. Loyalty? You two are just using each other because you need to."
Exactly—they needed each other, plain and simple. No loyalty involved. The second political or material support dried up, they'd smash each other's skulls without hesitation. That's the kind of "alliance" it was, and Alicia had just called it out bluntly.
"Sharp tongue on you. Where'd you pick up that insight?"
"Living in the terrifying dungeon called London. You learn this shit whether you want to or not."
Hm. Fair point.
Alicia hadn't sought this knowledge—it came from surviving London's hellish dungeon, on the brink of becoming a demon realm. Order had collapsed; only beasts scrabbling to seize or hold power remained. Without parliament's help, she had to defend the nation with her personal guard alone. Bahamut, witnessing Britain's mess through her eyes, could only nod bitterly.
"You're a fun one, Your Majesty. If I'd met you before the Protector, we might've gotten along."
"Doubt it. If we'd met first, you'd have guillotined me on the spot."
The Orleans Saintess sidled closer, eyes lighting up like she'd found a potential friend. But Alicia shot her down cold, declaring she'd never warm to her—and that as queen, she'd end up on the chopping block anyway. The saintess's reply?
"Liberty. Equality. Fraternity. France's motto, right? Tyrants who oppress the people must die."
"Bullshit. Just hypocrisy. A frog preaching liberty, equality, and fraternity? You've got some thick skin, Frog Saintess."
Not wrong—Alicia had called it, and the saintess implicitly admitted she'd happily send her to the guillotine.
Alicia, who'd suspected as much, now saw her as worse than the Protector. Racking her brain for a retort...
"So you're the psycho planning a Vendée on Europe."
"Just the sacrifice Europe needs. France as Europe's heart means trickle-down benefits for the rest."
"Insane."
Alicia invoked France's infamous black mark, the Vendée, but the saintess brushed it off as necessary. She was pushing the fallacy that France's survival ensured Europe's—pure nationalism.
"Neoliberalism now, after the apocalypse? Don't you know how much blood other countries shed over that crap?"
"Wasn't it Brexit that bled you dry?"
"Gah. Not a single point conceded."
Alicia refused to yield; the saintess dragged out Britain's own black history. Neither backed down, but like dodging a mad dog, Alicia stomped loudly away from her.
"Phew. Scary as hell."
She provoked you that much, and you let it slide peacefully. Lucky.
"Yeah, that's a relief... but that contractor stuff..."
The conversation only bred more questions. What terrified Alicia most?
Not me, at least. I haven't granted the Dragon Priestess power to anyone else since.
The saintess's claim of a "contractor"—and that it wasn't Bahamut—gnawed at her.
Scary. I put on a bold front in front of the Protector and her, but still scary!
Who the hell had contracted with her? Lent her that power? Alicia steadied her trembling body and calmly asked Bahamut.
"If not you, Bahamut, then who?"
Hmm. But...
It was shocking enough to stun anyone. Yet Bahamut, at the controversy's heart, remained unfazed.
I don't think it's that surprising.
"Huh? Why not?"
With a being like me existing in reality, I can't swear no others can contract like I do.
Simple: if Bahamut existed, others like him could too. His precedent opened the door.
The Immortal Cult's Dark Lord. If that's a being like me, it explains their massive influence.
Bahamut had already clocked the Immortal Cult and their god, the Dark Lord. He'd dismissed it as typical fake-god nonsense at first, but the saintess's words planted seeds of doubt.
"Fair, but if there are hundreds like you, wouldn't that screw the world?"
Hm. Can't deny that.
Bahamut couldn't argue. Hundreds like him? Humanity would've been dust long ago. He alone could vaporize a city casually, and his minor perks could sustain a faction effortlessly.
"Not something we can brush off easily, though. What if the Protector gets contracted too?"
Such beings wouldn't contract lightly, right?
True. Such contracts wouldn't be easy...
Bahamut started to rebut—then stopped dead.
Wait. I've contracted pretty much on whims.
Cold reality: he hadn't been picky. With Yuna, desperation from zero shrine visitors led to contracting a random girl. The second was more formal but still not his strict choice. The third? He'd lost it over her being queen, but it was U.S.-brokered. No clear criteria—he'd just realized it now.
Hm. How to spin this?
No fate, no special conditions. Just want to? Contract. Bahamut sweated, pondering excuses.
Not impossible, then.
"Knew it! This is dangerous!"
He conceded: no zero chance. He'd picked on whims; others could too.
"S-so what now?"
Nothing for it.
Alicia now faced a saintess-turned-priestess and whatever backed her. Harsh for her fragile base. She waited anxiously for Bahamut's next words.
A long journey awaits.
"Pardon?"
I have no easy fix. You'll have to leg it and gather intel yourself.
"Figures!"
No instant solution—just good old fieldwork. Alicia sighed, but Bahamut's backing was rock-solid comfort.
Better than rotting bored in that villa, no?
"True... yeah."
And for Alicia personally? A win. Paris beat the parliament-and-cabinet surveilled villa—freedom felt good.
Parliament will need an excuse for your extended Paris stay.
Of course, long-term Paris meant justifying it back home.
"Eh, say I'm studying at Grandes Écoles. Handle it lazily?"
That's... a bit much.
The Queen of England "studying abroad" at France's top university? Problems galore.