176. Though There Was a Shocking Conversation with the Orleans Saintess of the European Union Expedition Force
Bahamut and Alicia have already had a shocking conversation with the Orleans Saintess of the European Union expedition force, but they still remain in Paris, France, lending their names to the countless European Union conferences held here and attending without fail. Yet the information Alicia truly seeks proves elusive.
"This is so boring. It's always just fighting. Isn't there anything practical?"
What? I agree—it's dull.
The real issue is that the true power in the European Union lies entirely with the dictators who rule their nations with iron fists. Even promising proposals get shot down the moment they displease one of these autocrats. In name only does it function as a European Union conference; without the collusion of these dictators, nothing gets accomplished politically.
Alicia, at least, holds the title of Queen of the UK, granting her the right to submit proposals formally. But even those get rejected.
All of Alicia's proposals were shot down too. On the Protector's orders.
"I only tried on the off chance... but it's pissing me off a little."
Nothing succeeds under the Protector's interference. She hadn't expected much anyway, but his blatant sabotage stirs real irritation. If there's one worthwhile spectacle at these European Union conferences...
"We cannot accept that! Do you expect me to stand by and watch such a proposal pass?!"
"Then it's a duel!"
"Agreed! As always, let the duel decide everything!"
Dear readers, if you're imagining the European Union has devolved into some card game duel fanaticism—decks of swords, cards as blades, duel disks as shields—put that awkward fantasy aside. Though it shares one trait with those storybook duels: everything is decided by duels here.
The problem? Their version of a "duel."
"Bring booze and women! Time for the heroes to shine!"
"Finally, something worth watching!"
"Fight! Fight! Just die already!"
"I hereby ban these pathetic European Union conferences!"
Not card games, but brutal, flesh-tearing death matches. After all, it's been barely a year since the apocalypse shattered the world, and reconstruction emerged as a rallying cry. In that brief span—long in survival terms, short in history—European sensibilities drowned in blood and violence. Fists fly before words these days.
Awakener duels, especially, dazzle conference attendees like gladiatorial entertainment. The victor claims their agenda and the crowd's adulation, evoking ancient Rome.
"To put it bluntly, no one trusts words anymore, and everyone's too rootless. So they settle it with duels... or just straight-up violence."
Hm. Exactly.
It's a polite way to phrase it. Harshly put, most attendees lack any real foundation. Alicia, rightfully queen by legitimate succession, stands as the sole exception.
The apocalypse upended Europe's political landscape, toppling old powers and elevating apocalypse-forged newcomers—extremists, unfortunately, who now hold sway. Europe's misfortune, perhaps.
"I even spotted several guys calling themselves 'Führer' just walking into the conference."
Oh... that's a lot to unpack.
Anyone who knows what "Führer" means in Europe understands: politics has long succumbed to extremism if such clowns represent nations.
"Is there even a point in attending these?"
...Let's try harder.
Alicia feels increasingly futile about showing up, but then...
"Your Majesty. Good news."
"Sir Arthur. Good news, you say?"
Among her entourage, some bring tidings worth hearing. Sir Arthur, her knight from the Royal Guard, attends every awakener networking event in Paris, gathering useful intel for Alicia. He times this perfectly as her spirits flag.
"The peacekeeping forces are launching an expedition."
That's the news. Expeditions are commonplace these days—hardly noteworthy, just operations to reclaim monster-overrun zones.
"And that's good news?"
Doesn't sound like good news to Alicia.
Alicia and Bahamut can't help questioning it. Back in the UK, she'd led expeditions to rally supporters; Bahamut hears of them daily.
"Yes. Not ideal for Your Majesty, perhaps, but a chance to uncover that mysterious contractor you've been after."
"You mean... the Saintess?"
Mary the maid chimes in. Not great news, but a shot at resolving Alicia's doubts.
"Exactly. She's already spreading word through awakener clubs that she'll reveal her contracted divine beast on this expedition. Seems they plan to include civilian collaborators too."
Rumors swirl that the Orleans Saintess's contractor will appear in person. Alicia perks up, though...
"Is she really that confident? Or is it a scam?"
She still suspects a ploy to unsettle her. Sure, she contracted easily via US mediation, but she knows entities like Bahamut are exceedingly rare.
At this scale, probably not a scam.
High chance it's real.
"So if we join, we might see it. When's the schedule?"
Plenty of reason to participate—the divine beast could show. Alicia shows interest in the peacekeeping expedition.
"In a week. It's a 1-night, 2-day affair."
"That's short. Shouldn't expeditions be like a week-long tour?"
Far shorter than her own. Alicia tilts her head at Sir Arthur.
"That's... what makes Your Majesty unusual. Outside cities, monsters rule—hit the target and retreat to safety. That's standard."
"Huh. Really?"
"Yes. Wiping monsters with a flick? Beyond most awakeners."
Sir Arthur looks exasperated, explaining normal expeditions can't linger amid threats. No safe zones mean camping is suicide; day trips or overnights are the norm.
"I made it look easy..."
"W-well... how to explain this?"
Alicia pouts, wondering if she's the odd one. Sir Arthur flusters. Bahamut, listening...
Then we should join. Chance to learn why we're here, broaden Alicia's horizons.
"Yes. Sounds good."
Best to piggyback on another's expedition—prime opportunity to verify the Saintess's contractor. Mary nods agreement.
"If you two say so... we'll join. Sir Arthur, register us."
"Understood."
Trusting her advisors, Alicia commits via Sir Arthur.
And on expedition day...
"...What is this?"
"For such a distinguished guest, we've prepared escort awakeners and a dedicated vehicle."
Alicia unwittingly gets guards and a luxury ride. She glances around in confusion—what's going on?—but meets only averted eyes. No one wants to tangle with the queen; it's self-preservation.
"...Am I causing trouble by joining?"
"Boarding quietly will put them at ease."
Ashamed, she boards promptly, followed by Mary and Sir Arthur.
"More formality than expected."
"Protocol, Your Majesty—you're head of state for the Union Kingdom. No real power, but slight the queen and it's a diplomatic disaster. The public sees you as such."
"Lucky us, Your Majesty."
The escort awakeners suffer. Alicia hasn't the bandwidth to coddle them, so she prays briefly and surveys the scene.
Throngs of participants create chaos.
Bigger than expected. Over 10,000 participants.
"Only a fraction will fight."
Enough. This isn't about combat anyway.
Few true fighters among the masses—a tenth? A hundredth? They'd be lucky. The civilian horde stems from political motives.
"Fair point. But to flaunt the Union's might, live witnesses beat news or videos. Nothing like on-site spectacle."
Prestige, honor—secure your seat with military feats, earn willing obedience. Proof the Union protects Europe? Even dictators gain loyalists desperate to survive.
"Protector's faction is here."
"...That group. The Royal Guard?"
"Yes... shameful, but."
A warning to their homeland too. Protector's Royal Guard joins, showcasing his valor theatrically. Sir Arthur, once of their ranks, burns with shame at their loyalty to the Protector over the queen. He bows apologetically.
"No, no. My failure to inspire faith forced their hand for survival. Don't worry about it."
"Y-Your Majesty!"
Alicia absolves them, soothing him calmly.
"I pledge my loyalty anew to Her Majesty the Queen."
"Yeah. Thanks."
Sir Arthur reaffirms his choice was right.