Chapter 33: It makes both the kawa and the Papa go crazy

Although it was an era without telephones or wireless communication, rumors always spread astonishingly fast—especially when they pertained to war.

This time was no exception. It had only been a few days since Carolus sent his report to the Assembly, yet news of victory had already swept through the capital.

“Extra! Our army has achieved a great victory in the North!”

“It is said that His Excellency, the Vice Chair of the Supreme Council, has held the front! The number of prisoners captured exceeds tens of thousands!”

Even before Lady Arschach’s faction began their propaganda efforts, the citizens were already reveling in the joy of victory.

Posters with reports of the triumph were plastered across the streets, shops declared special discounts in celebration, and wandering minstrels performed free concerts in the squares while confetti filled the air.

For ten years, three fronts had dragged on without any resolution in sight.

Now, finally, a turning point had been achieved on one of them.

Everyone was brimming with dopamine at the breaking news.

Though it wasn’t a complete victory yet, who cared? They had dealt a significant blow to the Empire’s forces.

Compared to the desperate defense they had been confined to, this was an exceptional outcome.

Rumor had it that the casualty exchange ratio was remarkably high in their favor.

“I’m glad we sided with His Excellency, the Vice Chair.”

“If we had kept acting like the old geezers, just strutting around, we would’ve lost our heads ages ago.”

“And we wouldn’t have made it to our current ranks, let alone been appointed bishops. It’s all thanks to His Excellency’s support.”

The religious factions shared a similar sentiment.

The current leadership of the Church of the Goddess comprised individuals handpicked by Carolus and his loyal subordinates.

Each was judged to excel in loyalty and cooperation.

Thanks to General Royten meticulously setting the stage, many clergy members had ascended to power through riots, purging superiors, and snatching positions.

How could they not be elated? It was unthinkable for anyone with an ounce of awareness not to rejoice, or at least feign tears of joy to prove their loyalty.

“What if we officially praise His Excellency as a Church?”

“That might be overstepping, but let’s at least propose a temporary holiday to the Assembly. We need to display our devotion and obedience to His Excellency.”

To remain at the center of power and maintain their current prestige, the clergy engaged in a fierce competition of loyalty.

It was precisely the kind of behavior Carolus desired from religious officials.

“Damn it, how long has it been since he left, and he’s already achieved a victory…”

“Well, he was already gaining fame. We should’ve expected him to make some accomplishments.”

“But to pull it off this magnificently… If we had known, we should’ve taken charge of the situation ourselves.”

On the other hand, the blue bloods could not suppress their frustration.

Their attempts to diminish the authority of that damnable traitor had instead boosted his reputation.

They had insisted that Carolus handle the issue himself, labeling it a situation caused by his own misjudgment.

That had been their fatal mistake.

If they had intervened directly, they might not have achieved such decisive results, but they wouldn’t have empowered their rival.

Those who failed to act now regretted their judgment, but what could they do? The situation was already out of their hands.

“For now, let’s prepare to attend the Assembly. Undoubtedly, the First and Third Estates will use this as leverage to attack us.”

“Ugh! How did the once-mighty nobles of Ulranor end up in such a pitiful state…”

With Carolus having shifted the blame for his misstep onto his public achievements, the backlash was inevitable.

To survive, they could only brace themselves and focus on minimizing the damage.

Thus, the nobles of the kingdom, gnashing their teeth, began preparing for the imminent political onslaught, all the while desperately clinging to the hope that one day they could avenge this humiliation.

Meanwhile, the news wasn’t confined to the kingdom alone.

The battle had been a conflict between the kingdom and the empire, after all.

In fact, the Union Empire received the information even faster. While the kingdom had to dispatch messengers through treacherous snowy terrain, the empire received direct reports from their retreating forces.

Within a few days, they had a clear picture of the situation.

“We suffered a major defeat on the southern front? (the kingdom’s northern front?)”

“Yes, sir. We’ve lost forces equivalent to two legions.”

Sebastian de Leclerc, the commander overseeing the empire’s western front, clicked his tongue in frustration.

He was already struggling to manage the enemy before him, and now his flank was exposed. It was a vexing setback.

“Just last week, I heard we were steadily pushing back the kingdom’s forces. What changed so suddenly?”

“That’s what we were told as well.”

“Explain to me how the tides turned. And be detailed enough for me to understand.”

“Well—”

Leclerc questioned the messengers to gather detailed accounts of what had occurred on the southern front.

A sudden open-field engagement from the enemy mid-siege, reinforcements appearing seemingly out of nowhere, and a mysterious commander employing unfamiliar tactics—all of these had led to the defeat.

Much of the information was based on eyewitness testimony and thus unreliable, but it was enough to provide Leclerc with some useful insight.

“I see. You’ve all done well. Go and rest now.”

After dismissing the messengers, Leclerc turned to his officers.

“They say the kingdom’s commander was Carolus von Royten. That’s the one we know, isn’t it?”

“Most likely, sir. If the tactics were described as unconventional, it can only be him.”

“Trouble, then. Of all people, why did it have to be that damned lunatic returning?”

The crass remark seemed unbefitting for a marquis-born general, but none of his officers dared to correct him.

They all felt the same.

Regardless of decorum, the mere mention of that name carried a psychological weight that no one could ignore.

“The kingdom isn’t exactly short on generals, is it? They have at least five or six prominent ones right now. Couldn’t they have sent anyone else? Why him of all people?”

For ten—no, eleven—years, since the very first day of the war when the empire crossed the border, Carolus von Roitel had been the empire’s unrelenting nightmare.

As a junior officer, he had plagued them with countless small-scale skirmishes. As a general, he had personally commanded numerous battles.

His strategies were a constant source of dread, often bizarre and unheard of.

Examples? There were plenty:

• Triggering avalanches with explosives to bury enemy troops.
• Camouflaging his men in white to launch surprise attacks.
• Crafting improvised black powder claymores.
• Firing rocks from single-use wooden cannons.

Using tactics no one had even conceived, he had humiliated the imperial army time and again.

“Do any of you think you can outwit that man?”

“Apologies, sir, but it’s impossible.”

“We’ll do our best, but to be honest, it’s difficult without at least twice the current forces.”

“As expected. Damn him to hell.”

Was he weak in conventional battles then? Not at all.

Carolus excelled at traditional warfare as much as he did with unorthodox methods.

More than a dozen imperial commanders had foolishly underestimated him, only to meet crushing defeats.

“We had intelligence saying he had gone to the capital to stage a coup. So why is he back here?”

Whether it was defensive warfare, offensive sieges, infantry square clashes, or artillery and mage duels, Carolus von Royten was a commander who excelled across all aspects of war.

He may not have been overwhelmingly superior in every field, but at the very least, he was consistently brilliant.

So much so that even the Empire had given him a nickname: Mad Dog.

Because, like a rabid dog, he never let go once he sank his teeth in—and, damn it, he fought like a demon.

And now, that same man had returned to the snowy battlefield, wreaking havoc with a considerable force under his direct command.

“The bastard won’t just leave after wrapping up the southern front. He’ll set his sights on a new target, wouldn’t you say?”

“Highly likely. Deploying an army of tens of thousands doesn’t come cheap. He’ll definitely try to accomplish more before pulling out.”

“Then the target is… clearly us.”

Leclerc groaned as he clutched his head.

It was already enough of a headache to handle the enemy in front of him, and now this dreadful nightmare was about to join the fray.

“The distance between the two fronts is considerable. Even with optimal marching conditions, it would take them at least ten days to get here.”

“We should also factor in the time it took for the messengers to arrive, sir.”

“So, roughly a little over a week left.”

There was still some time.

Muttering this to himself, Leclerc steadied his nerves and turned to his officers to issue orders.

“Cease all ongoing operations and pull the army back. Reinforce our defensive line immediately. We must be prepared before he arrives.”

“Yes, sir!”

Charging forward recklessly would be suicide.

Their best bet was to rely on fortifications, trenches, and a well-protected rear to stand any chance of survival.

Even then, it might not be enough—but it was better than doing nothing.

And soon enough, Carolus arrived at the western front.

“Well, would you look at that? These cowards have tucked their tails and curled up.”

He calmly began to set the entire front line ablaze.

Not figuratively. Literally.