Three days after Carolus and his faction launched their loyalist coup d’état.
The sudden unrest caused by the military’s movements and the mass arrests in the capital subsided quickly.
Though unexpected, the populace had already been through something similar once before.
Having endured a two-month-long siege that left them starving, the citizens had grown resilient to new upheavals.
Sure, the late-night commotion startled them at first, but the events concluded quickly enough.
The king was still in place, the system remained unchanged, and no new taxes or forced labor had been imposed.
The only noticeable difference was that some parts of the capital were now quieter.
As far as most people were concerned, they could just go back to their usual routines.
That’s what they thought—until strange news began spreading.
“Hey, did you see the proclamation in the square?”
“Why are you asking me? You know I can’t read. What’s it about?”
“Well, it says that Deputy Chairman Royten—”
Suddenly, official announcements began popping up everywhere.
To the Patriotic People of Ulranor,
On the morning of December 3rd, the Revolutionary Army, which had long exercised restraint, launched a decisive operation.
They seized control of the nation’s administrative and legislative institutions and detained the nobles residing in the capital.
Our uprising was driven by the conviction that we could no longer entrust the destiny of our nation and people to a corrupt and incompetent royal family and ruling class.
This action was taken to overcome the crisis faced by our nation, which teeters on the edge of ruin.
Across the capital, countless proclamations and declarations echoed this message.
The documents boldly claimed:
The war was a disaster brought about by the reckless actions of a debauched Crown Prince and an inept King.
The nobles exploited this situation for immense political and economic gain.
The Emperor of the Empire had only raised arms to avenge the insult to his child, while the royal family deliberately hid this truth and forced the people into war for their own honor.
Learning of this betrayal, Carolus von Royten and the Revolutionary Army rose in anger and launched a coup to hold those responsible accountable.
For the kingdom’s citizens, these proclamations shattered the worldview they had lived by their entire lives.
With the backing of the Supreme Council for National Reconstruction and the Parliament, the declarations gained even more weight.
“My brother died in the north because of the Crown Prince’s idiocy?”
“Our family nearly went bankrupt paying war taxes for ten years… taxes that shouldn’t have existed in the first place?”
“I always thought the Empire was the villain, but we were the real bastards? And they kept it hidden from us all this time?”
The shock was immense, as such revelations didn’t just challenge people’s beliefs—it outright negated the values, morality, and meaning of their lives thus far.
Even the most rational and mentally stable individuals struggled to accept such truths, let alone the majority who weren’t.
Many, unable to process the truth, began rejecting reality altogether.
“I refuse to believe it! Who’s to say these people aren’t just lying? What proof do we have that they’re not making this up just to seize power?”
“No matter what, there’s no way our Majesty would commit such outrageous acts! This is all fabricated nonsense!”
“Traitors, and now they’re spreading ridiculous lies! If the late king could see this disgrace, how heartbroken he’d be!”
They glorified the true criminals as flawless saints, while vilifying those who had risen to save the nation.
All because they were terrified of losing the worldview they had held onto for so long.
Even in the face of clear and undeniable evidence, they clung to denial, refusing to accept the truth.
But such resistance didn’t last long.
Carolus and his faction had more than one strategy up their sleeves.
“Make some time to stop by and listen! There’s a poetry recital today, featuring works inspired by Lord Royten!”
“We’ll be publishing a long-form editorial series covering the Revolutionary Army’s heroic decision to save the nation!”
“Every street performer and minstrel seems to be talking about the coup. And all of them are taking a staunchly anti-royalist stance!”
In this medieval fantasy world without phones, the internet, or even widely available newspapers, the tools to influence public opinion—the equivalent of a modern “media”—were few and far between.
At best, there were wall posters in crowded areas, niche magazines for intellectuals, occasional cultural events, and the network of street entertainers.
Carolus controlled all of them, directly or indirectly.
The Republican faction led by Camilla had already been dominating intellectual circles before joining the revolution.
Naturally, they had their own publications.
Wall posters? They’d bought up printing presses and flooded the capital with them.
Street performers? Most of them were struggling financially, so a little funding and direction had them enthusiastically spreading the revolution’s narrative.
“In effect, we’re monopolizing the flow of information in the capital.”
Every available medium in the city had been turned into a propaganda tool for the revolution.
It was a tried-and-true strategy used by past military and authoritarian regimes.
Crude, but incredibly effective.
In an environment where the same message was repeated everywhere you went, people’s resistance eventually waned.
Even if they stubbornly refused to believe at first, doubt began to creep in.
Gradually, they started wondering: “Could I have been wrong?”
“Extra! Extra! A public trial will be held in the southern square starting the day after tomorrow! Everyone interested, come and watch!”
After about ten days of carefully stoking public opinion, the much-anticipated public trials for the detained nobles finally began.
“Damn it. Why do I have to suffer through this humiliation?!”
Inside the transport wagon taking him to the courtroom, bound in handcuffs and shackles, Viscount Arschach couldn’t suppress his bitter sighs of frustration.
“I exposed the royal family’s dirty secrets, didn’t I? I revealed what the nobles did, didn’t I? I told them all about the deals between the blue bloods, didn’t I? I gave them everything!”
When Major Kaiss and the intelligence department began their internal investigation while Carolus was away in the Empire, most of the blue-blooded nobility scrambled to cover up their tracks and enforce silence.
It was obvious that Carolus and his faction wouldn’t forgive them once they learned the truth.
Despite this, many nobles still clung to the hope that the old order could be restored.
They believed that if an assassination attempt on Carolus during the peace negotiations succeeded, the revolutionary faction would collapse.
Without its central figure, the faction would likely lose momentum, rendering further investigations and oversight ineffective.
But Viscount Arschach had taken a different approach.
“Damn that daughter of mine. She’s been nothing but a thorn in my side her whole life.”
His eldest daughter, Camilla, was not only a close ally of Carolus but also a leading figure among the Third Estate representatives.
Because of her, the Arschach family had long been considered pro-revolutionary within noble society—regardless of the viscount’s personal opinions or intentions.
If the nobles succeeded in regaining power, it was clear his family would be destroyed as collateral damage.
Faced with this dire situation, the viscount made a decision: switch sides.
As an outsider already on thin ice among the blue bloods, his survival depended on gaining allies who could protect him—political preferences and personal grudges be damned.
“They were so pleased when they received the information. And now, this is how they repay me…”
And so, he revealed everything.
The dirty secrets and forbidden truths the nobility had tried so desperately to hide—he exposed them all.
The evidence he provided to the intelligence department was mostly testimony and records of verbal agreements, as solid proof was difficult to obtain.
But he did his best to compile as much as possible.
At the time, the response had been positive, even enthusiastic.
Having provided such valuable assistance, Viscount Arschach had been promised leniency and even rewards for his cooperation.
Yet here he was, facing this humiliating predicament.
“There’s not a single trustworthy soul in this world,” he thought bitterly, his heart sinking.
“Is this how it ends? Am I destined to fall with no way out?”
“No, it’s not over yet. There’s still hope.”
Despite everything, the viscount clung to hope.
He wasn’t as eloquent or resourceful as his accursed daughter, but he prided himself on his flair for self-promotion and persuasion.
Since this was a trial, he decided to treat it as an opportunity—a stage to showcase his contributions.
He would amplify and embellish his actions in service of the revolution and the people, making it clear that he was not merely a greedy member of the ruling class.
If he could convince the judges and prosecutors of his worth, perhaps he wouldn’t just escape punishment—he might even earn praise.
The viscount forced himself to imagine this optimistic scenario, using it to suppress his growing fear.
Finally, the wagon came to a halt.
“We’ve arrived. Prisoner, step out.”
He cautiously stepped down from the wagon, but the moment he set foot outside, the scene before him crushed all his hopes.
“WAAAAAAAHHH!!!”
“KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!”
“Death! Don’t bother with trials—just execute every last one of them! They deserve worse than death!”
The frenzied crowd roared, screaming for blood.
He saw accused nobles being dragged away without so much as a chance to plead their case.
He saw wagons beside the courthouse, piled high with bodies of the executed.
This wasn’t a court of justice—it was a stage for mass execution.
A spectacle of how to take life in the most public and brutal manner possible.