The monarchy is inviolable.
This belief had been deeply ingrained in Carl VII, ruler of the Ulranor Kingdom, since his earliest days.
To him, the status and honor of a king were divine rights directly sanctioned by the goddess herself—not just symbolic titles as they might be for earthly rulers.
The goddess had descended upon this land and bestowed the divine right to rule upon the royal family.
The Riodolph Dynasty, starting with the founder Ferdinand I, had been entrusted to govern the kingdom for generations as a sacred duty.
Carl VII had been reminded of this fact incessantly, from the time he was a toddler by his parents and tutors.
This left no room for doubt in his mind about the permanence of his power and privileges.
If the goddess had approved and his ancestors had reigned uninterrupted, why would he be an exception?
However, he was forced to realize—violently and undeniably—that such beliefs were mere illusions.
“Have you been well, Your Majesty?”
He could never forget that moment.
One evening, during a grand banquet, the capital was suddenly seized.
A general strode into the royal palace, his presence a clear threat.
Carolus von Royten.
The kingdom’s greatest tactician. The guardian of the northern front.
A young man, yet with a wealth of battle experience unmatched by anyone in the kingdom.
Carl VII himself had once decorated Carolus with medals and praised his valor.
Yet, this very same general had betrayed him, leading a rebellion that overturned the kingdom’s order.
With a mere 40,000 troops, Carolus had annihilated the central army under Grand Duke Alexander, seized the capital, and stripped Carl VII and the nobles of their power.
He pursued his enemies with a relentless cruelty, as if avenging some deep personal grudge.
“That devil… Did he crave power so much that he would defy the divine order itself?”
Carl VII could not fathom Carolus’s motivations through the lens of his own worldview.
He could only speculate and disdainfully assume that Carolus’s growing fame had inevitably turned into an insatiable hunger for authority.
This was a convenient perspective for Carl VII to take, as he had long forgotten his own sins.
He had willfully commanded the retreat from the frontlines to buy lavish trinkets and disregarded the lives of his soldiers as if they were worthless.
Those sins, to him, were but distant memories—buried, ignored, and forgotten.
Carolus grabbing Carl VII by the collar and shouting in a fit of rage? Of course, Carl conveniently forgot all about that.
He didn’t bother listening to what Carolus was yelling about; he only remembered the audacity of someone daring to lay a hand on the king’s sacred body.
Truly, a marvel of self-serving thinking.
“It’s fine. I still have time. As long as the crown prince and I are alive, the future is secure.”
Despite being reduced to a powerless figurehead after the coup, Carl VII wasn’t particularly concerned about his safety.
He was, after all, still the king—the ruler of this nation and a person blessed by divine bloodline.
Even the infamous Carolus, no matter how insolent, would not dare cause him or his family any direct harm.
Carl and his family continued to enjoy a comfortable life in the royal palace, treated with respect by all who saw them.
“As long as I’m alive, there will always be a chance.”
Whether it took ten or twenty years, Carl clung to the belief that one day the rebellious forces would be crushed, and order would be restored.
But even this fragile hope was shattered two months ago during the second coup.
“Why are you doing this all of a sudden?! What grievance could possibly justify such an outrageous act against us?!”
“Why?! You’re seriously asking me why?!” Carolus’s voice roared like thunder.
“You and your ilk started this whole goddamn mess with your idiotic war! You made us suffer through ten years of hell!”
Having just returned from peace negotiations with the Empire, Carolus’s anger exploded.
He raised his army once more, this time with the fury of a man pushed to his limits.
Perhaps calling it mere “anger” doesn’t do it justice—it was more like a berserk frenzy, a destructive wrath aimed at tearing everything apart.
–Bang!
“Be grateful. I personally ensured that someone like you won’t leave behind any more heirs.”
Carolus stormed the royal chambers, gun in hand.
The crown prince, caught in the chaos, was rendered impotent after being shot.
The queen fainted from shock, collapsing on the spot.
The chaos was eventually contained by a noblewoman and a group of soldiers who arrived just in time, but the damage was already done.
The crown prince’s mutilation was irreversible.
That incident forced Carl VII to confront a harsh reality:
“I’m no longer safe in this country.”
Carl VII understood that staying in the kingdom would only lead to one of two outcomes—losing everything and living as a pauper, or being dragged to the gallows or guillotine.
“I have no choice. I must escape! Anywhere will do, as long as I can flee this land. If I don’t, my entire family will be executed!”
This time, Carl VII even acknowledged, begrudgingly, that he bore some responsibility for the situation.
After all, it was only natural for people to be furious when the truth about the crown prince’s actions, which had sparked the war, came to light.
“If I were in Carolus’s shoes, I’d be just as enraged.”
But Carl VII couldn’t help but think: “Wasn’t this excessive? How dare he lay his hands on the sacred royal family!”
Carl considered himself a victim of ingratitude.
He had, in his mind, done his best to manage the crisis: negotiating with the Empire, cooperating with the nobles, and preparing for war.
“Why couldn’t Carolus recognize my efforts? Why did he rush to violence instead of finding a civilized solution? Did no one teach him proper manners?”
Of course, Carl VII conveniently overlooked some key points:
If the crown prince had kept his “crown jewels” to himself, there would have been no need to negotiate with the once-friendly Empire.
The war could have been avoided entirely.
Carolus was one of the war’s direct victims.
Still, Carl VII was convinced that he was in the right.
“But is there any country that would take us in?”
Even though he had resolved to flee, turning that plan into reality was another matter entirely.
The first obstacle was painfully obvious—there was no country willing to shelter them.
The Allied Empire, their foe in a decade-long war, was an immediate no-go.
The queen’s suggestion to cede the Investiture Rights to the Setnil Theocracy wasn’t without precedent.
“You considered offering it before, to check Carolus’s power, didn’t you? Why not use it now to secure our safety?”
Carl VII hesitated but quickly realized the merit in her logic.
The Investiture Rights, granting the monarch authority to appoint bishops and other clergy within the kingdom, had long been a point of contention with the Church.
It was a symbolic remnant of the monarchy’s power over religion.
But in practical terms? It was a card he’d already planned to forfeit.
“Fine. If it ensures our survival, I’ll give it up.”
Carl VII decided to approach the Setnil Theocracy.
Though the relationship between Ulranor and Setnil was lukewarm at best—neither hostile nor particularly close—the offer of the Investiture Rights was a powerful bargaining chip.
And so, preparations for escape were hastily made.
“Are we truly going to leave the kingdom…?”
The thought weighed heavily on Carl VII as he surveyed the capital for what might be the last time.
The grandeur of Rahator, the ancient capital of Ulranor, stood as a testament to the kingdom’s history.
Its spires reached toward the heavens, and its cobbled streets bustled with life.
“All of this… taken from me.”
But sentimentality gave way to pragmatism. The reality was clear:
“Staying here guarantees death. Leaving at least gives us a chance.”
Carl VII and his family began their clandestine exodus under the cover of night, with only a small retinue of loyal guards.
Their destination: Setnil, the Holy Land of the Goddess’s Faith.
Would the gamble pay off? Would the theocracy shelter the fallen king and his family?
That was yet to be seen.
If so, it might be better to hand it over cleanly and immediately secure the benefits needed.
The king had no concern for the criticism he might face for arbitrarily ceding national authority to a foreign power.
After all, it was a country he was planning to abandon—what harm was there in stirring up a bit of chaos?
“…Will the Holy Kingdom even accept this? Or will they simply report us to that Carolus bastard?”
“They’ll surely accept. It wasn’t our idea—it was their proposal in the first place. They even suggested that if we agree, they’ll pressure Kailas to open the way for us.”
Since it wasn’t their own initiative but an offer from the other side, the risk of rejection was low.
There was no need to waste time negotiating; all they had to do now was escape.
While it was possible the Holy Kingdom intended to exploit them and discard them afterward, at this moment, it was the royal family’s only lifeline.
“What do you think, Your Majesty?”
“…..”
“…Fine. Let’s do it.”
Would he remain and perish, or bear the disgrace of being branded a coward and a traitor to save his life?
Carl VII chose the latter.
“Modify a few carriages. Make them inconspicuous and fit for long-distance travel.”
“Stock up on wine, preserved food, and supplies. Make sure we have enough to last at least a month if we have to stay inside the carriages.”
“We’ll also need skilled coachmen—find ones who can handle long-distance travel.”
“And take the warhorses left in the old Royal Guard stables. They’re sturdy and have great endurance.”
Once he made his decision, preparations began swiftly.
Once the decision was made, actions followed swiftly.
The royal family began utilizing their wealth to hastily prepare for their escape.
They gathered all the necessary supplies for prolonged travel—clothing, toiletries, luxury items to maintain their dignity, cosmetics, hygiene products, and more.
Every item they could carry was packed, and trusted individuals were carefully selected to form the escape party.
Though time was limited, they made every effort to ensure the journey would be as safe and successful as possible.
“Is everyone here?”
“Two are still missing, Your Majesty.”
“…They must have gotten cold feet. No matter. Let’s depart immediately—we have no time to waste.”
On the night of the victory celebration commemorating the suppression of the civil war, as the capital buzzed with festivity and vigilance grew lax, the royal family fled eastward.
Faster than King Seonjo fled to Uiju during the Imjin War.