Stripping Carl VII of all his authority.
It sounds grand when put into words, but in essence, it was merely the act of legally redefining the current structure of the kingdom.
After all, Carl VII hadn’t wielded any real power since my first coup.
Taxation rights? They had already fallen under my control after my older brother took over the Ministry of Finance while Carl was under the scrutiny of the Supreme Council for National Reconstruction.
Legislative power? That was officially taken from him when the parliament was established.
Although he retained the final approval rights for new laws, there was no practical way for him to use them.
Appointment rights? Long gone, since parliament had taken charge of confirmation hearings and vetting major officials.
If we were to list the few remaining “rights” he still possessed, they might include things like.
Presiding over holiday masses,
Receiving daily formal greetings from the Prime Minister and the mayor of the capital,
Granting permission for military rewards,
And distributing various medals and honors.
“In short, he’s nothing more than a powerless figurehead, allowed to perform ceremonial acts.”
This state of affairs was the result of me—primarily—and Camilla taking turns methodically cutting away at the king’s authority.
At first, we had only forced him to stay confined to the palace.
But through countless schemes and maneuvers, we stripped him of his remaining power, turning him into a complete puppet.
Yet, to formally declare the revocation of his authority carried this implicit meaning.
[We no longer recognize Carl VII as our king.]
We were taking the power we had previously borrowed in name only and making it wholly ours.
This declaration ensured there would be no chance for anyone to claim it must someday be returned.
All ceremonial privileges and special treatments that had been begrudgingly maintained under the guise of respecting the monarchy would now be fully withdrawn.
He would become a person of lesser standing than even the common folk wandering the streets.
His rights as a subject of the Kingdom of Ulranor would also be revoked.
After all, he abandoned the country and its people himself.
Why should we bother showing loyalty to someone who had forsaken everything?
No longer a descendant of the royal bloodline that had lasted for centuries, he was now nothing more than a man named Carl von Riodolph.
That is the judgment we shall impose on him.
“But simply drafting the legislation won’t be enough.”
If everything could be resolved with just a law, how great would that be? Unfortunately, creating a legal framework alone wasn’t sufficient.
“There will still be fools who don’t understand and harbor resentment.”
No matter how vile, idiotic, pathetic, despicable, infuriating, and utterly worthless he is—so much so that it’s embarrassing to share the same species—he is, after all, still the king.
He ascended the throne at the age of twenty-two and has ruled this nation for decades.
Before I was even born, he was the recognized ruler of this land, and he could have easily continued to be so for another twenty years or more.
A monarch’s age and tenure often serve as potent political weapons in their own right.
For years, the image of Carl VII as the legitimate ruler of this kingdom has been imprinted in everyone’s minds.
To suddenly rewrite that notion is bound to provoke some backlash.
No matter how justifiable the reasons or righteous the cause, the same holds true.
There will always be dissenters; it’s an inevitable trait of human society.
“In that case, I’ll have to employ other means.”
Returning to my office after concluding the parliamentary session, I pointed at the cardinal standing before me and gave an order.
“Your Eminence Walter, could you mobilize theologians and scripture scholars from across the nation?”
“Pardon? That wouldn’t be difficult, but for what purpose…?”
“Have them justify the punishment for a king who has abandoned his duties. Use theological arguments and perspectives as much as possible.”
In this era, religious figures are synonymous with intellectuals.
These individuals are widely regarded as cultured and well-educated (though the reality may differ), which lends their words a natural sense of authority.
If the kingdom’s religious community unites to denounce and criticize Carl, it will lend greater legitimacy to our actions.
“If possible, please also prepare arguments that could be used to justify his deposition.”
“…Are you planning to remove the king from his throne?”
“Should we just leave him be? That idiot who abandoned the frontlines over some jewelry, treating the lives of hundreds of thousands of soldiers like trash?”
“A-Apologies. I spoke without thinking.”
“When this matter is settled, Carl must be dealt with—one way or another. Be it abdication, exile, or something else entirely, he has to go.”
The line between Carl and us had already been irreparably crossed.
For now, I may let him keep breathing, but once the situation is under control, he must be removed, no matter the means.
“And General Albrecht.”
I turned my gaze toward my military senior.
“We must prepare for war. Replenish the rations and procure additional weapons and equipment. Ensure the storage rooms are filled to the brim with gunpowder as well.”
“All of a sudden? But wasn’t the war with the Empire supposed to be coming to an end?”
Although General Albrecht had more years of service than I did, the power hierarchy meant we addressed each other with mutual respect.
I shook my head, feeling a twinge of unease.
“It’s for precautionary measures.”
On the off chance that the dispatched pursuit force fails to capture the king.
If the royal family succeeds in escaping to another country.
The only thing that would follow is a new war.
Carl would undoubtedly plead his case to the entire continent, begging for reinforcements.
He’ll scream and grovel, offering anything in exchange for help to reclaim his throne.
Our kingdom, already tarnished in international diplomacy, wouldn’t stand a chance.
In such a scenario, everyone would leap at the opportunity, crying out for their share.
Perhaps in the past, we could’ve managed. But in the present—exhausted from years of relentless conflict—our country wouldn’t survive unless we were thoroughly prepared.
If we aren’t ready, hardship will come knocking, and the road ahead will only grow more treacherous.
“Hurry up and reorganize the disbanded units and arrange new personnel assignments for the purpose of restructuring. If necessary, you may even mobilize cadets from the military academy. Do whatever it takes to form combat-ready units as quickly as possible.”
“That won’t be easy, but we’ll do our best.”
“If needed, I can allocate some personnel from the Central Army. Just let me know at any time.”
These were all precautionary measures for an emergency.
If the king is captured in time, the hastily conscripted officers can return to their original posts, and the cadets can go back to their schools.
If not… we might be rotting on the battlefield for another ten years. At this point, I can only hope that doesn’t happen.
“Arranging troops and reorganizing units will require a considerable budget. How should we handle the costs?”
“Submit the request to parliament. If necessary, we’ll secure funds by confiscating royal assets.”
“Is that… even permissible?”
“It has to be. If needed, we’ll rewrite the laws and apply them retroactively to make it happen.”
We can cover any shortfall by liquidating the jewels and artworks piled up in the palace.
There’s also the wealth confiscated from Duke Roengram and the Barelmud family, so we shouldn’t be too pressed for money—for now, at least.
If a full-scale war breaks out, however, the funds will be drained in no time.
“If you understand, then get back to work. We all have plenty to do, so let’s move quickly.”
After sending off my visitors, I slumped into the sofa, taking a deep swig directly from a bottle of strong wine.
A deep sigh escaped me.
“Damn it.”
Why is it that nobles, with all their so-called “noble blood,” are of absolutely no help in my life?
I can only hope my cavalry does their job well…
Meanwhile, contrary to Carolus’s concerns, the royal family was leisurely and indulgently enjoying their exile journey, as if their lives weren’t on the line.
“Father! The water here is so cool!”
“Don’t go in too deep. Be careful not to hurt your feet.”
“Okay!”
After hiding in a specially modified carriage and frantically dashing along relay stations for hours, the royal family finally relaxed once they were outside the metropolitan area.
Their tension completely dissolved, they stretched out comfortably, behaving just as they had in the palace.
In other words, they stopped at a village along the way, unable to endure the discomfort of the carriage, and wasted time indulging themselves to relieve their fatigue.
“Your Maj—ah, I mean, Master. If we waste time here, it will disrupt our schedule…”
“We’ve already traveled 60 miles, haven’t we? A short break won’t be an issue.”
By the stream, a ten-year-old youngest child splashed barefoot in the water, laughing joyfully.
Watching this with a satisfied smile, Carl von Riodolph held a large roasted pork hock in his hand—a delicacy this village was famous for.
It was said to be a dish that required two hours of slow boiling, followed by steaming in a special sauce.
Clearly, enough time had passed for them to enjoy such a labor-intensive dish, highlighting how long they had been dawdling.
Meanwhile, their attendants were practically burning up inside from anxiety.
The king, however, was utterly oblivious to their distress, remaining calm and carefree.
“It’s still far too dangerous. Surely you know how perceptive and cunning that Carolus can be.”
“Ah, I’ve told you already—I understand. We’ll leave in an hour, so stop nagging.”
Despite repeated pleas, his response remained unwavering.
Eventually, the attendants gave up on persuading him and instead focused on preparing for departure so they could leave immediately when the royal family was ready.
“Have the coachmen been swapped out?”
“Yes, sir. Where should we head next? I’ll need to inform the coachman of the waypoints along the route.”
“We’re currently in Münhausen, correct? Then…”
After scanning the map and mentally calculating the route, someone shouted decisively.
“Varennes! We’re going to Varennes!”
Varennes was a key relay stop in the kingdom’s postal system, located on the eastern outskirts of the kingdom.
The plan was to secure a new carriage there to ensure a safer escape from potential pursuers.
An attendant passed on the destination to the coachman and began packing wine purchased from the village into the luggage.
…They didn’t even notice that nearby passersby had overheard their conversation.