The cavalry of the northern forces is formidable.
Not only are they superior to other units in the east and west, but their strength rivals—even surpasses—that of the former royal guards.
Years of conducting operations in an unforgiving environment, where every season—spring, summer, fall, and winter—claimed lives and where the terrain itself was treacherous, have honed their skills to an extraordinary level.
Aside from underwater and aerial combat, there’s hardly a type of battle they haven’t experienced.
If you’ve never fought on a snow-covered crevasse, you don’t know what a real fight is.
For every soldier who died by the enemy’s blade, several more vanished after plummeting off cliffs.
As a result, while their casualty rate is inherently high and their numbers relatively low, every surviving soldier is a one-man army.
These warriors could shoot a rifle with their left hand, swing a sabre with their right, and do a headspin with their brain working at full capacity—all at the same time.
Those who couldn’t reach such extreme levels of skill had long since become frozen corpses.
Now officially integrated into the Central Army, these cavalry units were tirelessly hunting for the king.
“Have you still not found any clues?”
“Apologies, Battalion Commander! Aside from what we heard earlier at the relay station, nothing substantial…”
“Even the scouts sent further out seem to have come back empty-handed. We’re certain they passed through this area, though.”
One battalion was deployed to the east, another to the west.
With ample supplies, replacement horses, and investigation specialists from the intelligence division, the pursuit teams were diligently combing the areas surrounding the capital.
They interrogated villagers and farmers, visited towns to inquire if anyone had seen carriages, and inspected the supply records at every relay station.
“We’re 40 miles out from the capital, and the only evidence we’ve gathered so far is a single testimony that two carriages passed together during the night?”
Thanks to the robust support they received and the competence of their members, the search was progressing at an impressive pace.
The level of efficiency they were achieving—something that would normally require an entire regiment—was nothing short of remarkable.
But despite their fervour, half a day into their pursuit, the cavalry was still wandering aimlessly, unsure of which direction to take.
They had managed to get this far thanks to some lucky information they overheard, but that was it.
They couldn’t determine the royal family’s next move.
“We know the king hired an ordinary coachman since he left the royal coachmen behind. So how is it that there’s no record of a change of hands along the way?”
“Perhaps they’re driving the carriage themselves or had one of the attendants take over?”
“Impossible. If that were the case, reports about a carriage being driven by some incompetent fool would’ve already flooded in.”
Their struggles weren’t due to laziness or incompetence.
If anything, they were driven by a burning determination to find and crush their sworn enemy.
It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to call this the most passionate day of their lives.
The issue lay in the meticulousness the royal family had displayed at the beginning of their escape.
They had gone to great lengths to hire a coachman experienced in long-distance travel, kept breaks to an absolute minimum, and avoided leaving any traces.
“It seems they’re determined not to leave any trail at all.”
They didn’t change horses unless they were on the verge of collapse, and even then, they limited their use of water and hay as much as possible.
Coachmen who wanted to return home were either threatened or sweet-talked into driving further than planned.
Meals, bathroom breaks, clothing changes, and even sleep were all handled inside the carriage.
Since they had departed under the cover of night, there were hardly any witnesses.
At this point, even Carolus himself might have given up on the pursuit.
“Should we just pick a plausible direction and go for it? If we give up here, the regimental commander’s going to break my legs.”
“Doing that would waste even more time if we end up heading back later.”
“I know, idiot. I was just saying.”
Had the royal family maintained this level of precision and discomfort for even 24 hours longer, their pursuers might have truly lost them.
If they had been willing to endure a little more hardship for their survival, any further pursuit would have been utterly impossible.
The kingdom would have been left with no choice but to watch helplessly as Carl VII fled overseas.
However, the moment they left the capital region, their tension dissolved, and they began to indulge themselves.
That indulgence came at the cost of their own ruin.
“Battalion Commander! We’ve found them!”
“Really?! Which direction? Where are they?!”
After hours of scattering small search teams to comb the area, one squad finally uncovered a lead.
“A small town called Münhausen! Up until half a day ago, a family of high status was there riding a black carriage!”
“Mün… what? Where is that? Someone open the map.”
The battalion commander quickly compared their current position to Münhausen on the military map.
The straight-line distance was roughly 12 miles. If they hurried, they could reach it within one or two hours.
“They’re not still there, are they?”
“No, sir. They left some time ago. A passerby mentioned overhearing a servant shout, ‘Let’s go to Varennes!’”
“…Varennes? I’ve heard of that name.”
Varennes was a city located about two days’ travel east of Münhausen.
Surrounded by flatlands, it boasted convenient transportation routes and sat beside the Tiora River, which made it a hub for waterborne trade.
As one of the major logistical centers of the east, Varennes was among the region’s most prosperous cities. Much of the supplies sent to the eastern frontlines passed through it.
“Why Varennes?”
Were they planning to disappear into a city with over 100,000 people to better hide their tracks? That seemed plausible, but it likely wasn’t the full story.
The royal family couldn’t head north toward the Allied Empire, so their escape route had to lie somewhere south.
If they were aiming for Ormera, located to the southeast, there was no need to travel so far northeast near the Tiora River.
They should’ve already crossed the Atlantia River much further south.
After Varennes, the width of the Tiora River would increase, making it much harder to cross.
“Kailas.”
The only logical route was toward the Kingdom of Kailas.
Moreover…
“His Excellency’s family estate is nearby. The king won’t risk taking unnecessary chances.”
The Royten Barony was located near the border with the Kingdom of Ormera.
The Royten family, along with the Arschach family, was among the most influential factions in the current central political sphere.
If the royal family intended to cross into Ormera, they would likely have to pass through the barony.
However, the former head of the Royten family, who managed the estate, would surely recognize the king’s face.
If their identity were discovered while passing through, it would be far too risky of a gamble.
“Prepare a messenger. I must send a letter to the capital. The king’s destination is the Kingdom of Kailas!”
The battalion commander hastily scribbled a note, handed it to a soldier, and stood up.
If they were to capture the fugitives in time, they had to act quickly.
Meanwhile, the royal family found themselves delayed once again.
This time, the problem wasn’t due to their careless behavior but rather a commotion in the region.
“What on earth is happening now?”
“It appears to be a riot. They’re burning everything and shouting like mad…”
“Of all times, to have unrest break out now, what luck.”
Here was the situation:
The lord of the territory where the royal family currently found themselves was, originally, a staunch anti-royalist noble.
Following the first coup, he switched sides to become a counter-revolutionary, actively opposing and obstructing Carolus’s faction.
Although he narrowly survived the second coup, he had supported Duke Barelmud’s rebellion and ended up losing a fortune.
In short, he was a fool who had made every possible move to earn the central government’s ire.
Having accumulated two massive “stacks” of offenses, his fate was sealed—ruin was inevitable.
Still, the lord couldn’t abandon his lingering hopes of survival. He sought to salvage his life by offering massive bribes.
“Gather up everything valuable and expensive! Be it artwork, jewels, or whatever!”
“M-my lord, how are we supposed to fund this?”
“Take it from the peasants! Impose a special tax or something! Squeeze every last coin out of them! If I don’t have the money, I might die!”
The reasoning was understandable—no matter how much trouble one has caused, life is precious.
But to the people, this was utter nonsense.
The idea of sacrificing their possessions to save a greedy and incompetent lord was beyond absurd.
“Burn it! Destroy everything and set it all on fire!”
“Kill the women in the lord’s castle, defile the men! Except for the lord—capture him and send him to the capital!”
“…Isn’t the order of that a bit backward?”
A large-scale riot broke out.
Not only did the common people rise up, but even some members of the estate’s military joined the chaos, creating an uproar that shook the entire region.
As a result, the estate’s administration and public services, including the relay stations, were completely paralyzed.
Law and order collapsed, and simply passing through the area became an arduous task.
“Can we force our way through?”
“It’s too dangerous. If we resort to violence, the noble bodies of Your Majesties might be harmed.”
“Ugh. Then let us stay here for the night and look for an alternative route. We can’t afford to sit idly just because the path is blocked.”
“As you command.”
As darkness fell, Carl VII ordered everyone to rest for the time being.
Suddenly, an idea struck him, and he called one of his attendants to issue a new directive.
“Ah, and wasn’t the Theocracy sending troops to assist with our asylum? Send someone to summon them to Varennes.”
“W-what? Are you suggesting we bring foreign troops into the kingdom, Your Majesty?”
“It’s too dangerous for us to remain on our own when traitors might be pursuing us. I need soldiers who can guarantee my safety at all times.”
“…Understood, Your Majesty.”
What Carl VII didn’t realize was the cost this reckless decision would ultimately bring him.