“Bring the facial toner and powder! And a perfectly polished mirror too!”
“There’s less than two hours until the coronation! We need to finish preparing and head out!”
“Can’t you see we’re getting His Excellency ready?! We’ll send him out as soon as we’re done, so be patient!!”
Servants rushed around, carrying various items in their hands.
Experts who had spent their lives mastering cosmetics and grooming meticulously worked on my face and hands, while tailors fussed over the hem of my ceremonial robes, ensuring every detail was pristine.
At some point, the royal scepter—an item reserved for monarchs—was placed in my left hand, while an ornate staff was pressed into my right.
My entire body was adorned in an outfit that, until now, and likely for the rest of my life, I never imagined myself wearing.
‘How did it come to this?’
Not even half a day had passed since I returned to the capital.
And yet, here I was, unable to even go home, being forced into a royal succession.
With my mind still dazed, I retraced the chaotic chain of events that had led up to this moment.
‘All I did was talk about what happened in the Empire.’
I had returned in triumph after finalizing a treaty with the Empire—one that nullified hostilities between our nations in exchange for a reasonable sum in reparations and a single province.
The agreement also secured a ten-year non-aggression pact, lowered tariffs, and opened trade routes, granting us countless economic advantages.
All for the cost of merely two years’ worth of the national budget.
It was a deal so advantageous that even calling it massive didn’t do it justice.
Naturally, I felt a sense of accomplishment and pride.
I had planned to share the details of this diplomatic success with my closest aides, while also basking in the cheers of the citizens celebrating the end of the war.
It was a way to inform them for future governance and, admittedly, to brag a little.
On my way back, I even rehearsed a concise summary and thought up an eloquent way to present it.
Unfortunately, my subordinates had absolutely no interest in any of that.
They latched onto just one word from my speech.
‘The moment the topic of succession came up, they all went insane and ran wild on their own.’
Everything spiraled out of control when I mentioned my conversation with Louis XVI.
Actually, it didn’t even get that far.
I hadn’t even finished saying that the Emperor had suggested I take the throne before they dragged me off.
The moment the words new dynasty left my lips, I was kidnapped.
Dozens of people lifted my chair with me still in it and carried me—straight from my office to this dressing room.
For something so spontaneous, their execution was unbelievably coordinated and, more importantly, meticulously prepared.
At the very least… it felt like they had been coordinating this for months.
‘These bastards… They were preparing to pull this stunt while I was away.’
Figuring out the situation wasn’t difficult.
There was no way they could have orchestrated such a grand spectacle without prior discussions and planning.
They had clearly decided in advance that today would be my coronation, completely disregarding my own will and intentions.
Sigh.
I wasn’t exactly angry—more like I felt a dull ache at the back of my head.
It wasn’t even betrayal that bothered me.
I had a pretty good idea of why they were doing this.
It was probably for the same reason Louis XVI had mentioned.
They were afraid that the current system wouldn’t be sustainable in the long run.
For the sake of their own power and survival, they needed to take action.
And so, they sought to make me their ruler, eliminating the Riudolph royal family as a potential threat.
But understanding something and accepting it were two different things.
No matter how rational their reasoning was, I couldn’t help but feel a bit irritated.
“Ow.”
“Your Excellency? Please don’t move. The assistants are still fixing your hair—”
“It can wait. Get out of my way.”
After I sent the outsiders away, only my subordinates remained in the dressing room.
Their expressions hardened, as if bracing themselves for what was to come.
I glared at them and asked sharply.
“How the hell were you planning to deal with the aftermath? Did you really think I’d be happy just because you managed to force me onto the throne?”
“Of course not.”
“Then what the hell were you thinking, pulling this on me?”
I abandoned all formal speech and spoke bluntly.
The room fell silent for a moment—until Camilla slowly opened her mouth.
“Because asking for forgiveness is easier than asking for permission.”
“…So your plan was to just go ahead with it and apologize later?”
“Yes.”
She dropped to her knees on the floor and lowered her head before me.
“Forgive us, Your Excellency. Please grant us your understanding with your boundless generosity. You may be angry now, but in the long run, this was the best path for all of us.”
“I—”
“For the sake of Your Excellency and for the future of our descendants… Please, bear the weight of the crown.”
When I didn’t respond, she slowly leaned in close to my ear.
“If you accept, the Saint and I will devote ourselves to serving you for the rest of our lives. You like it when we suck on your chest, don’t you? Once you ascend the throne, you can enjoy two different flavors for the rest of your life.”
“…Sigh.”
In the end, I couldn’t win against the desperate pleas of my lover and subordinates.
I had no choice but to accept this damned proposal.
…And not because of the chest thing.
Absolutely not.
“Let all citizens of the capital hear this! Today, alongside the armistice celebration, the coronation of our new ruler shall be held! All who can attend, come and bear witness!”
And so, the coronation event began in a flurry of chaos.
To gather as much support as possible, Carolus’ subordinates launched a widespread publicity campaign across the capital.
They sent out trumpeters, distributed simple posters, and spread the news through town criers.
Thanks to the continuous promotion efforts that had been ongoing since before the armistice delegation’s return, the public reaction was quite favorable.
“General Royten is becoming the king now?”
“What are you talking about? He’s becoming the Emperor! Our country is turning into an empire!”
“Well, he’s gotta be better than that idiot Carl. At least living under him won’t be as miserable.”
By now, the people fully understood who had started the war with the Federated Empire and how much the so-called blue bloods had stolen from them.
After witnessing firsthand how the nobles and the royal family had completely wrecked governance and the economy, there wasn’t a single fool left who still supported them.
Unless they were completely out of their minds, why would they continue serving rulers who had already proven themselves to be a disaster?
“A dynastic change? So blatantly?”
“The royal family hasn’t made any response.”
“They can’t respond. The opportunity to turn the tide through public opinion has long passed.”
“We should inform the homeland to focus all intelligence efforts on Ulranor for the time being.”
The ambassadors from Ormera, Albione, and other nations stationed in the capital wore uneasy expressions but ultimately accepted the situation.
After all, a peaceful(?) regime change was far better than a civil war that could completely overthrow the system.
If one of the continent’s strongest nations collapsed, the resulting chaos would ripple across borders, affecting them all.
Now, their main concern was figuring out how to build a favorable relationship with the incoming emperor who had ousted the incompetent king.
“Where is the ceremony taking place?”
“In the plaza on the southern side of the capital.”
“The same place where the last execution was held?”
“Yes.”
And so, as time passed, the long-awaited day finally arrived.
An unprecedented crowd gathered in a single place.
They had come to witness the fall of the old era and the dawn of a new age.
“Your Excellency—no, Your Majesty. The time has come.”
“…Alright.”
Taking a deep breath, I rose from my seat, flanked on both sides by my wives, who were dressed in perfectly coordinated attire.
—Whoosh.
The heavy curtains parted as I stepped onto the podium.
Before me stretched a sea of people—at least a hundred thousand, all standing witness to this moment.
Once I was certain I had made a strong enough impression, I activated a voice amplification spell and shouted at the top of my lungs.
“People of Ulranor!!”
I paused for a beat.
“You all know me. Carolus von Royten! The Northern Wolf who brought you countless victories and glory!!”
“Ever since the last coup, I have agonized over this question—what path must our homeland take? And at last, I have found my answer!”
I proclaimed the truth I had realized through executing treacherous nobles and crushing Kailas and the Setnil Theocracy.
“There is no hope left for this kingdom. Loyalty to the bloodline of Riudolph will bring nothing but ruin and decay! No longer shall we pledge allegiance to an incompetent royal family! For your sake, for this nation’s sake— I have made my decision!”
—Boom!
I stomped my foot against the platform, drawing all attention to me before declaring with unwavering resolve,
“People of Ulranor! I shall become your ruler!”
“This is not just about claiming the throne. I shall establish an Empire—one that none will dare challenge, a nation that shall reign supreme over the world! A country that will not crumble from the stupidity of royal bloodlines!”
I alone could accomplish this.
No one else in this entire nation could.
A reformist force that wielded military might, political prowess, and widespread influence like mine would likely never rise again.
“Do you accept this? Do you support my ascension to the throne? If so—then shout! Tell me that I am walking the right path!”
For a brief moment, silence filled the air.
And then, the capital erupted into a deafening roar.
“Uwaaaaaaah!!!”
“Your Majesty! We stand with you!”
“Please, lead this nation! Bring us a new future!!”
I had planted supporters in the crowd in advance, but even with that in mind, the sheer fervor was overwhelming.
I could feel it—their cheers weren’t just for show.
They genuinely supported me.
At that moment, the last traces of hesitation within me vanished.
My resolve was set.
“Guards, bring forth the prisoners!”
At my command, the soldiers saluted and dragged the shackled couple from the carriage, forcing them to kneel beneath the platform.
Their garments—though now tattered and worn—had once been elegant and regal.
King Carl VII and Queen Jalomier.
“Remove the crown.”
“N-No! You traitorous scum! You have no right to that! That crown is the sacred treasure of the royal fam—”
“Silence. A failed king has no right to speak.”
I snatched away the crown that had once been returned to him on purpose.
The queen struggled desperately, but she was swiftly subdued.
The cardinal overseeing the capital’s archdiocese stepped forward and solemnly accepted the crown, raising it high for all to see.
“Your Majesty.”
“I understand.”
I knelt, adopting a posture of prayer.
With great reverence, the cardinal gently placed the crown upon my head.
A symbolic act—one that signified the transfer of power.
A perfectly orchestrated display to etch the image of their new ruler into the hearts of the people.
“With this, the Kingdom of Ulranor is no more! I hereby proclaim the foundation of the Ulranor Empire!”
On that day.
I became Carolus I, the founding Emperor of the Royten Dynasty.