Chapter 49

Three days after the coup led by Karolus and his forces.

The chaos in the capital caused by sudden military movements and mass arrests quickly subsided.

Though it was a sudden event, the citizens, having experienced it once before, quickly adapted to the new upheaval.

After enduring a two-month siege and starvation, the citizens were quick to adjust to this new disturbance.

Though they were startled in the middle of the night when it happened, it was over quickly, wasn’t it?

The king remained, the system remained. No new taxes or labor were imposed.

The only change was that some areas of the capital became a bit quieter. Life could just go on as usual.

That’s what everyone thought, until…

“Hey! Did you see the posters in the square?!”

“You know I can’t read, why are you asking me? What’s it about?”

“Well, it’s about Vice-Chairman Roytel…”

Suddenly, strange news began to spread.

[To the patriotic citizens of Urlanor.

The Revolutionary Army, which had been lying low, launched a coordinated action on the night of December 3rd, seizing control of the nation’s administrative and legislative bodies, and subsequently arresting the nobles residing in the capital.

We rose up because we could no longer entrust the fate of the nation and its people to the corrupt and incompetent royal family and the existing ruling class. To overcome the crisis facing our homeland…]

Countless proclamations and declarations plastered across the royal capital were all saying the same thing.

The current war was caused by the reckless Crown Prince and the foolish King, and the nobles had colluded to seize vast political and economic benefits.

The Emperor of the Empire had only risen in arms to avenge his insulted child, and the royal family had deliberately hidden this fact, forcing the people to fight.

Upon learning this, Karolus von Roytel and the Revolutionary Army, enraged by the deceit of the ruling class, staged a coup and now planned to capture and punish those responsible.

News that shattered the worldview most citizens had believed in their entire lives came one after another.

As if to flaunt their justification and legitimacy, they even used the names of the Supreme Council for National Reconstruction and the Parliament.

“…So my brother was dragged to the north and killed because of that Crown Prince’s stupidity?”

“My family was ruined paying war taxes for ten years… and now you’re saying those taxes never should have existed?”

“All this time, I thought the Empire was the bad guys, but it turns out we were the real bastards? And they hid it all this time?”

The shock was, of course, immense.

Denying the values and concepts of good and evil they had lived by was akin to denying the very lives they had lived.

No matter how mentally healthy or rational a person is, it’s hard to accept. Especially for the majority who aren’t.

Those who couldn’t accept the truth began to deny reality instead.

“I can’t believe it! How can we be sure they’re not all lying? They could just be making up rumors to seize power!!”

“Even so, how could our King have done something so outrageous? This is all fabricated!”

“Traitors! Now they’re pulling these ridiculous stunts! How heartbroken our late King would be if he saw this!”

They praised the real criminals as if they were saints and vilified those who rose to save the nation.

All because they were afraid to lose the beliefs they had held onto for so long.

They denied even the most obvious cause and effect, refusing to accept the truth as it was.

But such behavior didn’t last long.

Karolus and his forces had more than one trick up their sleeve.

“Anyone with time, come listen! A poetry recital about Sir Roytel!”

“We’re serializing a special feature on the Revolutionary Army’s decision to save the nation!”

“Street minstrels and performers are all talking about the coup. And in a thoroughly anti-royal tone!”

In this amazing medieval fantasy world without phones, internet, or newspapers, the so-called “media” that could move the masses wasn’t common.

At best, posters in crowded places, magazines for intellectuals, occasional cultural events, and the network of street entertainers.

Karolus had secured all of that, directly or indirectly.

The Republican faction led by Kamilla had been shaping the opinions of the educated class even before joining. Naturally, they had their own magazines.

Posters? They bought printing presses and flooded the streets with them.

Entertainers? Most were poor, so with a bit of sponsorship, they’d do the job enthusiastically.

‘They essentially monopolized the capital’s information supply.’

They mobilized every media outlet in the country to serve as their mouthpiece. A propaganda tactic favored by military regimes and dictatorships.

Simple, yet undeniably effective.

In an environment where the same message was everywhere, people’s stubbornness didn’t last long.

At first, they tried not to believe, but as time went on, their certainty waned, and they began to question if they were wrong.

“Extra! Public trials will start in the southern square the day after tomorrow! Everyone interested, come gather!!”

After simmering and stewing public opinion for about ten days, the public trials of the captured nobles finally began.

* * * * *

‘Damn it. Why do I have to go through this?!’

Inside the carriage transporting him to the trial, Count Arshah, shackled and handcuffed, couldn’t help but sigh in frustration and anger.

‘I told them about the royal family’s dirty secrets. I told them about the nobles’ crimes. I told them about the deals among the Blue Bloods! I told them everything!!’

When General Kais’s intelligence bureau conducted internal investigations and Karolus left for the Empire, most of the Blue Bloods had covered up the facts and silenced witnesses.

They knew those who had learned their secrets wouldn’t forgive them, and they still held onto hope.

If the assassination within the negotiation delegation sent to the Empire succeeded, the faction they had built would collapse, and the good old days would return.

After all, Karolus was the core and everything of that ragtag group. Without him, investigations and inspections would fall apart.

But Count Arshah was an exception.

‘That damn daughter of mine. She’s no help at all.’

Because his eldest daughter Kamilla was Karolus’s close aide and a leader among the three estates’ representatives, the Arshah family had long been classified as pro-Revolutionary within noble society. Regardless of the head’s tendencies or opinions.

It was clear that if the nobles regained power, the family would be ruined.

So the Count made a decision. If things had come to this, he would switch sides.

Being treated as an outsider among the Blue Bloods, he needed allies to survive. Political leanings or personal preferences aside, he needed allies to protect him.

‘They were so happy to receive the information. Who knew they’d stab me in the back like this…’

So he spilled everything. All the secrets and dirty deeds the Blue Bloods had tried to hide.

He gathered as much as he knew and handed it over to the intelligence bureau.

Most of it was verbal agreements or testimonies, as physical evidence was hard to come by, but he did his best.

At the time, the reaction was positive.

He was promised leniency and compensation for his great help… but now, this.

It seemed there was no one in the world to trust. Was this the end?

‘It’s okay. There’s still hope.’

But Count Arshah hadn’t lost hope.

Though not as much as that damn daughter of his, he was confident in his eloquence and self-promotion.

If they were going to trial, he would use it as an opportunity to prove his contributions.

In front of the judges and prosecutors, he would exaggerate and embellish what he had done for the Revolutionary Army and the citizens.

If he could make them see that he wasn’t just a greedy member of the ruling class, not only would he be acquitted, but he might even be praised.

Trying to hold onto this hopeful scenario, the Count tried to calm his fears.

Finally, the carriage stopped.

“We’ve arrived. Prisoner, step out.”

As he cautiously stepped outside, he saw it.

“Waaaaah!!!”

“Kill them! Kill them! Kill them!!”

“Death penalty! No questions, no trials, just execute them all!! Throw them into the lava alive!!”

The crowd, consumed by madness, chanted for death.

Prisoners were dragged out without even a chance to defend themselves.

A carriage full of corpses waited beside the trial grounds.

This wasn’t a place for proper punishment.

It was an execution ground, deciding only how to take lives.