Cyrabelle gave Green a faint, unreadable smile, neither confirming nor denying his answer.
The carriage rocked gently. As they approached the Royal Capital, the road turned to stone, and the horses' hooves struck it with a steady clatter.
The road grew busier. Some travelers were bound for Stinnard City, while others came from the opposite direction. Most were merchants, though there were nobles among them. Whoever they were, they gave the army Cyrabelle led a wide berth, moving to the roadside to let it pass. Among them were nobles and members of covert organizations who could glean a great deal from the soldiers' bearing alone.
News of the victory over the Rebels in Northern Province had reached the Royal Capital long ago, but not everyone was privy to it. Even so, the troops' high spirits made it easy to tell they had won—and won decisively. Had they been defeated, they would have looked utterly dejected.
"Ah! So the uprising in the North failed again. Can we really not overthrow this corrupt, wicked Kingdom by our own strength?"
A young man in a clean robe watched the army pass and sighed. Judging by his words, he clearly sympathized with the Rebels.
His clothes suggested a comfortable upbringing, and the blue sash he wore marked him as the son of a noble family. When even someone like him sympathized with the Rebel Army, it was plain how unpopular the Lorenzo Kingdom's rule was in the Void World.
"Master Modi! Please watch what you say, or you'll bring disaster upon the family." The stern, elderly voice belonged to a man dressed as a butler in black.
"I know, Grandpa Descartes. I'll be careful." The young man waved impatiently. He plainly took none of the old butler's warning to heart, but rather than argue,