I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

After the violent blast and the wash of light, nobles, soldiers, dark figures, and alleys all vanished, and the previous stillness returned.

Clutching his belly and feeling his way in the dark, Pasha heard a tremendous bang from far away; then he felt the whole tunnel begin to tremble violently as the supporting planks creaked and snapped in a chorus.

Pasha suddenly looked back toward the pitch-black passage, a strong foreboding rising in his chest.

“Pangya......”

’crack’

The sounds of splintering wood grew sharper.

Pasha’s eyes reddened; he gritted his teeth and ran with all his might.

As if the goddess had taken pity, the passages around the exit had not collapsed by the time he reached them.

When he finally crawled out of the tunnel, Pasha knelt on the ground facing the direction he had come from.

There was no time for grief — the long, intense exertion had left him ravenous.

He searched his body and found only five small bags of rationed gunpowder and shot, and the long gun on his back; nothing else.

A cool breeze swept across his face through the wall.

By the moonlight, Pasha scooped up a handful of what looked like clean snow from the ground and stuffed it into his mouth along with the cotton from his clothing.

Lying on the ground to regain his strength, he stared at the boundless night sky; besides the huge moon there was a single dim star flickering alone.

Thinking of his comrades’ faces, Pasha forced himself to stand and, a little unsteady, ran toward the Carson residence.

He had to survive — not just for himself.

“....”

“Clang clang!”

“By order of the Marquis: anyone who reports the whereabouts of the rebel leader Pasha would be rewarded ten shi of grain! Anyone who reported and captured him alive would be rewarded one thousand shi of grain! Ten taels of gold! Those who harbor and shield him would be punished by amputation of the kneecap and waist-splitting!”

“Clang clang!”

“By order of the Marquis: anyone who reports the whereabouts of the rebel leader Pasha would be rewarded ten shi of grain! Anyone who reports and captures him alive.....”

Carson tossed and turned in bed, and could not help swallowing when he heard the soldier outside calling out the grain reward.

He sat up and drank two sips of the warm water in the bowl to suppress the burning hunger in his belly, added a little wood to the stove, and lay back down.

He had to fall asleep quickly; tomorrow, when he returned to the factory to work, there would at least be food.

“Clack clack clack.”

Rhythmic knocking sounded at the door.

Carson startled, swung himself up, and carefully went to the door, asking in a low voice, “Who is it?”

“It’s me, Pasha.”

Carson hurriedly opened the door; a dark figure leapt at him and collided into his arms.

Carson steadied him and helped him sit on the bed.

Pasha’s face was very pale; dirty cotton clothes bore large black-reddish stains.

Carson pulled open his cotton coat and, seeing the bright red blood on the lining around his abdomen, exclaimed, “You... what happened to you? Where are your men?!”

Pasha forced a bitter smile.

“I was ambushed... do you have anything to eat?”

Carson was also a member of his organization.

Originally Carson had been a tenant farmer for the manor.

After handing over grain to the manor owner, what remained was not enough for his family to survive; children and elders had died of hunger one after another.

With no way out, he joined Pasha’s group.

Because his background was relatively clean, Pasha arranged for him to act as an inside informant in the city.

Occasionally his home served as a temporary supply base; he was a very core member of Pasha’s group.

Carson felt awkward.

“No... the factory rations have been getting smaller and smaller. We can’t fill our stomachs.”

Pasha did not look disappointed; he only nodded faintly and continued, “I can’t treat this wound here. Could you run to the church hospital and ask Miss Miwei to come?”

He took from his cotton coat a small piece of fragmented gold and a silver bracelet: “Take the gold to buy some food — keep the rest. Give the silver bracelet to Miss Miwei; it’s a token.”

Carson did not refuse.

He accepted the items and nodded.

He was about to speak when the soldier outside again beat the gong and announced the bounty, making the atmosphere in the room suddenly awkward.

After a long time, Carson rose.

“I... I’ll go!”

Pasha’s lips were slightly blue; he murmured a weak “hm.”

“Carson.”

As Carson reached the door, Pasha, half-lying on the wooden bed, spoke softly: “We are comrades. Comrades don’t deceive or betray comrades, right?”

“Hmm...”

Carson answered quietly, then pushed the door open and left.

Pasha closed his eyes to rest.

But within five minutes the surrounding area filled with dense footsteps.

Pasha opened his eyes, his face revealing a very complicated expression — disappointment, self-mockery, guilt, and a faint despair.

He forced himself up, drew his gun, overturned the table, and casually grabbed a sleeve of the cotton coat left on the bed to carefully wipe it.

“Master, please come this way.”

“Master~ that rebel leader Pasha is inside the little house! He’s wounded and can’t put up much resistance...”

“Is that so? If it’s true your reward won’t lose a single coin; if it’s false, you know what will happen!”

Pasha stood and lifted the long gun, aiming toward the light of a torch outside the window.

The trajectory of a percussion-cap rifle was a little random; he did not know if he could hit the target — it was a gamble.

If it hit, it would be worth it.

“Yes, yes, yes, little one would never lie to the master; wouldn’t that be asking to die sooner!”

“Hmph, you know what will happen...”

“Bang!”

“Ah!!!”

The man in the torchlight fell to the ground, clutching his lower body and rolling frantically.

“Master!”

“Captain!”

After the shot, Pasha ignored the screams outside.

He crouched behind the table and methodically loaded cartridges.

“Fuck!!! Shoot him!!! Kill him!!!”

“Bang bang bang...”

A fusillade of shots rang out, punching countless holes in the wooden wall on the door side.

But Pasha was behind the table; by the time a bullet that pierced one layer of wall reached the second, it had lost most of its kinetic energy and could not penetrate the table.

While loading, Pasha’s eyes scanned for an escape.

Carson’s house was small, with no back door; there was only a front door and two windows.

The front door and its window were ignorable; his gaze fixed on the farthest window.

He pushed the table with both hands and, shielding himself from fire, moved in a half-squat toward the window.

Pasha stood, pushed open the window, and prepared to climb out when a wave of darkness suddenly filled his vision, freezing him in place.

In that brief delay, two ricocheting bullets struck his arm and thigh.

“Hmph...”

Pasha let out a muffled groan and forced himself through the window, tumbling outside.

“Boom!”

The gunfire halted abruptly; a tremendous crash came from inside the house as if something had crashed through the door.

Pasha climbed to his feet and ran toward the backyard to scale the fence.

A whooshing sound came from behind; a long sword with a cyan glow stabbed into his body, pinning him against the fence.

“Ah!”

“Run! Why aren’t you running?”

A resonant male voice sounded behind him, with a trace of mockery.

He had been struck while exerting himself and could neither stand nor crouch; every slight movement sent stabbing pain through the wound.

Pasha spat blood and barely turned his head to look at his captor.

The newcomer wore form-fitting magic armor, its surface carved with hollowed runic arrays that interwove into intricate, gorgeous patterns, exuding nobility.

A faint smile hung on his handsome face as he looked down at Pasha; his jade-green pupils were full of amusement.

“Don’t let him die.”