I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

Amid the buzzing roar, two pitch-black off-road vehicles sped one after another across the grassland Gobi of the Kingdom of Pue Lent.

The new model Alliance military off-road vehicle had relatively large length and width.

Its wheelbase was 3100mm, with a length of 5000mm and a width reaching 2100mm, making the interior spacious and comfortable while also enhancing the vehicle’s stability and off-road capability.

The inline eight-cylinder diesel engine provided 240 kW of power, with a maximum torque of 670 N/m. Combined with wide tires and a four-wheel drive braking system, as long as it wasn’t muddy terrain, driving through uninhabited regions was no challenge at all.

Ever since Prince Bratt had been thrown into the vehicle by Betty, he had shrunk into the innermost corner of the back seat, not daring to glance to the side, afraid that even one more look would make him “explode.”

At this moment, Betty sat beside him, placing a map on her lap as she flipped through it, planning their evacuation route:

“We won’t take the route back to Kawaventar. The army of Mitra State and the border patrol troops have most likely already received the news and are probably waiting ahead for us to walk right into their trap.”

“So we’ll cut across Mitra State toward Bas State, then look for an opportunity to cross the national border.”

Laughter from the deputy captain in the other vehicle came through the tactical headset: “We’ll do whatever the captain says, but does the Kingdom of Pue Lent really dare to stop us? That so-called Saint almost lost his ‘second brother’ from Sister Wei’s shot, hahaha.”

The moment the deputy captain spoke, everyone burst into laughter, and even Betty couldn’t help but curl her lips slightly.

“Haha, I think they wouldn’t dare either. That shot even startled me. Just the aftershock carved out a trench over 50 meters long and more than 20 meters in diameter. Tsk tsk.”

“No wonder that single shot costs over ten million Alliance coins—it’s worth it. But that guy is really tough. Even with a surprise attack, he still didn’t die.”

“Sigh, if Saints were that easy to kill… I can understand Sister Wei’s choice. Aiming at the head or heart would likely be detected, so it’s better to play it safe and just injure him.”

Hearing their casual chatter—and especially the mention of Alliance currency—Bratt’s tense mood finally eased: “You were sent by the Alliance to rescue me?”

It wasn’t strange that he hadn’t recognized them. For this secret operation, the Alliance personnel bore no identifying marks. Having been shocked by Betty’s ruthless headshot earlier, Bratt hadn’t carefully observed them.

This kind of disguise didn’t really do much anyway—at a glance, one could roughly tell which country the troops belonged to.

But since everyone did it this way, as long as there was no national flag, even if you were captured, it wouldn’t be acknowledged, nor would there be any ransom. As long as there was no concrete evidence, that was enough.

Hearing his question, Betty tilted her head slightly to look at him and said softly, “Mm, you’re safe now.”

Bratt let out a self-deprecating laugh: “I should have realized earlier. At this point, no one else would come to save me—and killing me wouldn’t require so much trouble.”

To be honest, Bratt had truly been unlucky. He probably never imagined in his life that he would one day be kidnapped by a Saint-level powerhouse.

A figure of that level could easily obtain an honorary Grand Duke title in any kingdom—was it really necessary to target a minor prince like him? What was the point?

Closing the map, Betty said seriously, “Prince Bratt possesses a national gift presented by the Alliance. We have both the obligation and the right to ensure your life is protected.”

Bratt’s gaze was momentarily dazzled by her porcelain-white thigh, and he quickly turned his head away, speaking in a low voice: “The cost you paid to rescue me must be significant. Is it really necessary to go this far?”

“Cost is not something we consider. We only follow orders. Our mission now is to deliver you safely to a secure location. All losses during this period will be borne by the Alliance. You only need to cooperate.”

“Alright!”

From the moment the Special Operations Team made their move to the finishing strike by the gunship aircraft, the entire battle had lasted less than ten minutes—but the results were astonishing.

Aside from one severely injured survivor who escaped, the so-called bandit force had been completely annihilated. Even the Kingdom of Pue Lent’s troops who went to investigate were struck by “Divine Punishment from the Sky,” resulting in hundreds of casualties.

Meanwhile, the kidnapped Prince Bratt was taken away by this mysterious group, disappearing without a trace like a drop of water merging into the sea.

Both the Kingdom of Pue Lent and the Kingdom of Suria were thrown into turmoil, their internal factions growing tense.

The Kingdom of Pue Lent reacted mainly because the king, upon seeing his younger brother’s horrific injuries, was nearly scared to death, thinking he was about to lose him. Fortunately, the vitality of a Saint was terrifying—even with his intestines vaporized, he could recover in ten to fifteen days.

The situation within the Kingdom of Suria was even more chaotic.

With Crown Prince Bratt kidnapped and the king gravely ill and unconscious, the eldest prince, Belam, began presiding over state affairs, gradually taking over the king’s authority.

As for why Bratt had been kidnapped, Belam naturally played a role. In his view, he hadn’t paid much—just promised that after his coronation, he would unconditionally gift Pebes Port to the king of the Kingdom of Pue Lent.

As for suppressing domestic public opinion, that was even simpler: as long as the Kingdom of Pue Lent married a princess to him, Pebes Port could be presented as the dowry.

At the same time, Belam needed a powerful external force to suppress the merchant nobles who opposed him and secure his throne. It could be said to be a win-win situation.

Thinking of this, Belam grew furious.

Originally, by all logic, the position of Crown Prince should have been his as the first in line. As for the younger prince Bratt, he was nothing—at most, after Belam ascended the throne, he would grant him an idle princely title.

But Bratt had wandered around and happened to connect with the rapidly developing Seris Alliance.

As the Alliance grew stronger and cooperation between the two sides deepened, the Kingdom of Suria became increasingly dependent on it.

Thus, Bratt—being the first and only one in the kingdom to maintain a close relationship with the Alliance—naturally became the Crown Prince.

The reason was simple: the merchant nobles needed a new king who maintained good relations with the Alliance.

Due to geographic advantages, a large portion of the Alliance’s foreign trade passed through Suria’s trade routes, or was directly sold to Surian merchants.

These merchants, possessing mature distribution channels, then sold the goods across various kingdoms and empires—only needing to negotiate favorable purchase prices with the Alliance.

Acting as middlemen and profiting from price differences was an extremely lucrative business—especially for mid-to-large industrial machinery and machine tools produced by the Alliance, which were monopolized products urgently needed by other nations.

There was little risk in being a middleman. Coupled with the Alliance’s enormous energy demands, Suria’s merchants had long grown accustomed to lying flat and living off the Alliance’s dividends.

Naturally, they didn’t want unnecessary conflict with the Alliance over something as trivial as changing a king.

But what was a small issue to them was a massive problem for Belam, who had always regarded himself as the future king.

Thus, a series of conflicts followed.

From the very beginning, Belam had not factored in the possible reaction of the Seris Alliance.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care—he simply believed the Alliance wouldn’t make a big move over such a minor matter.

He never intended to kill Bratt either—just exile him to another country for a few years. Once he secured the throne, he could deal with things however he wished.

But unfortunately, Bratt possessed something valuable—

Something that made the Alliance spare no cost, even dispatching a tactical unit and a Saintess.