I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

“Minister, how should we reply to the telegram sent from home?”

Wellington lit a cigarette, took a drag, and said to the colleague who asked, “Send a reply to Comrade Yadov—recommend we fight! And end it quickly.”

Others showed concern: “Would this provoke direct intervention from the Britian Empire? If they join the war, our momentum might be reversed.”

“Will the Ceris Alliance really withstand pressure from other countries for our sake? What if they abandon us?”

Wellington, upon hearing this, patted the other person on the shoulder and smiled. “If we don’t fight, will imperialism spare us? Haven’t we people of the lower class knelt enough times? Who has ever shown us mercy?”

“If we keep saying ‘what if, what if,’ then GM will never succeed!”

“Comrades, this may be the only opportunity in our lifetime. If we don’t seize it, there may never be another. We might as well go all out.”

The Uprising Forces handed over the authority to propose the final battle to the diplomatic delegation that had participated in the Royal Palace peace talks, as they needed them to make the final judgment on the external situation.

Everyone clearly understood that at this point, the Uprising Forces could not accept any condition other than unification. Taking even one step back would mean facing complete annihilation by the resurgent Tsar.

However, there were still a small number of people who held onto faint hopes—hoping to achieve unification at the smallest possible cost or through certain conditions.

Yet the telegram sent back home by Wellington and the others three days later quickly suppressed all dissenting voices and unified them.

There was nothing strange about this. Yadov had indeed been the one who initiated the uprising, but not all Legion Commanders had been promoted by him.

Everyone had gathered under the banner of unification to resist tyranny. It was more of a military alliance than a military group centered around a single leader, so differences in opinion were not unusual.

Fortunately, the overarching goal of eliminating the Tsar was enough to suppress all contradictions once more.

After securing the Alliance’s support, the diplomatic team’s trip to the Kingdom of Suria was not in vain. It enabled them to decisively ignore Britian’s mediation and launch another unified offensive against the imperial capital.

[War brings out the worst in us.]

With the fall of Bernoro Port City, the Uprising Forces’ Bernoro Front Army halted further military operations to occupy other provinces.

Instead, they regrouped their forces and, using the remaining ships in Bernoro Port with cruisers at the core, began a full encirclement of the imperial capital, cutting off all external supplies.

The cruisers stationed in the inland river became fortified maritime artillery platforms, continuously bombarding the rear logistics zones of the Krichenev garrison.

The Tsarist Army at the Krichenev Defensive Line was heavily surrounded and trapped by the Uprising Forces. As the line was breached, both sides engaged in final street-by-street combat within the city.

The Sten-type Submachine Gun in the hands of the Uprising Forces held an absolute firepower advantage in confined spaces. Except for a few unlucky squads that encountered Mechanical Body Soldiers, the overall pace of advance and occupation was not slow.

In Krichenev City, everyone who could fight was mobilized. Recruitment standards were continuously lowered, and along with food, they were issued Explosive Packs and firearms.

“Heavenly God has abandoned us! Now only we remain. No damned generals, no emperor—only us!”

“Either take up arms to defend yourselves, or die here!”

The officer shouted in despair and madness. His family was still in the imperial city—he had no option to retreat or surrender. Either he died, or his family did.

Individual madness spread into collective madness. The entire Krichenev bled its last drop for the Tsar.

After the cruisers began bombarding the riverbanks intermittently, the Tsar had already retreated into a safer underground bunker, remotely commanding: “How is my new army coming along?”

An officer entering the bunker replied: ‘Basic training has been completed, but we lack weapons.’

“Damn it! That guard unit from the Alliance in the academy refuses to hand over their firearms?!”

‘Yes, Your Majesty. They refuse to transfer their weapons, claiming it is to ensure the students’ safety. Moreover, they appear to have a hidden powerhouse among them. We cannot forcibly disarm them.’

The Tsar took a while to suppress his anger before saying coldly, “Forget it. Distribute all remaining weapons to them. For the rest, send them directly to the battlefield to pick them up. No matter where we go, our enemies will see only ruins.”

‘That would be tantamount to sentencing the kingdom’s civilians to death. No water, no food, no weapons… This order will leave the populace with little chance of survival.’

The Tsar ignored the officer and said indifferently, “If our people are this cowardly, then by the rules, they deserve to die.”

“If the Roshek Dynasty rises again, they will be the dynasty’s heroes.”

The position anchored by the Tsar cruiser was like the vital point of the Tsarist nation, capable of easily blasting apart any army that had just been assembled.

Two days later, 95% of Krichenev City had been reclaimed by the Uprising Forces. Only a small remaining area still held out with Tsarist soldiers making their final resistance.

Inside the Heavenly God Church in Krichenev, just over a hundred Tsarist soldiers had gathered, barely forming a half-crippled company.

Outside, the loudspeakers of the Uprising Forces once again broadcast surrender persuasion messages. But within the heavily reinforced church, no one paid attention. The officer had even lifted rationing restrictions, allowing all soldiers to eat freely.

Rajik Novikov looked at the abundant food in his hands with delight. His dirt-stained fingers grabbed bread as he devoured it in large bites, his heavy breathing clearly conveying satisfaction.

The company commander sat beside him and handed him a water flask, looking at the youngest soldier in the company. “Rajik, aren’t you going to write to your fiancée?”

Rajik stopped chewing, shook his head, and looked at the commander seriously:

“Mati—that’s her name.”

“Her heartbeat is like a warm lullaby. It gives me a deep sense of peace and warmth. We’re already engaged.”

“Fortunately, we don’t need to wait until the war ends. After I die, I’ll be able to go home and see her.”

Rajik’s voice was not loud, but it was clearly heard.

The smile on the company commander’s face froze, and the fragile morale around them sank once more.

Unaware, Rajik lowered his head and continued eating his bread. He knew his fate and had already prepared for it.

No one was unafraid of death. But more people would rather die themselves—at least if they died on the battlefield, the country behind them might, for that reason, not treat their families too harshly.

At this moment, the Tsar’s imperial capital had already descended into chaos. A large number of ordinary civilians, willingly or otherwise, formed citizen assault units.

Regardless of gender or age, anyone capable of moving had to join the assault teams.

Meanwhile, even more civilians began to flee. As if by unspoken agreement, they gathered in front of the gates of the Royal Academy, where the Alliance flag was hung.

This area, due to the presence of the academy, had not been subjected to bombardment, and its infrastructure remained intact. Even if they could not enter the academy itself, staying nearby was far safer than anywhere else.