The Saint of Yekaterinburg
The princess’s body.
“The Ural Soviet Committee hereby sentences you to death.”
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
On the screen, the last Tsar Nicholas II and his family were executed by the Bolsheviks. The final imperial family of the Romanovs had received the people’s judgment at the hands of Bolshevik bullets. The Russian people, including the Bolsheviks, had already turned their backs on the Romanov tyranny—even on the fatherly Tsar. Once they had been the radiant imperial family of Tsarist Russia. Now, after being held under house arrest in a mansion in Yekaterinburg, they met a cruel and wretched end by firing squad in the basement. It was far too shabby a death for the last imperial family of the Romanovs. Their bodies were dumped in a place where no human foot would tread, mutilated beyond recognition, and buried without ceremony.
“Hmm. So that’s how the movie ends.”
I let out a long sigh after watching the final scene of the Romanov film. It was thrilling, I’ll give it that. I’d seen plenty of incompetent emperors and their families get wiped out in history before. Still, this one felt wrong. No matter how you looked at it, dying at the hands of the commies was just too much. And I wasn’t saying that as a citizen of South Korea, defender of freedom and democracy. It was just… genuinely tragic for an empire’s monarch to be destroyed by a virus-like ideology such as communism. Commies need to be beaten like the dogs they are. Ugh.
The theater was eerily quiet. I wasn’t alone, though. Somehow, the person sitting right next to me had watched the entire film together with me.
“So, do you think those Romanovs were in the right?”
The foreigner beside me had a face that was either naturally terrifying or permanently set that way—I couldn’t tell. He looked frightening. These days it was rare enough to see a Korean grandfather, so what was this old white man doing in a place like this? And why was he suddenly asking if the Romanovs were right when I hadn’t said a word? Was he some kind of mind reader?
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face said it all.”
“They weren’t right. But still—dying at the hands of commies? How pathetic is that?”
It would’ve been better if he’d been killed by that rage-control-deficient Serbian youth—the Austrian Archduke had it better. Getting murdered by the reds was just too ugly.
“Oh?”
“Especially those Russian commie Bolsheviks. Once they seized power, they didn’t even follow Stolypin’s reforms from the imperial era—the guy they assassinated. Instead they did that stupid collectivization nonsense and ended up killing so many Ukrainians that people resorted to cannibalism.”
“I see. But in the end, isn’t that Russia’s business? You’re Korean, aren’t you?”
“If the reds hadn’t been the reason the beautiful S-line of the Korean Peninsula got cut in half, I wouldn’t be grumbling like this.”
It’s not that I’m completely devoid of nationalistic pride. Honestly, doesn’t the Korean Peninsula have an incredibly pretty shape? It even has the natural border of the Yalu River.
“Hmm, fair enough. You make a good point. So, between the Communist Party and a monarchy, you support the monarchy?”
“Why is the choice only between communism and monarchism? Where’s the democracy option?”
Korea had its own tragic history of being trampled by Japan for thirty-six years thanks to the incompetence of the Yi Dynasty. And now he was asking if I supported monarchies?
“Aren’t you curious?”
“About what?”
“The story after that movie.”
“You can just search Russian history and find out.”
Why would that matter to a Korean like me anyway? I was already busy trying to survive day by day.
“You should create it yourself.”
“Me?”
“Kerensky had a car, you know.”
“What?”
Who the hell is Kerensky? Why was this old man suddenly throwing unfamiliar names at me?
“The world is in this state right now, so there’s no one left in Russia to do it.”
“Huh?”
“Yes. It’s a bit far, but Russia and Korea are allies of a sort, aren’t they? After all, the Russian Empire even went to war with Japan to help the Korean Empire.”
No matter how little I knew about history, that was completely wrong, you damn old man. How could you twist it like that? His eyes were shining with a dangerous light, like he was about to devour a man whole.
“No, why are you even connecting those things? I don’t know what you’re talking about, but I know nothing about Russia. I don’t know what scheme you’re trying to drag me into, but I’m just an ordinary Asian. Sir, I really don’t know anything.”
“That’s fine. Humans are creatures of adaptation, after all.”
“What?”
“So I’ll be counting on you.”
Counting on me for what?
“I’ll leave it to you.”
Leave what to me?
“It’s a bit forced, but this is the only way to clean it up.”
Clean what up? You’re the one who should be cleaning it! I needed to protest, but the man was muttering something and my consciousness grew strangely cozy.
“Since you’re from a foreign country, I’ll take care of you. You won’t die.”
With those final words, my vision went black.
* * *
When I came to, I was lying down. Just carelessly tossed aside. My whole body ached. Did that old man throw me here and disappear? I didn’t even have anything valuable on me. At least I didn’t seem to be injured. I forced my eyes open and saw several powerfully built white men sprinkling something on me.
Ah. I knew these people.
The Bolsheviks who had executed Nicholas II and his family.
Right now, useless memories were flooding into my head as if someone had forcibly injected them. Like data being transmitted, the memories kept pouring in without pause. This body wasn’t mine.
Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova. The youngest daughter of Nicholas II, the girl who was shot to death by the Bolsheviks in Yekaterinburg along with her family.
Let me organize the current situation simply. I just wanted to live a little longer. The Russian Empire began to collapse after Bloody Sunday, when the authorities violently suppressed demonstrators who were only asking for their sovereign to show a little consideration for his subjects. Then, by supporting Serbia after the assassination of the Austrian Archduke, Russia entered World War I on the side of the Entente, suffered devastating losses against Germany, and revolution broke out. The empire fell, the new Russian Republic was born, power passed to the Bolsheviks, and the Soviet Union was established. In that process, executing the Tsar’s family was an important trophy to announce the success of the revolution. The children had to pay for their parents’ sins. Of course, the real reason was to eliminate in advance the focal point for the White Army that would fight the Bolshevik Reds. Still, they killed them by firing squad without even a trial. The memory of this body clearly remained. Thanks to the jewels hidden in her corset, she survived the first volley, but afterward those reds stabbed Anastasia repeatedly with bayonets.
I’m not a world history expert, but I spent enough time in the library to know the general outline. Anastasia, stabbed to death by bayonets, had died—and I had entered her body.
That old man had told me to complete the story after the movie. In other words, he was telling me to create an alternate history.
I’d heard that Nicholas II’s family’s bodies were burned with oil and hastily buried. Judging by the current situation, these bastards were probably pouring oil on this body—on my body now. And then they would throw in the fire.
Hiss—
But my body was strangely fine. The fire wouldn’t catch. More precisely, flames rose all around me, but not a single spark touched me.
—You won’t die.
So this was what “you won’t die” meant.
If he was going to reincarnate me anyway, why not send me to Russia before World War I? Did he really have to put me in a girl’s body? At the very least, he could have chosen Alexei. No, Alexei had a weak constitution, so maybe Olga, who had been considered for the throne. Or at least send me during the golden time after Rasputin’s death when Russia could still be reformed. No. Why put a Korean in Russia in the first place? No matter how messed up the original world was, there had to be more Russians than Koreans. He could have just reincarnated me in Joseon like in a normal novel. At least then there would have been some nationalistic elements. Suddenly becoming Anastasia with no roots at all?
“Hmm?”
“Huh?”
Ah. I made eye contact with the man who had thrown fire at me. His face had gone stiff, so I winked at him with one eye. After all, the girl who should have been dead was alive. Not only alive, but completely unharmed after being stabbed repeatedly with bayonets. From their perspective, it must have been utterly absurd.
Surviving this place came first. I had no intention of being buried here quietly, so I needed to get out and figure out how to take care of myself. Right. Once I escaped, should I flee to America? Or maybe to Britain, where Nicholas II’s cousin George V was. They had opposed asylum before, but if the entire family had been executed and only the youngest daughter survived, wouldn’t they accept her? The White Army could fight on their own.
By the way, the more I kept winking at that red, the more startled he became until he fell backward. If I were him, I’d probably react the same if the woman I’d stabbed to death suddenly stood up. If I played this right, I might be able to turn the situation in my favor.
So I rose to my feet with dignity. Maybe it was because this was the body of a seventeen-year-old princess, but the difference in height was disorienting. Still, to protect my life, I had to move this body somehow.
Run away? From a place crawling with Bolsheviks? If I tried, I’d just get riddled with bullets and end up proving the zombie theory to the whole world. So I needed a different approach.
In the future, Anastasia would be canonized as a saint by the Russian Orthodox Church in 2001 and become a holy woman. So how about acting like a saint?
Yes. That sounded good. After all, I had just returned from death. Those reds were staring at me in disbelief. It was all or nothing now. Either the Anastasia zombie theory would circulate as a rumor later, or I would survive somehow as a saint. I chose the latter.
I brushed off the flames that refused to burn me and stood up. As I began to walk, the other Bolsheviks came into view. Every single one of them was staring at me with wide eyes.
Do you see? This is what a chosen bloodline looks like.
Anastasia Nikolaevna Romanova, Grand Duchess. The Russian princess is alive!
“What is going on? How is the princess still alive?!”
“Comrade! We definitely stabbed her mercilessly with bayonets and beat her with rifle butts until she died! We just poured oil on her and set her on fire, but she’s completely fine!”
It was fascinating that I could understand Russian as naturally as Korean. One thing was certain—these men were extremely confused.
Carefully, I opened the lovely lips that now belonged to me.
“I am a saint.”
“What?”
“God has spoken. He will give me another chance, so I must annihilate the Bolsheviks who do not believe in God.”
“Nonsense!”
Bang!
Hey, that bastard just shot me while I was talking.