The Saint of All Russia
The future was what mattered now. Should I escape this place? After all, in a few days, Alexander Kolchak’s White Army would briefly recapture Yekaterinburg. Then Trotsky would reorganize the Red forces, launch a counterattack, and seize it again.
“Hmm.”
The nearest White-held territory lay due east, but if I wanted something closer… perhaps the Don. Yes, the Don Cossacks. That would mean heading south from here. Think. Something useful had to surface from my knowledge.
I recalled the world history and Russian history books I had flipped through for hours in the library just to kill time. Right. The leader of the Don Republic was Pyotr Nikolayevich Krasnov. But that region would fall to the Reds later too, so it was dangerous. Then where should I go?
I needed to reach White territory as quickly as possible while avoiding the Bolshevik Reds. The plan had been to head into Siberia, somehow board a train, and make for Vladivostok. But looking at my current state, I would clearly draw attention for quite some time.
That was when the anomaly occurred.
Ah. Bolsheviks. How many assassination attempts was this now? Those damn turncoat Reds had spread rumors everywhere, and now I looked ridiculous. No matter what, Nicholas II was the one who had done wrong. Wasn’t it too much to hold his children accountable too?
By now I could see everything clearly. The muzzle of the gun pointed straight at me. The turncoat Reds tried to stop him, but of course they were slower than a bullet. Or rather, since the shooter was also a Red, maybe it was all the same.
Bang!
Honestly, at this point, maybe just dying was one way out. This was, after all, a kind of game world. I was playing a hardcore mode as the character Anastasia—one death and it was game over. So if I died, I would simply return to my original self.
That was what I had thought.
But this body refused to die even when shot. It wasn’t that I became a zombie and survived with wounds. The bullets simply did not work. Like some divine shield that repelled everything, the bullet struck my forehead and fell harmlessly to the ground.
“Ooh! Her Highness the Grand Duchess is unharmed!”
“The Saint of All Russia, beloved by the Lord!”
“Your Highness! Please, touch my sick child with your holy hand!”
The very people who had been calling me the “pitiful Grand Duchess” or “daughter of that arrogant Tsar” moments earlier suddenly flipped their attitudes. No matter how forced the setting was, if they didn’t do this, the current Anastasia would have no path forward. But if that was the case, why not just let me possess someone else?
After dealing with the now-silent assassin Red, I thought I could simply slip away quietly. Instead, people kept reaching their hands toward me. Was this White territory? I wasn’t sure.
In any case, I was originally an atheist. I knew nothing about the Lord’s love or any of that. So from now on, I would simply wing it.
I took the hands of the elderly who begged to hold mine. I took the hands of the sick children as well. It was all showmanship, nothing more than an image-improvement act.
Then something astonishing happened.
The eyes of starving old people who had been on the verge of death regained their light. A boy who had been unconscious from some illness suddenly sat up in his grandmother’s arms. Those who had been hungry and starving no longer felt hunger.
“My stomach is full even though I haven’t eaten?”
“Strength is surging through me.”
“Oh, Your Highness! My child has come back to life! Your Highness!”
“She is the true Saint!”
What the hell is this nonsense? Have these people lost their minds? Is this the skull water of Master Wonhyo or something?
It was the moment the name Anastasia began to be remembered as a saint.
Fine. If these lunatics wanted to call me Anastasia the Saint even if it meant their brains were broken, I would play along.
I immediately stepped onto a makeshift platform made of stacked wooden crates. And before all these little lambs, I spoke softly, in a voice like a nightingale.
Carefully, in the most pitiful and sympathy-inducing voice possible, I addressed these poor souls who had once been imperial subjects, who now did not know where to go, who might at any moment be swept up by the red plague.
“The red plague that denies God is approaching even this place. They whisper sweet lies of liberation for the workers to tempt the people, but you must never fall for their demonic snare.”
I had no real knowledge, but I spoke clearly and steadily, as if divinely inspired, pouring out absurd words that had just been generated in my brain.
“You may curse me, curse my father the incompetent Tsar who was shot, curse my siblings, curse the imperial family. But those Bolsheviks seek only to enslave the workers under the system they themselves have created. That is neither liberation nor workers’ rights. They want only obedient slaves.”
The Bolsheviks were unconditionally evil. They would demand submission even more cunningly than in the days of the Tsar. Russians would live under their yoke without even realizing they were being subjugated.
“They will push authoritarianism disguised as idealism, shouting for the unity of workers. Anyone who refuses to obey the Party, anyone who shows even the slightest discontent, will be ruthlessly suppressed.”
You will all be thoroughly rolled around and exploited by the Bolsheviks! That was all Anastasia was saying.
“Do not be deceived by their words and submit! You must resist! Follow me, at least until we drive out that red plague. I promise you—the liberation of the serfs! Land reform and workers’ rights! In the name of the Romanovs—no, do not believe in the Romanovs. Believe in the individual named Anastasia. In the name of the Saint of All Russia, I guarantee it! For the future of the Russian people! We shall move forward!”
If this failed, I could simply pretend to be disappointed and leave. Naturally board a train to White territory, find a way to America. Since I had no connection to them anyway, I couldn’t directly help Korean independence, but I could at least mention it appropriately later.
Honestly. Would anyone easily believe the words of the youngest daughter of the Romanovs, desperately struggling to survive? I didn’t think so. After everything the Russian people had suffered under the Tsars, would they trust this Anastasia?
“I will follow Her Highness!”
“I will trust the Romanovs—and Her Highness—one more time!”
“Saint of All Russia, Grand Duchess Anastasia, hurrah!”
Huh. I could say with certainty that the Russians gathered here, these humans trying to become lambs of the Lord, would follow me even if I smashed their skulls with my own hands because demons had possessed their minds.
Yes. Perhaps this was the golden time. Before the red plague had fully spread, there were still people steeped in nostalgia for the imperial era.
While pondering how to use them, a thought suddenly occurred to me. Were there really no Bolsheviks managing the city right now? The brainwashed Cheka agents must have dragged me out, but it seemed the rumor about weak administrative power in the early days of the Red-White Civil War was true. Or had they retreated because of the White Army?
In any case, this meant I had become the symbolic figure of the White Army in the Civil War.
Yet no matter what promises I made, the actual war would be fought by the White commanders: Pyotr Wrangel, Alexander Kolchak, Anton Denikin, Roman von Ungern-Sternberg, and Grigory Semyonov.
Kolchak’s White forces would recapture Yekaterinburg in a few days. I had no sense of the exact date or how far Kolchak’s army had advanced. The Bolsheviks surely wouldn’t sit still either. Those idiots had hurriedly executed the imperial family out of fear that it would become a rallying point.
Then wouldn’t they go mad trying to kill the surviving Grand Duchess? Having come this far, those bastards must be furious. The proof was that more assassins had already appeared to kill me. They might even squeeze out every last resource to eliminate me.
Should I test the waters first? These brainwashed subjects seemed like they could be used to filter out the Reds.
“Saint! There are still many Bolsheviks here!” an old man shouted.
“Bolsheviks?”
“There are still men left who seek to find and kill Your Highness!”
How was history unfolding? Weren’t we supposed to escape at this timing? Wasn’t that how Kolchak’s army could briefly recapture the city?
Ah, I see. It all depended on how one thought about it. The Bolsheviks had hurriedly executed the imperial family out of fear they would become a focal point for the Whites. They had already killed everyone—yet one had survived and was now interfering. Even though she was a woman, Russia had once had Empresses and Tsarinas like Catherine. They would try to capture and kill her by any means.
Therefore, even if Yekaterinburg fell to the Whites, they would still try to kill the Grand Duchess at all costs. Among these people, some had probably planned to hand her over if found.
However.
They had clearly witnessed the miracle that had just occurred before their eyes. Therefore, they would believe that opposing me meant opposing God, and they would have no choice but to follow me inwardly. Having already chosen submission, these Russians—who had lived for so long under imperial rule—would ultimately have to choose this side, no matter how dog-like their previous behavior had been.
During the Red-White Civil War, the White Army was closer to a collection of warlords. There were also Green and Black armies that attacked both Reds and Whites. They might be here too.
In any case, with these brainwashed subjects available, I had to secure this place as a base. Only then could I create meat shields until the situation improved and then flee straight to Vladivostok. Of course, I probably couldn’t run as well as King Seonjo of Joseon, who ruled over time and speed, but I would at least have to pretend to fight until then.
Yes. It wasn’t only the Bolsheviks who could incite people. Once again, if things didn’t go my way? I would simply run.
The Russian subjects thus voluntarily became a militia. Whether out of genuine loyalty to the Romanovs, fanaticism after witnessing a divine miracle, or simply because they feared God, they began to follow me.
The Bolsheviks in Yekaterinburg were captured. Looking at the faces of the Reds forced to their knees before me, I felt a surge of ecstasy. Their expressions were filled with pure hostility.
Now then. Before the effect wore off, shall I make a little more use of this body?
“It seems you want to kill me.”
“As expected of the imperial family that was toyed with by Rasputin! To deceive the people like this!”
“Isn’t that a bit rich coming from you? You who seized power through sweet-sounding agitation and nothing more.”
How dare you flap your mouths, you cockroaches.
“Look carefully at who it is you are dealing with.”
I snatched the pistol the Bolshevik had been holding until the end and pressed it against my own temple.
Bang!