Anastasia's Reign
The victory of the White Army in the Red-White Civil War had led to the complete extinction of the Bolsheviks. The moderate socialists, including the Mensheviks, had joined the Duma. Constantinople had been reclaimed. Russia, once stained red and nearly reduced to a global pariah, had become known to the world in a multitude of ways.
Some voiced concern that the Tsarina, brainwashed by the reds who had murdered her parents and siblings, had become a slightly different shade of red herself—implementing socialist policies that made them wonder if she was building a new Red Russia. Of course, this was brushed aside as the unavoidable welfare measures required to utterly crush the Bolsheviks and govern a vast, multi-ethnic Russia stretching from Europe to the Far East.
“Our British Empire has grown concerned about your country’s recent reforms.”
“Is this interference in our internal affairs?”
“It is not interference. But are you not pursuing policies remarkably similar to the Bolsheviks?”
“The British Empire may easily suppress its colonial subjects, but our nation has endured a colossal civil war across the entirety of Russia. How vast do you imagine our territory is compared to the British mainland? This is a choice made for survival. It is Modified Capitalism—existing capitalism enhanced solely with the beneficial aspects of socialism. Besides, did your own government not once urge us to appease the peasants for fear of revolution?”
Britain and France had indeed warned the Tsar to placate his subjects, fearing the collapse of the Russian Empire, only to be utterly ignored. The result had been revolution.
“Hmm. If that is how you see it...”
“Instead of mere protest, allow me to explain what Modified Capitalism truly is. It is precisely what your nation requires.”
The ambassador had arrived to lodge a complaint with Russia but found himself subjected to an impassioned lecture on Modified Capitalism.
Isn’t trying to paint them red exactly what a red would do? Or is it genuinely not?
Still, the Tsarina would never replicate the Bolsheviks’ execution of her own parents and brother. Separate from that, the remaining socialist-leaning Russians within the country were also satisfied with the Tsarina’s reforms.
“Comrades! He who does not work shall not eat! Let us not grow complacent simply because the Tsarina treats the workers well! Time is gold, and one is paid according to one’s labor!”
Of course, these were the socialist factions that had shifted toward moderate protest after witnessing the Bolsheviks’ brutal executions at the hands of the White Army throughout Russia. Unlike in the days of Nicholas II, they were moved by the Tsarina’s fair treatment of workers and peasants and drove the laborers even harder to toil for Russia’s sake.
Though many lives had been lost, factories sprouted like bamboo after rain and operated day and night. The railways, shattered during the civil war and restored with German aid, were nationalized, and new lines stretched ever outward.
While Russia pursued this development, a major incident erupted in Japan.
Uchida Kosai had informed the Japanese government that the Tsarina had foreseen a coming catastrophe in Kanto, but both Kosai and the government had merely scoffed and dismissed it. They assumed the young Tsarina was simply venting her frustration over having to partition Manchuria.
That was what they believed—until the day arrived.
Crack. Boom!
“What was that sound?”
“What else could it be? An earthquake!”
“Wait, seriously?”
“This is...”
The disaster the Tsarina had predicted had struck Japan. A massive earthquake devastated the Kanto region, centered on Tokyo Prefecture and extending through Ibaraki, Chiba, eastern Shizuoka, and the broad expanses of the surrounding area. Property damage alone exceeded 4.5 billion yen, with 110,000 homes completely or partially destroyed.
The true problem was that the damage far exceeded that of the original timeline. The Japanese Empire, which had used its military to drive Koreans from the mainland into South Manchuria as if expelling them to the fringes, had only recently completed relocating Koreans into the Kanto region as well—and the army had been stationed there.
More precisely, the Tsarina’s words had made them wary of Kanto.
“I heard many communists fled abroad during the Russian Civil War. Could the Tsarina be releasing Bolsheviks into Kanto to strike at us?”
Russia was currently confronting China in Manchuria and Mongolia; it was unlikely to desire war with the Empire. Yet leaking Bolsheviks to sabotage the Empire seemed entirely plausible. To secure order and prepare for any contingency, the Japanese Army had stationed a substantial force.
And then the great earthquake struck.
The devastation was beyond description.
This was no medieval era, and the Tsarina—already a figure of vigilance who had taken the field in battle—had issued a warning that proved to be an advance notice of the catastrophe about to engulf the Empire. The Japanese government regretted ignoring the Tsarina’s warning, but only briefly. After all, how many nations would truly believe a prophecy of such a calamity?
“Did the Tsarina cause the earthquake to attack the Empire in revenge for the Russo-Japanese War?”
“Talk sense.”
“Predicting a major earthquake in the first place sounds absurd.”
Having failed to act on the Tsarina’s information, the Japanese government descended into chaos and produced every conspiracy theory imaginable. Yet calming public discontent came first.
In the original history, the Kanto Massacre had begun with claims that “Koreans poisoned the wells.” Now, with all Koreans already relocated to Manchuria, it became “The inferior Chinese poisoned the wells and murdered imperial subjects!”
“Kill all the Chinese!”
The local vigilante groups formed to maintain order slaughtered every visible Chinese person—and even Japanese citizens whose pronunciation seemed slightly off, branding them as Korean or Chinese.
The Japanese government scrambled desperately to manage the aftermath. In the midst of that frantic effort, some naturally began to reassess the Tsarina.
The Tsarina is truly a saint.
She warned us of the disaster that would strike the Empire. Russia is the Empire’s ally.
They still had no idea how she had known, but what mattered was that the Tsarina had demonstrated goodwill toward the Empire.
“Well, given her age, she probably knows little about the Russo-Japanese War anyway.”
“But how on earth did she know about the earthquake?”
The discussion circled endlessly back to how the Tsarina had known, eventually concluding it had been an extraordinary coincidence. In any case, the damage from the Kanto Earthquake was simply too severe to allow for leisurely debate over whether the Tsarina possessed genuine prophetic powers. Several warships, dispatched out of concern that Bolsheviks might use the sea for movement, had also been damaged.
On top of that—
“Explain yourselves at once!”
China demanded an apology and compensation for the massacre of its citizens.
“Those Japanese bastards cursed at us, but it turns out they moved us to spare us from their earthquake.”
“Serves the bastards right~!”
The Koreans from Kanto, forcibly resettled in South Manchuria, broke into wide, satisfied smiles.
And around this time, a man arrived at a Siberian labor camp. He rushed toward the Ohrana agents monitoring the Bolshevik prisoners and made his appeal.
“I was an agent of the Cheka. During the civil war, I was tasked with eliminating Mensheviks who had infiltrated the Soviet side.”
“And what exactly are you trying to say?”
“I have no desire to rot away in this frozen hell. Give me a chance. I will swear absolute loyalty to the Tsarina! I will gladly perform any dirty work required of me!”
Loyalty to the Tsarina. Given the man’s record in the original history, the claim seemed laughable. Yet the man before them was desperate. He wanted to live. He was not someone who should perish in a place like this.
“Aren’t you a filthy red? Even if the dirty work involves dealing with your fellow Bolsheviks?”
“Joining the Bolsheviks was merely a means of survival. Had I known that Lenin was nothing more than a communist dreamer, I would never have joined them! I may have acted to conscript enemy troops, but I never once engaged the White Army in battle! I am cut from entirely different cloth than those wretches rotting in their cells!”
Lavrentiy Beria. In the original history, the man who had done anything and everything for Stalin, the chief of the NKVD responsible for countless executions during the Great Purge.
With history altered—public sentiment flowing toward the Tsarina and the Red-White Civil War ending in White victory—Lenin was, to Lavrentiy Beria, nothing more than a deluded idealist. He felt he had been thoroughly deceived in the prime of his life. Now he wished to serve the Tsar. To serve the new Rome.
The Kanto Earthquake had struck.
These people wouldn’t have listened even if I’d spelled it out for them.
I had only tossed out the warning casually, knowing they were the sort who ignored such things anyway. Even if they had taken it seriously and prepared, there was no way the vast Japanese population in Kanto could have evacuated, nor could buildings and property have been moved.
Still, the damage turning out even worse than expected was a surprise. At the very least, if they refused to listen, shouldn’t the casualties have remained the same—or even decreased slightly now that the Koreans had left?
According to the Ohrana agents attached to the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the increased damage stemmed from a theory I myself had never considered: that the Tsarina had deliberately guided the Bolsheviks who fled during the civil war toward Kanto. With both the army and fleet stationed there as a result, the destruction had surpassed the original timeline.
Wow. What a snowball effect.
It would have been perfect if they had simply crammed every available soldier into Kanto and rendered themselves completely incapable of waging war, but that was probably asking too much.
“Your Majesty.”
“What is it?”
“How did you realize in advance that a disaster would strike the Japanese?”
“Who can say?”
The Duma was in an uproar over my supposed prophecy. This was corporate proprietary information, thank you very much. The gazes directed at me had all become strangely intense, but I refrained from claiming I had learned everything because I was a saint. I didn’t know everything, after all. It would be rather inconvenient if they started asking when and where the next disaster would occur.
“Our own situation is hardly comfortable, so we cannot provide relief supplies. However, we should have our ambassador convey our deepest condolences to Japan.”
“Yes, Your Majesty. It shall be done.”
More interesting to me was the report that a certain red, claiming to have served as a Cheka agent, wished to join the Ohrana. The Ohrana, though technically under the Ministry of Internal Affairs, also operated as an organization directly carrying out the Romanov imperial family’s orders throughout the civil war.
Its recent duties included occasional monitoring of Bolsheviks in the Siberian camps and identifying potential defectors. One such individual had appeared.
The man seeking entry into the Ohrana was Lavrentiy Beria.
Yes. That Beria. The man who had risen under Stalin by killing countless people. The one who eventually created too many enemies and met a miserable end. Unlike in the original history, although he had joined the Cheka, he had focused on conscripting enemy troops, countering infiltrated Ohrana agents, and operating under Moscow’s control.
And now this man wanted to serve under me.
“This Beria—what does he claim he can do?”
This was the bastard who had faithfully played the role of Stalin’s hunting dog. Had history’s change altered him as well? Or was he simply desperate to escape and willing to say anything?
“He claims he can eliminate all remaining Bolsheviks. He says the Georgian Communist Party planned to run wild in Georgia to disrupt the White Army, and that he can prevent it.”
“I see. Let us have a look at him, then.”
Very well. How would this man present himself? I decided to summon him.
“It is the greatest honor of my life to stand before the Saint of All Russia, the Tsarina, the Great Khan of Mongolia, and the Emperor of the Eastern Roman Empire!”
What was this? Was this truly the man I remembered? Look at him, prostrating himself flat on the ground before me. Well, perhaps this was simply how he behaved when fighting for survival. Even Hitler would apparently spend several years here doing architectural design before heading to Austria. Maybe this man was the same.
“So. You claim you will not hesitate to perform any dirty work?”
“Yes! If Your Majesty commands me to lick your shoes, I shall lick them! If you command me to lick your feet, I shall do so without question!”
With my legs crossed and my shoe extended forward, hearing such words felt distinctly uncomfortable.
“I have no need for that sort of pervert. What matters is how well you perform your duties. Besides, I despise reds.”
In other words, this was an ideological verification. Only someone capable of cursing “Lenin, you son of a bitch” could qualify for the Ohrana.
“Lenin was a dreamer, and communism is nothing but an absurd fantasy!”
“For example?”
“It is true that communism sounds like a perfect ideal at first hearing. But once experienced, there is nothing more authoritarian, nothing more violent, and nothing more utterly hollow. I failed to see this truth before.”
At this level, he seemed genuinely sincere. Yet wasn’t this the most violently ruthless man in the entire Soviet Union?