Chapter 411
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 411
Chapter Title: That "Surely Not," It Is.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Kremlin Palace.
The most beautiful palace in Moscow, long occupied solely by Russia's rulers.
Once impeccably spotless, not a speck of dust in sight, it now lay in utter disarray—coated in filth and footprints.
But at this moment,
not a soul among the hundreds of thousands gathered in the square before the Kremlin paid it any mind.
All eyes were fixed on one man.
The bear of a fellow standing tall on the platform in front of the palace.
"...We endured a long winter."
Sergei Vladinov.
The leader who had guided the revolutionary army.
"A brutal winter that blanketed the land in icy snow and flayed our flesh with knife-sharp winds, forcing us to huddle and survive."
Trusting in neighbors.
In brothers.
In comrades.
Losing everything to their betrayals.
Reduced to shadows who couldn't even show their faces under relentless oppression.
And yet, this man who ceaselessly created new neighbors, brothers, and comrades—teaching, trusting, leading them in unyielding resistance against the Silver Dragon Clan's dictatorship.
"But even in that harsh winter, seeds survived."
Sergei closed his eyes.
Those who sacrificed themselves to help him escape.
Those who charged into missions knowing failure was certain.
Those snatched away by the Okhrana, vanishing without a trace one day.
He recalled them all—the countless souls he'd encountered over those long years—and continued.
"The courage yearning for freedom, the conviction demanding equality, above all the passion to reclaim our nation... they sustained us through the winter."
The moment he opened his eyes again,
they gleamed with fierce intensity.
"But the winter is over."
"Now is the time for flowers to bloom."
"All of this was made possible by your will to save our country."
"And so, by the authority you've granted me, I, Sergei Vladinov, dare to declare:"
Sergei swallowed hard.
Then, with a thunderous voice, he unleashed the words he'd harbored in his heart for far too many years.
"The Russia Khanate ruled by a dictator is no more. In its place stands only our nation, where all people enjoy freedom and equality."
"Rejoice, everyone!"
"Our Soviet Federation has been reborn!"
At those words echoing across the square,
the crowd, who had listened in breathless silence, thrust their arms skyward and erupted in a deafening roar.
"Huzzahhhh!!!"
"Soviet eternal!"
"Long live Secretary-General Vladinov!"
"All power to the Soviets!"
This was the day Moscow was liberated from the dictator who had ruled this frozen land.
The moment the Soviet Federation was reborn with Moscow as its heart, and Sergei Vladinov ascended as its Secretary-General.
After Sergei's declaration,
the streets turned into a festival.
As if celebrating their escape from the dictatorship's grueling labor quotas,
tens of millions of Moscow citizens poured out, clinking glasses, arm-in-arm, singing praises to the revolutionary army's triumph.
Men and women.
Elders and children.
Factory workers, researchers, laborers.
Regardless of age, gender, or occupation, they shared their joy in perfect harmony.
It was a scene of pure peace,
a painting come to life.
...If not for the white-haired girl in the midst of it all, shaking her glass and belting out songs with more enthusiasm than anyone.
[Yuna Kyung muttered dryly.]
Even if it was a disguise,
it was absurd.
The very architect of the dictator's ousting reveling hardest in the celebration of his downfall.
It left even Yuna Kyung, shameless as she was, speechless.
Especially since she genuinely seemed to be enjoying it, not faking a bit.
"The real impressive one is that idiot princess. She really stirred up a storm."
[Yuna Kyung nodded absently at Rimon's words.]
Flooding the market with Tiamat's goods to fuel the revolution was outrageous enough, but then fleeing without even trying to stop it?
Yuna Kyung had no choice but to revise her view of Aynsha.
Aynsha wasn't just a troublemaker—she was the world's biggest one.
[Even a cow steps on a mouse sometimes when backing up.]
[In that sense, Aynsha's blunder this time was a positive one.]
[At least it prevented the revolutionaries and Russian forces from clashing, piling up mountains of corpses.]
That's what Yuna Kyung thought.
Until she heard Rimon's oddly lukewarm reply.
"We'll see about that."
[Rimon pointed out coolly.]
"There's no guarantee half the Russian populace died because of this revolution."
Moscow's population: around ten million.
A number befitting the world's largest industrial city, surpassing many a nation's total.
But from Siberia to the Mongolian steppes,
in the vast Russian Khanate of five hundred million, it was less than ten percent.
Even if the revolution escalated and Moscow's citizens were massacred, the death toll would fall woefully short.
The calamity would only match Aynsha and Cir's prophecy if it spread nationwide, devastating every city.
Ekaterina made that terrifyingly plausible.
"If this revolution truly caused such a catastrophe, it wouldn't be passing so lightly."
["Could be."]
["It means don't put too much stock in prophecies. Those who know the future end up ruled by it."]
["...Think of it like investing in stocks based on rumors—you're primed for ruin."]
[Yuna Kyung finally got it.]
Prophecy players' streams had lured folks into betting their fortunes,
only for thousands of small-time investors to crash the market, leading to stock plunges and a wave of suicides from the Han River.
Even the prophecy players themselves had made bank only to get knifed later—it all clicked with Rimon's words.
...Especially considering the world's top prophet, Aynsha, and her track record for chaos.
"Above all, the revolution isn't over yet. Even if it were, the real danger starts now."
["I told you. Revolutions are trees that grow on blood."]
Watching the revolutionaries torch Silver Dragon banners everywhere,
feast, drink, and boast of their bloodless victory,
Rimon murmured lowly.
"And a tree's true worth shows not when it sprouts, but when its branches start to spread."
[For some reason,]
[Yuna Kyung could only blink at Rimon's words, laced with an unusually cold sneer.]
The day of the revolution.
Moscow's citizens were too thrilled by its success to do anything but party.
The next day was the same.
Lingering in the festival's afterglow, they chattered about the nation's bright future, dreaming of lives as proud first-class citizens.
Two days later, when they finally noticed something off.
As revolutionary fervor cooled and harsh reality set in.
"Hey, aren't you going to work?"
"The dictator who forced labor on us is gone—do I really have to?"
"We still need to eat. I blew through my labor points on that trip last month."
"Jeez, your wife's nagging. Fine, I'll go."
...
"Honey? Why are you home so early?"
"Factory manager fled; place is shut."
"What? Then how do we earn labor points?"
"...Beats me."
Production orders halted.
Workers didn't show.
Parts didn't arrive.
Delivery trucks never came.
Most of the tens of thousands of factories ground to a halt amid the chaos.
Moscow, where over half the citizens worked in factories, plunged into dismay.
But they soon learned
the real problems hadn't even begun.
"What? They're not selling?"
"Not that—they say labor points don't count."
"What kinda frozen piss is that?"
"Central oversight fled too. How do we even redeem points? Plus, rumors say revolutionaries wanna scrap the system."
"Damn it, what now?"
"Pay cash."
"You nuts? Who in Moscow even uses cash?!"
Accustomed to labor points over cash, citizens spiraled into confusion.
Labor points were government-backed.
But the government vanished,
and the new Soviet Federation seemed hostile to the system, paralyzing trade.
The shock hit hardest those who'd scrimped and saved points.
At least they had goods to buy.
Revolution severed external supply lines, sparking shortages—even cash couldn't buy food.
Total breakdown.
As Moscow's chaos deepened daily, unease gripped the people.
And truth be told, the revolutionaries were just as flustered.
"Teacher—what's going on?"
"...Secretary-General now."
"That's not the point! Moscow's in turmoil—why aren't we implementing the stabilization plan?"
Bachemenski, dashing about handling complaints, demanded answers in bewilderment.
They hadn't declared the Soviet Federation on a whim.
Sergei especially had prepared for this day for years.
They couldn't avoid post-revolution chaos entirely, but they'd planned to minimize it.
So why let it fester?
Gazing heavily at Bachemenski, Sergei finally spoke.
"No money."
"...Pardon?"
"Stabilization needs vast funds. We don't have them."
"What? What about the government's budget?"
"It's gone."
"Gone...? The Russian Khanate's massive treasury—where?"
Bachemenski gaped.
The Khanate, dubbed the world's factory, sold goods globally—its wealth rivaled Seven Dragon Group, if not quite.
Impossible to liquidate and flee with it in days.
A calm voice answered.
"Forgot why we rushed the revolution?"
In that instant,
Bachemenski's eyes widened.
His face twisted in suspicion and dread.
"You mean... surely not...?"
"That 'surely not,' it is."
The white-haired girl, appointed Sergei's aide for her revolutionary aid and genius mind.
Ekaterina set down the ledger stained red and said,
"That fool... no, that mad dictator blew the national treasury on his art games, it seems, desu."
No bread or money left in Moscow.
Just books and records Aynsha stripped the treasury for, hired bands and celebs, and mountains of debt.
Laugh?
Cry?
Bachemenski could only gawk at the girl, her face an odd mix like coming home to find thieves had cleaned out while on vacation.