Chapter 418
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 418
Chapter Title: I'll Show You Our Sincerity.
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"What... did you just say?"
After the Soviet Federation was established.
Bachemenski was swamped with work.
On top of that, he'd been handling all sorts of tasks for the revolutionary government, so he could deal with most emergencies calmly and steadily.
But at this moment.
He couldn't stay composed no matter what.
Did he pull all-nighters for days just to clean up after hundreds of high-ranking revolutionary officials were massacred?
Of course, that was a serious issue too.
But compared to what he'd just heard, it was nothing more than a 'mere' trifle.
"We're going to war."
That was why.
Why he'd stared at Sergey in stunned disbelief when the man spoke those heavy words.
"...Are you saying the Russian Khanate is invading us?"
"No, it means we're invading the Russian Khanate."
"That's absurd!"
Bam!
Bachemenski slammed his fist on the desk without thinking.
He'd always respected Sergey as a leader, but he couldn't stomach such nonsense.
Of course, liberating all the people from dictatorship was the Soviet Federation's ideology.
So war was inevitable someday.
The problem was there were mountains of reasons why 'someday' couldn't be now.
"You know we aren't in any shape to fight a war right now, don't you?"
"The army's organization is complete."
"That's just the organization on paper!"
Around the time the factories restarted.
The revolutionary government had begun recruiting soldiers.
They didn't know when Russia might invade, so they needed at least minimal defenses.
Thankfully, citizens who supported the revolution volunteered in droves, finishing recruitment quickly.
That gave them a total of 200,000 when combined with the revolutionary army.
It was laughably short of Russia's 1 million troops, but enough as a minimal force to defend Moscow.
Two problems remained.
Equipment and training.
The Russians had taken all the high-end gear when they fled, leaving the revolutionaries with barely any rifles.
Fortunately, Moscow was the world's top industrial city. They could produce most equipment in military factories.
But training was impossible to fix.
The core revolutionary army was only a step above militia to begin with.
They could teach basic shooting, but anything more advanced was out of the question.
"Our army is a ragtag bunch right now. Even focusing solely on defense gives us slim odds, let alone going on the offensive—it's suicide!"
Meanwhile, the Russian army was one of the world's strongest, rivaling even the US military.
A preemptive strike against them?
As someone with basic military knowledge from his work at the arms factory, Bachemenski had no choice but to oppose it vehemently.
"And it's only been a few days since our comrades were slaughtered! With the culprits still at large and everyone on edge, starting a war now is...!"
"That's exactly why we need to go to war."
"...What do you mean by that?"
Bachemenski felt a chill of unease.
Fighting now would be disadvantageous.
The man who'd led the revolutionaries surely knew that obvious fact.
So if he still wanted war, there had to be a compelling reason.
And if it tied to the slain revolutionaries, only one possibility came to mind.
"Don't tell me this is part of factional infighting? With so many militants dead, is this to bolster your political position?"
"It has nothing to do with factions."
"Then why...?"
Sergey closed his eyes.
Then he spoke in a grave tone.
"How much do you know about our fallen comrades?"
"I know they were all mid-level players and up, and many had serious issues."
"As you say, they weren't paragons of virtue. Most abused their power as revolutionaries for unsavory deeds."
A frank assessment, all the more chilling for its bluntness.
Sergey added one more thing.
"The problem is they were competent at raising funds."
"Are you calling it 'competence' when they extorted money from innocent citizens on trumped-up charges?"
"Even so, their funds were a significant help to the revolutionary government's finances. That's a fact."
Bachemenski's face hardened.
Forcing donations from Moscow's wealthy.
Seizing assets from those reluctant, branding them counter-revolutionaries—that was tame.
Using innocent citizens as escorts, forcing unpaid labor in the name of the nation.
He knew exactly what the murdered men had done; he'd investigated victim connections.
They were even suspects in murders.
But it was undeniable they'd helped bolster the government's finances.
They'd created an atmosphere where refusing donations meant being labeled a counter-revolutionary.
They'd browbeaten those grumbling about worse living conditions post-revolution into working for the government anyway.
And now they were gone overnight...
"Are we facing a financial crisis?"
"Yes."
"Donations have dropped sharply, but not to a critical level yet."
"You're right. The funds I'm talking about weren't on the books."
"Not on the books? Then...?"
Bachemenski's confusion didn't last.
His eyes widened in shock.
"You don't mean you took bribes from them?"
"Not 'don't mean'—it's true. And it all went toward buying and supplying arms."
Bachemenski gaped at Sergey's calm admission.
Whenever army funds ran short, Sergey had injected mysterious sums multiple times.
Until now, he'd assumed it was donations from revolutionary supporters or secret foreign aid for the Soviet Federation.
To think it was all bribes.
If true, the crimes he'd uncovered were just the tip of the iceberg.
To amass that much in bribes short-term, they'd need ten times the exploitation he'd found.
"So you knew about their crimes all along and turned a blind eye?!"
"I didn't ignore them on purpose. I wanted to condemn them, but I couldn't secure solid evidence."
"The bribes you took are evidence!"
"They laundered it as anonymous donations, making it unusable as proof."
"Not because exposing it would hurt you in faction fights?"
"If I feared that, I wouldn't have used the bribes to fill the government's coffers."
Bachemenski groaned.
Since becoming general secretary, Sergey lived ascetically—no luxuries, meals like factory workers, all work and no play.
He wouldn't take bribes for personal gain or power.
He'd overlooked it for the Soviet Federation.
But even for the greater good, did they have to stoop this low?
And with war as the outcome, no less.
He couldn't help but feel turmoil.
"Is that why you're pushing for war?"
"We've spent most of our budget on arms. We can't sustain the army long-term. The options are shrinking it or..."
"...seizing another city for tax revenue before our supplies run out."
They'd blown all their money on arms.
Now they had to spend those arms to make money through war.
It was an absurd contradiction.
But unavoidable reality.
"We don't need vast territory. Annexing one or two cities would dramatically improve our situation."
Their fiscal woes stemmed largely from Russia taking all assets when they fled.
A proper city would provide assets and taxes to weather the storm.
Plus, victory would boost morale, quiet complaints about harsh labor, and let them issue bonds to recover finances.
Considering the upsides, it was worth a shot.
"But that's only viable if we can beat the Russian army."
One problem.
Slim odds.
Manpower, gear, supplies, training.
The Soviet army lacked in every area against Russia's overwhelming superiority.
It was like throwing eggs at rocks.
"Don't worry about that. I have no intention of starting a hopeless war."
Beep.
"Elshar sisters, bring me that map."
[Got it.]
And soon after.
The white-haired girl who arrived at Sergey's summons.
Bachemenski's eyes bulged at the map and documents Yekateriche spread on the table.
"This is... the Russian army's deployment chart and operations plan?"
"Yes."
"How did you get this?"
"Hacking."
"Hacking? You hacked the Russian army just now?"
"Yeah."
As if it were no big deal.
Bachemenski stared in bewilderment at Yekateriche's nonchalant reply.
Russia's security was Bahamut-grade. No single genius could breach it.
...Though it wouldn't surprise anyone knowing she'd made it on a whim.
"As the deployment shows, the Russian army is in chaos right now too."
Obviously.
Their capital was lost to revolutionaries.
The iron-fisted Great Khan had fled with 100,000 garrison troops defending Moscow.
Even a well-supplied army like Russia's couldn't run smoothly.
"If we stir internal chaos with revolutionaries in other cities and exploit the gaps..."
"...we might catch them off-guard once or twice."
"Exactly."
Bachemenski's expression grew complicated.
If there were zero odds, he'd fight to the death against it.
But Sergey's plan didn't look entirely hopeless.
It created odds where none existed.
Defeat was still likely, and a prolonged war could worsen things.
But better to strike first for gains than disband the army now.
That logic was hard to refute.
So after agonizing, Bachemenski spoke with a hardened face.
"...What do you need me to do?"
"Prepare the army to deploy as soon as possible. The Elshar sisters will assist as staff officers."
"Staff officers? The Elshar sisters?"
"Fortunately, they have talent in strategy. What they showed during the revolution will be a huge help here."
"Just trust me."
Bachemenski couldn't deny it.
With officer shortages plaguing the revolutionary army, they couldn't afford to bench talent like Elshar.
Instead, her absence would pile more work on the rear guard, darkening his outlook.
In the end, Bachemenski sighed deeply as he took the tasks and left.
Before Yekateriche followed.
Sergey suddenly asked.
"Elshar sisters, before you go, I have a question."
"What?"
"The night our comrades were murdered, do you know where Rimon brother was and what he was doing?"
At that question.
She wore a subtle smile.
But it was hidden behind her mask.
Feigning her usual blank expression, Yekateriche replied coolly.
"He was with me."
"...I see. Sorry for asking something pointless."
"It's fine."
After Yekateriche left.
Alone, Sergey sank into thought.
Even with her alibi confirmed, doubts lingered.
Especially since many slain revolutionaries had clashed bloodily with Rimon before.
But pinning it all on Rimon alone seemed unlikely.
That night, simultaneous murders struck Moscow in hundreds across the city.
Who could do that solo...?
"..."
In that instant.
Sergey's face stiffened.
He'd met Rimon several times.
Yet he couldn't clearly recall his face.
So he dredged his memory.
Rimon's hair color.
And barely recalled it matched Elshar's—pure white—before groaning unwittingly.
"No way?"
A few days later.
100,000 Federation troops marched from Moscow.
Thus began the war between the Soviet Federation and Russian Khanate—two nations that could never coexist.
...And it ended.
Not to Russian bullets greeting their thrust to Yaroslavl after exploiting weaknesses.
A city devoid of troops.
Cheering citizens.
Revolutionaries eager to join the Federation.
And warehouses stuffed with manga.
The revolutionary officers could only gape at the eerily familiar sight.
"I told you. I'll show you the White Dragon Clan's sincerity."
And at that moment.
The culprit who'd stripped Yaroslavl's Russian garrison of every resource right on the Federation army's deployment date.
The white-haired girl who'd squeezed budgets from nearby cities and villages to order books and films.
Ainsha muttered with a blank face.
"Come at me as much as you want. I'll flee to the ends of the earth."
When it came to running away, no one was more sincere.
The White Dragon Clan's princess clenched her fist, steeling her resolve.