Chapter 419
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Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 419
Chapter Title: #419. You're Quite Bold.
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[...Um, White Sis?]
"Speak. I'm listening."
[You're full of spirit, but sorry to say, are you really planning to just keep running away like this?]
"Of course. Running away is winning. So we keep running."
[That might hold true depending on the situation, but isn't a country supposed to do better than that...?]
"Doesn't matter."
The Bluebird—Yuna Kyung—had come searching for Aynsha on a special mission from Rimon: "Make sure the idiot princess doesn't cause any trouble."
She asked hesitantly.
But as expected, Aynsha didn't so much as twitch an eyebrow.
She just continued in her usual curt manner.
"War causes casualties. Even if you win, you barely break even at best, and take a loss at worst. Lose, and it's total ruin."
Just look at Africa.
They might seem prosperous for a while from plundering.
But then they have to buy back consumed supplies, replenish manpower, rebuild destroyed villages, and so on.
After all the cleanup, all that's left is a larger territory that's harder to defend and balance sheets drowning in red ink.
Of course, territory and population are national power.
Gaining vast lands in one war and nurturing them over decades could be a gain.
But if you keep fighting to hold onto them?
The gains from victories vanish without a trace, leaving only an endless money pit.
Repeating that cycle every few years at most—which is why, outside Egypt, African nations can't escape poverty.
On the other hand, the princess of the White Dragon Clan—who had become the Holy Alliance's greatest power just by fleeing for centuries—declared proudly.
"If the revolutionaries want to invade, go ahead. You can have the territory, the people, all of it."
They take one city?
She hands over the citizens too.
They take every city?
She dumps the whole country on them.
In exchange, she won't fight the revolutionaries and will keep running to the end, even leading a million Russian troops in exile to the Holy Alliance.
Yuna Kyung stared blankly at the impassive Aynsha and muttered.
[...You're quite bold, aren't you.]
"That's right. I'm bold. Prime bride material too. Tell Rimon that."
'That wasn't a compliment.'
Abandoning the people she ruled,
even the nation she had to protect.
Packing up just the army and wealth, then fleeing.
How could she say it so proudly? It was absurd.
'Still, she sure has guts.'
But when eccentricity goes far enough, it becomes impressive.
In that sense, Aynsha's actions had their own admirable qualities.
If they were at a disadvantage, maybe.
But they held a clear advantage in forces.
Abandoning the country and bolting just to avoid fighting? That wasn't something an ordinary person would do.
Of course, since this wasn't her country, she had nothing to lose by ditching it.
That realization made Yuna Kyung ask tentatively.
[...White Sis, just to be sure, if this were the Holy Alliance, you wouldn't be running this hard, right?]
"Of course not."
[Haha, yeah, figured. It's your home—you couldn't just abandon it this easily...]
"If it were the Holy Alliance, Tata and the elders would handle the evacuation prep. Ditching the country would be even easier."
[Sis, are you really the Seven Dragon Society princess?!]
Yuna Kyung demanded.
Clinging to territory and treasures was instinct for princesses with dragon blood.
Yet here she was, casually talking about fleeing her own country—on a clan scale. It was ridiculous.
Aynsha's answer was simple.
"Territory and treasures can be reclaimed someday if you're alive. No need to risk your life defending them."
[...]
With a blank expression.
Curt as if reading from a book.
As if instincts meant nothing.
Yuna Kyung realized anew watching Aynsha answer so calmly.
Aynsha suppressed emotions due to her foresight, making her better than any princess at controlling instincts.
The White Dragon Princess unbound by anything but the futures she foresaw.
But after meeting Rimon,
Aynsha had even abandoned following her foresight.
So what was this girl seeing now? What thoughts guided her? What drove her actions?
Or rather, before that...
"I know why you're looking at me like that."
[Huh? Like what?]
"Like a runaway car with broken brakes."
[Oh..., haha. Must be your imagination. Why would I look at you like that?]
Yuna Kyung sweated coldly, making excuses.
It wasn't a total lie.
She'd pictured a plane with busted landing gear, not a runaway car.
Worried who could stop this loose-cannon princess,
Yuna Kyung prayed inwardly.
Please, no major victims from Aynsha's antics.
But that prayer came a bit late.
Because from the moment this war began, the revolutionary government leading the Soviet Union had already become a victim on a national scale.
When the federal army occupied Yaroslavl, from which the Russian army had fled,
they rejoiced at the easy victory.
Yaroslavl's citizens cheered.
Moscow's mood soared too.
Victory in war—especially against a hated foe—boosts morale instantly.
Even those dissatisfied with the revolutionary government's rule forgot their grudges that day and sent praise.
But the revolutionaries themselves,
especially high-ranking ones like Sergei and Bachemensky, couldn't celebrate this win.
It looked like a great victory on the surface, but occupying Yaroslavl brought almost no real gains.
The war's goal from the start was securing finances.
To cover management woes by intactly seizing other cities' assets.
But the Russian government had fled with all key assets again, leaving not a dime.
No, it was a net loss.
An army devours money just breathing.
No fighting, but mobilizing 100,000 troops consumed massive supplies.
Anyone knowing the cost would want to deny reality, no matter how optimistic.
Thus, Sergei made a bold call.
"Order them to advance."
"Teacher, but that's...!"
"Even that dictator can't keep running forever. We have no choice but to press on with this momentum until he can't flee anymore."
Bachemensky couldn't dissuade Sergei.
Their only way to secure funds was seizing intact cities somehow.
And so...
the march of hardships began.
"Long live the revolutionaries!"
"Long live Secretary-General Sergei!"
"Eternal Soviet Union!"
Receiving citizens' cheers as they advanced again, federal morale was sky-high.
They left minimal troops to hold cities, but Yaroslavl revolutionaries joined, increasing numbers.
Untouched by battle, their stamina intact, they welcomed the order.
Thanks to that morale,
the federal army covered 700km in a single day, striking the next target: Kirov.
A high-speed march using the Trans-Siberian Railway and commandeered vehicles.
This time, prioritizing speed for a surprise attack to deny escape time.
"Federal army! The federal army is here!"
"Welcome, brothers!"
"... "
But the result was the same as Yaroslavl.
Their efforts for surprise were for naught; they found an empty city and revolutionaries already risen.
And it continued.
Targeting small towns,
changing routes suddenly,
splitting forces for simultaneous raids, risks be damned.
The Russians always stayed one step ahead, fleeing with vital personnel, supplies, and assets.
As this repeated, unease crept onto federal soldiers' faces.
Even green recruits sensed something off.
"...Is war always like this?"
"Well, we're winning anyway, right? That's good."
"Then why do the officers look worse after every win?"
"Who cares. Better than dying or losing, huh? Feels great getting cheers every liberation."
"True, but..."
Still, with unbroken victories sans sacrifice,
or thanks to Bachemensky and rear revolutionaries busting guts to keep the advance smooth,
most soldiers ignored the odd vibe and savored the wins.
Officers tearing hair out,
vehicle fuel shortages,
simplifying rations—whatever.
The real issues arose in newly annexed cities.
"Keeping the labor points system? What nonsense is that? We must abolish labor quotas as an evil law!"
"It's for the revolution. Follow party directives."
"Fine, overlook that. But why force conscription on citizens?!"
"Not forced. Just requesting voluntary cooperation for the Soviet Union and revolution."
"Refuse and get labeled reactionary—how's that not forced?!"
To cover shortfalls, the revolutionary government scraped up remaining supplies and goods from each city.
It was already done in Moscow, no reason to hesitate.
The problem was backlash from other revolutionaries.
Cell-based revolutionaries operated independently per region and city.
Moscow's were biggest, tacitly treated as big brothers, but that's it.
With factions forming even internally over interests, other groups wouldn't blindly obey.
"...Rebels from other regions are furious."
"Doesn't matter. Keep securing supplies."
"Is that okay?"
"Expected. That's why we merged city revolutionaries into the federal army."
But Sergei steadfastly pushed his policy.
Yielding to every local revolutionary complaint meant failing to hold the vast Soviet Union.
Besides, cities were now under federal protection.
With main revolutionary forces pulled to the front, their protests couldn't sway the tide.
What truly troubled the government more than backlash was the manpower shortage.
"How's new bureaucrat recruitment going?"
"Regrettably... not well."
"Few applicants, as expected."
"Yes. Most passers are third-class citizens, causing workflow issues."
Russian government fleeing with top bureaucrats already left them short on talent.
Managing just Moscow was bumpy but doable.
But war annexed multiple cities, multiplying admin areas while bureaucrats all fled.
Existing staff couldn't cope.
Higher-educated first- or second-class citizens wouldn't apply,
and training third-class ones led to errors, piling more work.
Admin grew chaotic; factory orders, complaints, even military logistics—all faltered.
Truly, internal strife everywhere.
Without sighting Russian forces.
Internal chaos exploded.
But Sergei never halted the advance.
No, he couldn't.
Beyond finances, endless victories kept unrest at bay.
Like drowning men grasping straws, the government toiled in exhaustion, hoping.
Just once.
Please, word of seizing an intact city.
A chance to break this vicious cycle and pause the war.
And at the end of those days of suffering and endurance.
"T-Teacher! The federal army—they're...!"
"What is it?"
"They're looting the city!"
"...!"
Through an urgent dawn report, revolutionaries finally learned.
Hell has deeper layers below.
The hardships they'd endured were just the beginning.