The New World Order (2)
The undead lord, Prime Minister Herbert, was still holding onto his office. By now, any desire the British Prime Minister had to throw in the towel had completely vanished. His soul had been utterly consumed by the office of Prime Minister, as if devoured by Frostmourne itself. All that remained of him was a hollow, mechanical sense of duty toward Great Britain.
He had originally been an indecisive, overly cautious man, entirely unsuited for the crucible of war...
But he was no longer that man.
Regardless of his actions before or during the war, he had now earned his place. He had finally achieved the stature of a true giant, standing shoulder-to-shoulder with the likes of Erich Ludendorff and Shtal.
"Prime Minister Herbert, step down immediately!"
"Because of you, not just Europe but the Far East has been thrown into utter chaos!"
"Poland fell to Germany because of you!"
"And what about Italy?! Shouldn't we have left Italy alone?"
The end of the war was finally in sight. Only now did Parliament begin its desperate hunt for a scapegoat to blame for their total loss of control over the European continent. To Prime Minister Herbert, watching this pathetic display, it wasn't even laughable.
"How utterly... absurd. Hunting for a scapegoat now? Who was it that kept me chained to this seat in the first place? What do you think, Lord Churchill?"
"That is the nature of politics, Prime Minister."
"Yes, I certainly mismanaged European affairs before the war. But I have already paid my penance by enduring this hellish office. Besides, the situation hasn't turned out entirely to our disadvantage. Though the Austro-Hungarian Empire has emerged as the hegemon of Europe... France and Germany are practically ruined. We may have lost our navy, but we are the only ones in Europe who have preserved our core strength. Wouldn't you agree, Lord Churchill?"
"It is time for you to step down, Prime Minister. Even I have retired to the countryside to hunt ducks, wondering why on earth I lived the way I did..."
Hearing the Prime Minister's voice, his secretary quietly peeked into the office.
I didn't see anyone enter the office... And Lord Churchill? I heard Churchill is half-mad back in his hometown, so what is going on?
Yet, there was no one in the office except Prime Minister Herbert. A cold shiver ran down the secretary's spine. The Prime Minister was... talking to his own reflection in the mirror. And he was addressing it as Churchill! The Prime Minister had finally lost his mind!
Even if he was hallucinating an AI assistant, it changed nothing. In every movement of this madman lay the aura of a giant capable of shaking all of Europe—a presence akin to Napoleon or Bismarck. Herbert continued his conversation with the Churchill in the mirror.
"To step down? Yes, of course... I must do so eventually. And I will. But... the time is not yet ripe."
"Not yet ripe? What do you mean by that?"
"Before I abandon this seat, there is one last thing I must do. In that sense, Lord Churchill, your actions were not entirely in vain."
"The landing operation that triggered my downfall?"
"Indeed. The 'operation' itself failed, but the 'landing' succeeded, did it not? Since then, the coastal defenses of the Russian Black Army have remained virtually non-existent. Nearly two years have passed since then. And now, our new battleships are finally being launched one by one."
Prime Minister Herbert was planning another landing from the Baltic Sea. No matter how ruined Germany was, Ludendorff would undoubtedly gather his forces and head east again, driven by the desperate urge to recoup his losses. It wouldn't be easy. Therefore, this was the final opportunity to keep Germany in check. Now, with the naval reconstruction partially complete, was the moment. Prime Minister Herbert intended to set sail to prevent Germany from seizing anything beyond Poland.
Now, there was no force left within the empire that could stand in my way. In Germany, our nominal ally, my friend had taken power. And in the Far East...
"What? The Kingdom of Joseon has been resurrected?"
I wondered what kind of nonsense this was, but it was the absolute truth. China and Japan had divided Manchuria between them. Of course, having tasted the bitter medicine of the Chinese army's human wave tactics, Japan was in no position to control Manchuria. As a result, Japan was barely managing to hold onto major urban centers like Harbin. The rest of Manchuria remained a lawless, ownerless land overrun by bandits. And in Gando, specifically Yanbyan—a region heavily populated by Koreans—a miniature Joseon had sprung up!
"Are... are they insane? Have those Chinese bastards lost their minds?!"
Naturally, Japan was foaming at the mouth and throwing a fit, but the three nameless Chinese figures who had seized power—no, wait, the Qing dynasty? Why the hell was it the Qing? At any rate, this Qing government had reportedly granted land to Gojong and recognized him as the 'King of Joseon.' And in return... tribute...
"This won't do. I'll have to pay a visit to the Far East sometime soon."
Gojong, that absolute madman. No matter how desperate he was, how could he offer tribute to the Qing dynasty again?! It was enough to drive me crazy...
"Great Britain is also surprisingly intact. I suppose they have to squeeze their colonies dry somehow..."
Of the three great powers of Western Europe—Germany, France, and Great Britain—the British had been the least enthusiastic about the war. I had wondered how they expected to maintain their hegemony in the post-war world order with that attitude. But as the saying goes, a rich man's estate lasts for three generations even after ruin. In truth, Britain hadn't even ruined itself. Despite losing the vast majority of their navy, they had extorted resources from India, East Africa, and God knows where else to stubbornly rebuild their fleet. Modern research often suggested that colonies were more of a burden than a benefit... But the imperial powers were no fools. The maintenance costs for colonies were indeed astronomical, but an empire could always find a way to squeeze enough blood from those stones to cover the expenses. They were like zombies.
Well, I still had to carry out the restructuring of Austria-Hungary, which had been put off until Archduke Ferdinand finally became Kaiser. It was also time to gradually expand Austro-Hungarian hegemony by spreading Stahlism across the globe. Yet, there was still one last button to fasten. The war... was not yet over.
I immediately rushed to the imperial palace.
"Your Majesty, it is time we finally crush Russia."
"Why so formal all of a sudden? Speak as you usually do."
I had been waiting for him to say that!
"Ah, right."
"Isn't that a bit too informal? Well, whatever. Winter is fast approaching. Will we be alright?"
"The Russian Black Army is already as good as dead. Even the United States has washed its hands of them, and seeing Great Britain push their freshly minted warships into the Baltic, it won't be long now."
Our preparations were already flawless. Napoleon, Hitler... Every self-proclaimed conqueror of Europe had bled profusely after recklessly sticking their heads into Russia. For some bizarre reason, despite knowing full well how notorious the Russian winter was, they had only packed autumn clothes. I had absolutely no intention of repeating such a foolish mistake. Our winter preparations were already complete.
"Furthermore, our imperial army will not be the main force in this offensive."
"Oh? Then who?"
"Our people are already exhausted from the war and the recent civil unrest. I plan to coordinate with the Russian White Army."
"Hmm... isn't that a bit of a waste?"
"Even if it is, we have no choice. No one but Russians can govern Russia."
We were not a conquering army. In this era, even trying to swallow Italy whole would lead to severe indigestion. So how could we possibly swallow Russia? This was precisely where the Nazis of my past life had been blinded by delusion. With its vast territory and massive population, Russia possessed the latent potential of a superpower that could rival the United States. If left to its own devices, it would undoubtedly rebuild itself and display the clumsy majesty of a superpower once more. While that was a concern, it would be a far greater disaster if Russia failed to rebuild and instead degenerated into a lawless den of bandits like the plains of Manchuria. And I had absolutely no desire to see ultra-nationalist Russian extremists claw their way back to rebuild the nation in their image.
"You must keep this in mind, Your Majesty. We are not going to conquer Russia. We are going to 'normalize' it."
"And establish a friendly regime in the process?"
"Precisely."
"In that case... there is no need to deploy the imperial army, especially since its leadership is currently hollowed out. We can just mobilize a massive force from the Revolutionary Guard."
It was time once again for Hitler and Stalin to shine. Ah, right. Stalin had been transferred to the Austrian Agricultural Cooperative. The new commander of the Bosnian Cooperative's partisan forces was Yozef Brezhnev Tito. He was still a young lad who could barely grow a beard, but since he seemed overflowing with passion for Stahlism, I had placed him in the position.
"Hmm... what about the newly established Czech Cooperative?"
"The one that held its leadership election right after the civil war? Do you think they are ready?"
"The newly elected chairman practically begged us to let them join."
"I will look into it."
And then there was the Czech Revolutionary Guard, whose members had clamored for their own cooperative ever since the Austrian Agricultural Cooperative was first established. Once the Revolutionary Guards of all three cooperatives gathered, their numbers would easily exceed several hundred thousand. This would be more than enough.
Tomáš Garrigue Masaryk, who had just been elected as the inaugural chairman of the Czech Cooperative. In the original timeline, he was Tomáš, the first president of Czechoslovakia. Despite his history of focusing heavily on the Slavic nationalist movement, he had successfully, and exceptionally, been elected as the cooperative chairman. This was because, from the very moment the clash between the Black and White factions erupted, he had pivoted sharply to the left and thrown his full support behind Stahlism.
"A new era is truly upon us."
"Indeed, Chairman! Congratulations on your election."
"It is too early to celebrate..."
Masaryk brushed back his silver-streaked hair, his eyes shining with sharp intelligence despite his aging body as he gazed out the window. Since his first steps into politics, he had never once trusted the Habsburgs. He had felt the same way when they introduced bewildering concepts like the Agricultural Cooperatives and Stahlism to the world. But... The radical Serbian pan-Slavists had been executed, and Conrad von Hötzendorf had been sent to the gallows with unprecedented speed. The era of the reactionaries was over.
"The newly crowned Kaiser, Franz Ferdinand... will restructure the empire at a speed we have never seen before."
"Yes, indeed. We have already been granted the right to elect our own Czech leaders with our own hands."
"Is that all? Conducting administration in our own language and drafting our own economic policies is a monumental achievement in itself."
The empire had already begun to gradually take on the form of a federation. Bohemia had been granted extensive autonomy under the guise of the Czech Cooperative. Of course, while the Czech Cooperative's authority was limited to local security and judicial matters, with everything else regulated by imperial law... At the very least, the economic policies that sustained the lives of the common people could now be decided autonomously by the Czechs themselves.
"But, Chairman Masaryk, must we really send our Revolutionary Guard to Russia? The authority we have just received is already immense! We can barely manage our own internal affairs in Bohemia right now."
Chairman Masaryk shook his head.
"Of course, we Czechs have made great strides. But it is still not enough."
Bosnia, which had been the last to be integrated into the empire and was treated as little more than a semi-colonial backwater. Yet, massive budgets and investment capital had flooded into that very region. The once-impoverished Islamic province of Bosnia had now transformed into the most advanced region in the Islamic world.
"Hungary and Bosnia have developed beyond recognition. This is entirely because they cooperated with Shtal and the empire from the very beginning. Let us be honest. If we remain idle, Prague will be overtaken by Budapest within ten years, and by Sarajevo within twenty."
"What?! Those country bumpkins in Hungary and Bosnia overtaking us?! Please, do not joke, sir."
"No, I am entirely serious. While we clung to nationalism, they quickly read the room, launched their revolutions, and progressed. I was the one who was foolish."
"..."
Chairman Masaryk stood up.
"Bring me my uniform."
"You are going to the front as well, Chairman? You must stay and protect Bohemia!"
"Even Hitler frequently leaves Hungary behind to rush to the front lines. Why should I remain idle?"
"B-but your age..."
"Auguste Dubail, Pétain... all the famous generals of France are white-haired old men. Besides, our Czech Revolutionary Guard is still little more than a militia, hardly a proper army. They do not even have proper uniforms yet. How can I not accompany them?"
He raised his aged body and rummaged through his desk drawer to find an officer's pistol. The new world order he had so desperately yearned for was finally drawing near. If only they could take the head of Roman von Ungern-Sternberg!
