Chapter 212 : Unite! And Unite Again!
Chapter 212: Unite! And Unite Again!
As things dragged on, the Tsarist Nation also grew anxious, repeatedly urging the Alliance to move up the delivery schedule of the Tsarist Nation’s cruisers. At the same time, they made another round of requests for assistance, hoping the Alliance would intervene or simply increase its support.
The Alliance’s attitude toward the Tsarist Nation’s requests was extremely ambiguous. Every demand was delayed through diplomatic rhetoric.
Within the Alliance, there were now disagreements over whether to support the Roshek Tsarist Dynasty or the Rebel Forces.
Yes—some within the Alliance had already begun to consider supporting the Serf Rebel Army. In their view, this was an excellent opportunity to export ideology outward.
An army composed entirely of various slaves might become powerful for a time, but it could never remain strong indefinitely.
Their greatest weakness lay in the difficulty of sustaining that spirit of rebellion. They lacked a clear goal—or rather, their goal was too vague. While the war was progressing smoothly, they could remain united.
But if they were later stalled in the assault on the Capital City, their momentum would very likely collapse entirely.
However, the Seris Federation happened to possess the ability to truly transform them—from a group that only knew they wanted to rebel, but not why—into an ideologically armed and organized force, ultimately turning them into a power capable of overthrowing a dynasty.
But such an action would be equivalent to openly declaring its stance on the Main Continent. If successful, it was likely that all nations would begin to avoid the Alliance, and it might even become hostile to every feudal regime across the Main Continent.
Naturally, there were those who opposed this idea.
Moreover, if the Alliance truly began exporting ideology to the Main Continent, it would somewhat contradict its current foreign strategy of stirring turmoil. One misstep could easily bring trouble upon itself.
It would be better to continue as they were—selling weapons everywhere to earn silver, while internally carrying out large-scale infrastructure construction to improve the lives of the people.
After several days of discussion, no consensus had been reached. The pressure ultimately fell on Mitia.
In truth, she was also at a loss. Emotionally, she felt the current opportunity was indeed suitable. But rationally, she knew that remaining an observer was the safest option.
This was the most orthodox approach. As long as all nations could be kept fighting among themselves—
Then, as the largest arms exporter, the Seris Federation could not only earn vast profits but also maintain a healthy cycle of military technological development.
Thus, Mitia did not immediately express her opinion. Instead, she attended the internal meetings in person, listening to the arguments and viewpoints from both sides.
Just as the discussion reached a heated peak, a soldier from the Internal Affairs Department knocked on the door and entered, whispering a few words into Mitia’s ear.
Mitia’s eyes widened slightly.
She took the latest diplomatic communiqué from the Tsarist Nation, lowered her head to read it, and asked, “Has this information been verified? Is it true?”
‘Yes, Your Majesty…’
“Alright… everyone! I think we no longer need to discuss whether to provide assistance. The Alliance’s child has made the choice for us~”
Mitia tossed the document onto the conference table. The Minister of Economy nearest to her picked it up and read it carefully, the corner of his mouth twitching.
‘This kid! Truly reckless!’
Mitia pressed her forehead lightly. “No matter what, we still need to provide them with some level of support. However, the scale must not be too large—minimize external impact as much as possible. As for the specifics, you can decide.”
“At the same time, inform the Ministry of Industry to adjust the ship delivery schedule between the kingdoms. Prioritize assembling one ship for delivery to the Roshek Tsarist Dynasty to shut them up—but delay all subsequent warship deliveries to Roshek by three years.”
The Minister of Defense took the document, glanced at it twice, and couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Ha! This brat even got himself promoted to regiment commander? Faster than I was back then!’
He waved the document in his hand. On the paper bearing the insignia of the Roshek Tsarist Dynasty was a personally written letter of inquiry from the Tsar. It stated that among the exchange students sent by the Alliance to the Tsarist Nation, someone had joined the Serf Uprising.
The Tsar’s tone in the letter was extremely displeased, questioning whether this represented the Alliance’s position.
However, no one cared about the Tsar’s tone. The Alliance was now effectively the Tsarist Nation’s patron. No matter how harsh the words sounded, it was merely an attempt to obtain more weapons.
So they would simply give them.
On the student file attached by the Tsar, the black-and-white portrait of Cassius—grinning widely and flashing a V-sign—stood out conspicuously, trembling slightly as the Minister of Defense waved the paper.
‘Buzz—’
With slightly darkened blond hair, Cassius climbed out from the engine compartment of a tank, patted the mechanic with his oil-stained hand, and laughed:
“See? Fixed just like that! Comrade, science is power! Let me tell you—this is what style looks like. No matter how difficult the obstacle, in the eyes of us Seris people, it’s nothing!”
‘It really is! Commander, thank you so much.’
‘Great, with this big guy leading the charge, breaking through will be much easier.’
‘Yeah… we really need education. I wonder if my children will ever get the chance to study.’
‘Come on, we’ll be lucky if we make it back alive.’
The surrounding soldiers chatted among themselves. Though their skin was dark and their bodies thin, their spirits were high—they were still able to find humor amidst hardship.
Cassius waved his hand. “No need to be so polite—we’re all comrades. We don’t have many tanks left. Every one we fix can save the lives of many brothers.”
As he spoke, Cassius climbed onto the top of the tank—renamed from “Saint Tsar Tank” to “Saint Shamon”—and shouted to the troops around him:
“Comrades! Rest for another thirty minutes, then we move out for the Bernoro battlefield! There are still many slaves there waiting for us to free them!”
“The more slaves we liberate, the fewer enemies we’ll have—and the more friends, comrades, and brothers-in-arms we’ll gain!”
“There should be no slaves in this world! We are all human—workers and farmers. We are all the same. Brothers and sisters!”
“The Seris Federation has already proven it, and so have the lands we’ve liberated! Even without nobles, we can live—and live even better!”
“Armed with the Empress’s ideology, we are a force that is trustworthy, dependable, and the most combat-effective!”
“Look at our banner! Look at what I hold in my hand! When workers and farmers unite, it becomes a flag capable of igniting the entire galaxy!”
Under the blazing midday sun, two tools of the working people were raised high in Cassius’s hands, crossed together:
“Long live unity!!!”
The Battle of Bernoro, in a sense, would determine the outcome between the Tsar and the Rebel Forces. It was the closest and largest port city across the sea from the Imperial Capital.
If it fell, the Roshek Tsarist Dynasty would be split in two. The nobles’ logistical support to the Tsar would become extremely difficult.
Thus, it became the most fiercely contested front, with the highest casualties.
Both sides fought relentlessly across mountains, grasslands, and desert terrain—every hundred meters of advance costing tens of thousands of lives.
At this point, the war had become nothing more than a contest of willpower.