I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

“Return my husband… return my husband!!!”

When the last pregnant woman, supported by an old granny, saw Mitia, her originally vacant and lifeless eyes suddenly lit up.

Somehow she found the strength to tear away from the old woman’s grip, and with a crazed expression, stumbled frantically toward Mitia.

Two heavily armed knights among the surrounding guards rushed forward and restrained her.

Graf looked closely at the woman, recognition flashing in his eyes, followed by a trace of pity.

He leaned in close to Mitia and softly explained, “Her husband was one of the soldiers who went on campaign with Marquis Ackerman a year ago.”

Mitia gently rocked her body to calm her baby brother, who had been startled awake by the sudden shouting and was now wailing.

She pulled Anna away from blocking her path and slowly walked up to the woman, who was being forced to kneel on the ground.

The old, frail granny beside them bowed frantically, pleading bitterly: “Spare her, please spare her, Milady! She’s afflicted with madness! She didn’t mean it.”

Yet the expected scolding or execution never came.

Mitia’s fair jade-like hand rested on the woman’s dirt-stained forehead, channeling a small amount of spiritual power to soothe her frenzied mind.

Mitia then turned her head toward the knights and said softly, “Let her go.”

“This… yes!”

The two looked at each other in hesitation, but remembering that the woman was just an ordinary person and posed no real threat to Mitia, they obeyed the command.

Seeing Mitia’s action, the old granny instinctively held her tongue, though her eyes still watched Mitia nervously.

Ignoring their reactions, Mitia simply gazed at the woman’s now-clearing eyes and said gently, “I can understand your pain, because my grandfather, my father, and my uncle all stayed there forever as well.”

“I know this is difficult, but life must go on, must it not?”

The woman looked at Mitia’s delicate face, still carrying a touch of youthful immaturity, and at the small child in her arms.

Reason told her that Mitia, too, was a victim.

But when she thought of her own tragic fate, she felt utterly lost and helpless, collapsing onto the ground in despairing sobs.

Mitia let out a sigh of relief.

It was not in vain that she had brought the little one here.

She admitted to herself that she was deliberately using sympathy and misfortune as a tool, but she did not think there was anything wrong with it.

After all, she truly was an orphaned girl with no male relatives.

Now was not the time for internal strife.

The priority was to acknowledge the problem and then search for solutions.

But what she had not expected was that perhaps due to the continuous disasters and wars, the woman’s piercing cries of grief resonated deeply with the surrounding refugees.

The cries among the crowd grew louder and louder, and faintly, names could be heard—perhaps of their dead children, or perhaps of their dead husbands.

The wailing of tens of thousands reverberated through the heavens and earth.

For a moment, Mitia seemed to see a flood of boundless resentment blanketing the sky.

Sensing that something was wrong, Graf looked at the crowd and shouted sternly: “You are blaming the wrong person!”

“The order to provide support was issued directly by the King. The Marquis had no right to refuse! Why should all the blame be pushed onto the Marquis?”

The crowd fell silent at once.

Even the surrounding knights stared at Graf in shock, wanting to speak but holding back: “Captain…”

Although Graf hadn’t named names, his words were already close to outright pointing fingers.

Graf ignored them and continued shouting: “Think carefully, everyone! Before the late Marquis came, what kind of lives did we live? Did anyone care whether we lived or died?”

“This famine is not the first! Apart from the Marquis and his family, has any noble ever delivered grain to us?!”

Hearing Graf’s words, Mitia felt the subtle and scrutinizing gazes directed at her in the crowd, along with much of the faint resentment, vanish in an instant.

It seemed that the name Ackerman carried with it a special power.

Clearly, the late Marquis Ackerman was a truly charismatic lord.

Indeed, he was.

In his youth, Ackerman had been a remarkably gifted commoner mage.

Refusing the olive branches of the nobility, he chose instead to join the army.

Later, he followed today’s King’s father, Ovinia II, helping him ascend to the throne, and in the end was granted the marquisate, soaring to the top in one step.

Because he was born a commoner, and his fief was his own homeland, he did not impose excessive taxes or seize land like other noble lords.

Instead, he chose to lease land to the poor, taking only twenty percent of their yield as rent.

Even for Mitia, who had crossed over from another world, this method had astonished her as revolutionary.

In this, her so-called nominal grandfather had truly achieved something epoch-making.

Ackerman had single-handedly, in the shortest possible time, won the hearts of his people in the most direct way, effectively consolidating power.

The people, grateful for their land, worked hard to farm.

Grain yields were secured, and they spontaneously supported Ackerman.

As a border marquis, his fief was already vast.

He did not rely much on agricultural yields for profit.

It was only estate owners who relied on land rent.

His main income instead came from the rents of shops in the city, taxes, and the mining resources within his fief.

Because of the relatively abundant food, child mortality in ordinary families dropped.

With more manpower, centered on Uruk City, the Astal lands had expanded rapidly and gloriously for Ovinia in recent years.

Territorial expansion brought more subordinate towns, vast lands, and rich mineral resources.

This was a virtuous cycle.

Most importantly, the people held deep affection for the Astal Family, who led Uruk.

They were willing to follow and fight for them—fierce in battle and loyal.

The knightly guard at Mitia’s side was the most typical example.

They obeyed only the orders of the Astal heir.

By logic, when the lord had died and the heir had yet to mature, the fief should have fallen into turmoil and fractured.

But Uruk City did not.

As the Astal territory’s strongest border fortress, none of its key defenses had collapsed.

The youth militias of the land still maintained normal patrols, repelling probing attacks from the Kingdom of Paria’s army.

This also left the new King, Ovinia III, with no justification to plant his own people inside.

So long as there was no treason or imminent collapse, even a king had no reason to interfere in the affairs of a border marquis.

At most, he could station a legion nearby under the name of “joint defense,” but could not directly seize control of Uruk City.

The people of the Astal lands had held out until Mitia took over the administration, smoothly handing command over to her.

It could be said that Mitia’s ability to maintain the vast fief so steadily relied solely on her full name: Mitia Ackerman Astal.

Ackerman might no longer be alive, but his influence remained everywhere.

Seeing the change in the refugees’ gazes, Mitia quickly raised her hand to stop Graf from speaking further.

It was enough to make the point.

Graf belonged to the knightly class under the Marquis, beyond the King’s authority.

So for what he had already said, the Astal Family could still protect him.

But if he continued, stirring up something like a riot, then no one could shield him.

Seeing Mitia’s gesture, Graf’s chest heaved, but he still loyally obeyed and stepped back.

Mitia stepped forward and declared in a clear voice:

“I hereby announce, all displaced women and elderly, as well as all children, may be sent to the Astal estate! I will provide their food and guarantee the survival of the old, the weak, women, and children in this difficult time.”

“Please allow me, on behalf of the Astal Family, to offer my deepest apologies to all who have lost their loved ones because of war. Please believe me! Believe that our Astal Family will do everything in our power to endure these hardships together with you!”

After speaking, Mitia bowed toward the crowd.

Everyone stared blankly at her, stunned.

In all their lives and from all the tales they had ever heard, this was the first time a high noble had bowed in apology to wretches like them! Even the late Marquis Ackerman had never done such a thing.