I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

The teahouse owner watched helplessly as a group of magically armed men rushed into the train station.

After a burst of gunfire, they fled in panic, even faster than when they came.

From time to time, one of them was shot down by the patrols.

The remaining few, still running desperately, saw soldiers in green uniforms rushing from the other end of the street in trucks mounted with heavy machine guns.

Their eyes instantly filled with despair.

“You are already surrounded! Lay down your weapons and surrender within five seconds, or you will be executed on the spot!”

The military police, since they patrolled daily among the public, were not equipped with heavy weapons.

Later, Mitia planned to provide them with lever-action rifles with weaker penetration to increase their firepower density.

But the army had no such restrictions.

Whatever big guns they had, they used.

If civilians happened to be killed by stray bullets, it was simply considered bad luck, and the government would compensate the families afterward.

Upon seeing these soldiers, the assassins instantly lost their will to fight.

They threw down their weapons, squatted on the spot, and held their heads in surrender.

Mitia was not particularly concerned about the assassination.

Naturally, guards would trace the source to investigate how her whereabouts had been leaked.

She only needed to wait for the final report.

She was not surprised in the slightest that she had been targeted.

After all, in essence, she was opposing the most powerful people in this world.

If they didn’t resort to underhanded methods, that would be strange.

Everyone was simply using whatever means they had.

Her confidence in going out in public came not only from firearms but also from Sherria’s assurance that there could not possibly be any Saint-level experts on this small continent—there were very few across the entire continent and among all races combined.

The ninth rank was the highest level for most races.

Crossing this threshold meant stepping from human into demi-god, and it was tied to an elevation of one’s mental state.

After reaching the Saint level, lifespans of several thousand years by default made those demi-gods transcendent in mind and spirit.

Their attachment to bloodline and country became exceedingly faint.

Still, today’s assassination attempt served as a reminder for Mitia.

The leader of these so-called ordinary assassins was already at the ninth rank.

Perhaps magicians of that rank were not as rare as she had assumed~

What’s more, their fighting style was novel.

Unlike local magicians who preferred long-range attacks, they had chosen close combat.

Their squad structure was no different from an army’s, but they were more agile and flexible than traditional knightly orders.

That was quite intriguing.

At the train station, Mitia waited for a while until at last the parents of the little one returned.

The young mother’s eyes were red and swollen as she bowed repeatedly to Mitia in gratitude.

The child’s father, meanwhile, stood beside them grinning foolishly, his face covered with slap marks.

Earlier, Mitia had personally witnessed him carry his wife and flee, abandoning his child.

While difficult to judge, Mitia could just barely understand his decision.

In times of danger, thinking to save one’s spouse was already stronger than most people.

A child, depending on perspective, was extremely important, but also, in such moments, perhaps not.

And looking at the slap marks on his face, it was clear he had not received any mercy afterward.

“You little lucky one, I wish you a lifetime of peace and safety.”

Holding the little one’s head gently after changing her diaper, Mitia found the quiet child very adorable.

She kissed her forehead before handing her back to her mother, then left the station amidst their profuse gratitude.

Meanwhile, in the castle where nobles waited, chatting and laughing, they did not receive the good news they had expected.

Instead, what arrived was the First Infantry Regiment of the Astal-Alos Training Corps—the very first truly mechanized infantry regiment under Mitia’s command.

Dozens of half-tracked trucks arrived, some carrying soldiers, some towing cannons, and others filled with supplies, all advancing rapidly toward the castle.

This kind of formation placed enormous strain on logistics.

Thus, in each territory under her command, Mitia allowed resources to determine the formation of one or two reinforced regimental-scale training units to test their effectiveness.

And now, these remnants of the old Alos nobility just happened to be suitable opponents for training exercises.

In the vacation castle of the Marquis of Alos, several factions of nobles had gathered, pooling the remnants of their fortunes from other territories to form a private army numbering in the thousands.

Every man was equipped with a musket.

There were also heavily armored men carrying massive shields, as well as mercenaries wielding magical longswords, much like those who had tried to assassinate Mitia earlier.

“Report, sir! An unidentified unit is approaching from outside the castle.

Judging by their banner, I suspect they are the garrison troops from Alos City!”

The Marquis of Alos and the other nobles, who had been drinking and celebrating, froze at the report.

They quickly stood up and rushed to the castle’s watchtower.

After seeing the enemy numbers outside, the nervous and fearful expressions on their faces turned to scorn.

At most, the opponents had only a few hundred men.

Meanwhile, they themselves had thousands entrenched within the sturdy castle.

Why should they be afraid?

By this time, however, the First Infantry Regiment had already deployed their field cannons, bombarding the castle with explosive shells.

Infantry squads, three men to a team, charged forward toward the walls.

Two anti-aircraft trucks, each equipped with quadruple-mounted Maxim machine guns, aimed their barrels skyward to guard against magical sneak attacks from above.

The range of magical attacks was roughly the same as that of machine guns, both within line-of-sight.

Hence Mitia always used machine guns as a counter against long-range magicians.

The four heavy barrels spewed forth fiery serpents...

tsk tsk tsk.

Whoever was hit by that knew the truth—none who were struck made a sound afterward.

Inside the castle, the private soldiers hastily organized a defense.

Heavily armored men raised their shields to seal every gap tightly.

It was useless.

Field cannons fired explosive shells.

Even if a shield could block fragments, how could it block the shockwaves?

Meanwhile, the advancing soldiers used the superior range of their percussion-cap rifles to pick off the castle’s musketeers, enduring a volley and rushing beneath the walls.

They leapt into the dry moat and hurled stick grenades, drawn from their belts, up against the walls.

The combined barrage of more than ten cannons and grenades left the Marquis of Alos on the watchtower gasping in shock.

It was his first time seeing such a large-scale, coordinated bombardment.

The castle walls, struck by both artillery and grenades, finally gave way with a loud crash, collapsing into rubble.

The musketeers stationed behind the walls stumbled out, covered in dust and dirt.

What they saw waiting was a row of dark muzzles and, not far away, an anti-aircraft truck with its mounted machine guns leveled at them.

Many were so terrified that they collapsed on the spot.

The mercenaries wielding magical longswords turned and fled back into the castle.

“Drrrrrr...”

The Maxims on the anti-aircraft truck opened fire first.

Four streams of large-caliber bullets rained death, blasting shields, armor, and limbs into bloody fragments.

In moments, the inside of the castle became a hellish slaughterhouse.

Alongside the coordinated, gapless volleys of percussion-cap rifles, the nobles’ expensive private army collapsed instantly.

Those still able to move outside dropped their weapons, raised their hands high, and knelt in surrender.

“The Goddess has abandoned us!!!”

“I cannot let the Alos Family be shamed!”

The old Marquis of Alos, standing on the watchtower, closed his eyes in despair at the one-sided battle below.

Then he opened them wide and, without hesitation, leapt to his death.

The other nobles left behind looked at one another in shock.

Someone asked weakly, “Should we... jump?”