I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

“Maintaining the encirclement stance of ‘three sides surrounded, one side open’ against Hendak is still manageable. But the corps stationed in the Memlotorh direction is facing severe supply issues, as the heavy snow has completely blocked the roads...”

“Your subordinate believes that General Lawrence’s decision carries significant risk of being caught in a two-front attack. If the supply lines are cut off, then the Memlotorh corps will become an isolated force.”

Mitia leaned against the soft chair, her gaze fixed on the snowfall outside that seemed never-ending.

Her fingers tapped rhythmically on the armrest, the “da-da” sound echoing in the office.

After a long silence, she finally spoke:

“The difficulties we face, our enemies face as well. In this weather, their wagon convoys can’t even move along the rutted paths, and ordinary people’s marching speed will be even slower. Lawrence’s approach does carry risks, but still within a range we can bear.”

“Forget it... it’s indeed somewhat unsound. You... later pass down an order: conduct a full census and screening of all individuals still under slave status within the domain. Exclude those who can be promoted to commoner status within one year.”

“The remaining workers’ labor hours will be extended to 14 hours a day. Criminals and nobles under servitude will extend to 16 hours. All rest time is canceled. Spare no cost in quickly digging through and connecting the double-tracked railways between all domains, and at the same time clear a highway alongside the rails!”

The Chief Clerk reporting the situation widened his eyes slightly.

Implementing such an order was essentially sentencing this group of people to death.

It was the dead of winter, and aside from shortened rest hours and mandatory work quotas, they were to brave the blizzards to carve out roads.

It would be lucky if fewer than a dozen died for every kilometer completed.

“Your subordinate... understands!”

Mitia paid no mind to the Chief Clerk’s reaction.

Such was the way of the world—building roads and bridges always demanded lives.

What she could do was protect her people in the legal sense as much as possible.

As for the others, they could only be pushed back.

She couldn’t possibly hesitate here and there, only to end up with the Memlotorh corps truly being endangered.

A corps contained nearly twenty thousand men including logistics—she could not afford such a loss.

The Research Department had already produced a prototype eight-cylinder diesel engine for testing, and with a little more time, it would be ready for deployment.

Once the transport lines were opened and all domains interconnected, the tank factories could undergo a large-scale upgrade—transforming from single factories producing complete tanks into modular production.

Breaking down tank manufacturing into specialized assembly lines, with each domain responsible for one component in modular production, then sending them to dedicated assembly plants for integration would greatly accelerate production speed.

Assembly plants could be distributed across the domains, ensuring whichever front needed them could receive completed vehicles on-site, while also preventing targeted strikes from crippling production.

The advantages of increased horsepower were many: bolting on steel plates and a cannon barrel could turn them into wheeled assault guns; adding an armored bed with a mounted heavy machine gun on top would yield troop-carrying armored vehicles; and of course, true heavy-load cargo trucks.

As long as road conditions were improved even slightly, the supply problem plaguing the Memlotorh corps could be resolved.

“Anything else to report?”

“Oh! In the direction of Pue Lalor, our army has already constructed semi-permanent fortifications on-site, forming a standoff against the Kingdom of Ovinia’s main forces.”

“And according to intelligence from our insiders, the Ovinia Royal Capital is also pulling large numbers of private noble troops from the rear to reinforce its defenses.”

“Additionally, the Church army of the Kingdom of Cabansia has already entered Ovinia’s borders.

It’s said their conduct and discipline are extremely vile—they loot, burn, and slaughter along the way, arousing strong resentment among the nobles of Ovinia.”

Mitia was slightly surprised at the Church army’s actions:

“They’ve crossed the border already? That was quick. The Lalor defensive line should just be maintained. Tell them to stir up trouble from time to time, keep constant pressure. I want Ovinia III to be unable to sleep at night.”

And indeed, Ovinia III was tossing and turning every night, unable to sleep.

Occasionally, he would even sit up at midnight and curse Mitia.

From the very beginning, he had seen her for what she was—a dangerous woman!

It wasn’t only because the Royal Capital was under direct threat of enemy troops.

What unsettled him even more was the continuous rise of the Astal Family.

Other nations could watch the fire from across the river, but Ovinia was the one tied to the stake, being roasted alive.

The two houses shared the same origin, with deep cultural ties and natural affinity between them.

The civilians of Ovinia could easily receive and understand the ideals coming from the Astal lands.

The longer Astal stood, and the louder its reputation became abroad, the more its governance, policies, and civil welfare would entice Ovinia’s people.

Since they shared the same roots, Astal had the capacity to fundamentally shake Ovinia’s divine and inviolable royal authority.

Astal’s ideals benefited the lowborn, and thus the civilians harbored no xenophobic sentiment.

In fact, many lowborn didn’t even view Astal’s actions as invasion.

And what did this mean?

Ovinia III couldn’t even use the rallying cry of “drive out the invaders” to mobilize the lowborn into joining a war to defend their country.

In fact, he had already tried shouting such slogans, but they were useless.

Whether he shouted them or not, the only ones enlisting were the impoverished who could not survive otherwise—no difference at all.

Perhaps they were even waiting for Astal to march in and liberate them.

The very thought of this made him feel sick to his stomach.

But aside from the looming threat of Astal, the unruly Church army was another source of severe headache for Ovinia III.

At first, he had thought the Church army was a life-saving cure.

Instead, damn it, it turned out to be poison!

Ovinia, being the nation closest to Astal, was also one of the countries most heavily influenced by industrialization.

It had learned early on to manufacture and produce firearms.

As Astal grew stronger, the Kingdom had armed large numbers of new recruits with muskets, and this action had already multiplied the strength of private armies under the nobility several times over.

Never mind that the nobles, having grown more powerful, were now less inclined to obey royal commands.

More importantly, with such large numbers of troops under arms, whenever the Church army passed through and conducted pillaging raids for supplies, how could the local soldiers possibly endure?

Several bloody armed clashes had already broken out.

What troubled him most was that these fires in the rear were affecting the morale of the troops stationed on the Lalor front line.

If not for the lingering authority of the nobility, immediate information blockades, and the iron-fisted control of the supervisory and military police units, those rank-and-file soldiers might have already rioted.

After all, no one was born rootless—many still had family living in the rear territories.

For now, news could still be barely suppressed, but it was never a long-term solution.

Every time Ovinia III thought about this, a deep sense of crisis gnawed at his heart.

Externally, the pressure from Astal was crushing.

Internally, the mess was no less threatening.

He felt as though he were sitting atop a powder keg.