I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

A team that could take in children naturally made people let down much of their guard.

At the same time, it also told others in the group that they did not need to worry about being abandoned if they became weak or injured, which was of great benefit to team cohesion.

And teasing children was the only form of relaxation for these men who lived by the edge of the blade.

The little girl heard his question, her face breaking into a big smile: “I did eat! Before it was as big as my palm! Now it’s only this tiny bit left.”

Because she was so thin, her sunken eye sockets made her eyes look unnaturally large, almost frightening.

The smile was not truly pleasant, but Pasha still thought it was very cute—just as cute as his own younger sister.

“Brother Pasha, you eat! You need to be full so you have the strength to fight the bad guys. Pangya only needs a little bit to be full.”

Pasha firmly shook his head, covering her small hand with his large palm and pushing it back: “No, Pangya, be good, you eat it yourself.”

Pasha understood very well that if all the food went only to the strongest and most useful, such utilitarian behavior would completely shatter the already wavering hearts of the group.

He lifted the bowl in his hand and took a sip, suppressing the desire to drink it all, then handed the bowl to the middle-aged man.

He looked at everyone:

“We are all like-minded comrades.

We share blessings and endure hardships together. Since there’s no food, then everyone takes a bit. What I have, you also have. Each person drinks a mouthful to warm the body. Then we’ll go rob a noble’s bakery and take it all!”

Looking at the bowl in the middle-aged man’s hands, the cold and bleak atmosphere was suddenly stirred up by Pasha’s words.

“Good! It’s enough that the leader said this. Hunger won’t kill us, when we storm a bakery we’ll have food!”

“TMD these damned nobles seized my land and ruined my family—taking a few of their loaves is too cheap for them!”

“The Astal territory will definitely defeat these bastards. We just need to hold on until that day.”

Hearing this, Pasha shook his head: “Miss Mitia said before, a single spark can start a prairie fire! We are all sparks. If enough sparks like us gather, these nobles will never be able to stop us!”

“Yes! We are sparks! Although we lost before, we still have a chance! Our comrades will only grow in number!”

The middle-aged man smiled as he listened, then walked to an injured soldier leaning against the wall and held the bowl to his lips.

The man sipped the broth lightly, then smiled and pushed it away: “Enough, enough.”

Several more wounded did the same.

After dozens of people had passed the bowl, there was still nearly half left.

The middle-aged man stared blankly at it for a long time, then took a sip himself before passing it to Pangya: “Now it’s your turn, little one.”

Pangya held the bowl with both hands, staring at the rice broth inside.

She looked around at the adults uncertainly.

Meeting her gaze, everyone laughed.

“Drink, Pangya, don’t leave any, don’t waste food!”

“Right! Fill your belly first, later we brothers and uncles will get you a big loaf to chew on!”

“Pangya is a little spark too.

You need to eat more, get strong, so one day you can help us, haha.”

Pasha carefully wiped his musket with a rag.

Looking at the weapon in his hands, he did not know whether to thank it or resent it.

Because of it, his martial skills—once his pride—had lost much of their value.

But also because of it, he was able to lead a group of ordinary people to resist their oppressors.

The others also began checking their weapons and powder bags.

Each carried another cloth bag filled with magic powder, and then they were ready.

Muskets were easy to get these days—just rob a blacksmith shop—but magic powder and bullets were harder, always just barely enough.

On average, a man could fire only two shots a minute.

Carrying more was not very useful.

Now that so few of them were left, the distribution of magic powder actually became more generous.

As for the powder bags, that was their own invention—wrapping magic powder and using a mechanism taken from a flintlock to ignite it.

The resulting blast was far more powerful than any bullet.

The only problem was—it wasted lives.

Anyone who set one off could hardly escape its range.

It was their final method, a way to take the enemy with them in death.

Pangya held the bowl at Pasha’s side, tilting her head up to look at him: “Brother Pasha, does roasted meat really smell that good? Is it really delicious?”

Pasha froze, then smiled: “Yes. When peace comes, Brother will take Pangya to eat barbecue. It’s really fun.”

“Oh~ no wonder Brother Pasha dreams of roast meat—it must be really tasty.”

The others burst into laughter.

Pasha’s face flushed red, and he scratched his head in embarrassment: “We’re going out. Pangya, you little spark, you must guard our home well~”

“Mm! Pangya knows!”

Looking at the little one’s solemn expression, Pasha could not help but pinch her cheeks.

“All right, let’s move out, comrades!”

“....”

Behind the ruined thatched hut, near the latrine, a mound of earth shifted.

Pasha lifted the board slightly and peered through the crack.

After confirming safety, he pushed the board aside and crawled out, scanning the surroundings before signaling his comrades to come up.

One dark-skinned man emerged from the tunnel, clapped Pasha on the shoulder, and whispered:

“Well? This used to be my home, I know it well. This spot is safe.”

“Mm...”

Because the frontlines of Marquis Hendak’s territory were tight, more and more of his people were conscripted into military industries, even sent to the frontlines as fodder to waste the Astal army’s ammunition.

Thus, abandoned houses only grew in number, which gave resistance groups like Pasha’s many hiding places.

The Hendak troops were numerous, but against these “whack-a-mole” tactics, they had no good solution.

The key was that Pasha’s group always shared stolen food with nearby villagers, so the locals were willing to shield them, making Hendak’s sweeps much harder.

Lying in wait was also difficult, because these groups lacked everything—food, muskets, powder, even clothes.

With so many shops and workshops across the vast territory, it was impossible to guard them all.

That was why Pasha’s group could survive and succeed again and again.

But this time was different...

Just as Pasha and the others crept out of the tunnel toward a brightly lit food workshop, the dark night suddenly blazed with torches.

In the firelight, Pasha’s face turned deathly pale.

Shock and terror gripped his heart, but what he could not understand was—how had they guessed his target?

In truth, it was because Pasha was still too young.

Recently, in a great encirclement, they had lost many comrades.

In such circumstances, weapon consumption naturally dropped drastically.

So what they still lacked was obvious.

Marquis Hendak did not need to think at all—he simply stationed superior forces at every food processing site and waited for them to walk right into the trap.