I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

After the unpleasant end of the meeting, the representative of the Kingdom of Suria arrived at a luxuriously decorated manor to report the proceedings to its owner.

Setting down the pure gold pen he had purchased from the Seris Federation, the man thought for a moment, then chuckled.

“How amusing. The Federation doesn’t seem to have the slightest reverence for those zealots from Dmitria Church. They struck without hesitation—no dithering at all. Did I miss something?”

“The envoy’s tone was very firm... Are they truly so unified within? How strange~”

The representative lowered his head, his gaze fixed on the floor, saying nothing.

The man sitting before him, writing rapidly, was none other than Prince Bratt, who had just returned from the Seris Federation to the Main Continent.

After arriving on the continent, he had not immediately departed for his kingdom.

Upon hearing that Dmitria had dispatched troops toward the Kingdom of Paria, he had stayed behind in the Alliance Headquarters city to gather information.

The stationed representative to the Alliance was one of his loyal supporters—someone who followed his every command.

That was why the Suria representative had intentionally or unintentionally aided the Seris Federation’s envoy during the conference.

At this moment, Bratt had shed the youthful air he once carried before Mitia, exuding instead an indescribable dignity and composure.

Fiddling with the pen in his hand, Bratt recalled his experiences in the Federation.

Suddenly, as if realizing something, the pen slipped from his hand with a clack upon the desk.

“Imperial authority! That’s it! There’s something off about the Seris Federation’s imperial power! Empress Mitia’s authority is far too great!”

He stood and began pacing back and forth in the study.

Seris had always preached fairness and equality, as well as reforming its local administrative terms.

It had subconsciously led him into a mental trap—believing that the Seris Federation, like their own kingdoms, merely limited the monarch’s power.

That the High Nobles still controlled local economies and militaries—otherwise, what equality could there be?

As for the Federation’s constant claim that there were no nobles, he had never taken it seriously—thinking it was merely a matter of changing titles.

The Dmitria Church’s expedition to the subcontinent had, through his investigation, been planned for at least several months before being executed.

Yet from the time Seris intervened in the situation to the moment they began open battle—including the delays along the way—the entire process likely hadn’t even taken a week.

He was certain that before his departure, the Federation had no intelligence suggesting that the Church would participate in the war.

Excluding travel and engagement time, that left only two or three days at most for decision-making.

That was simply too fast.

Such swift reaction could only mean one thing—

that the Empress held absolute control over the entire Federation.

She was the embodiment of the Federation’s will!

He had observed the Federation’s Upper and Lower House meetings before.

Mitia would always sit above, secretly dozing off, making him believe she was just a decorative figurehead.

But in truth, the governors were merely governors—not some disguised High Nobles.

Bratt gazed out the window at the bright sunlight, feeling as if he had entered a surreal dream.

Autocracy—absolute centralization—rule at one’s own whim.

It was the lifelong dream of countless wise kings and emperors throughout history.

Yet few had ever achieved it, and those who did seldom survived the following year—always dying from some “unexpected accident.”

If she truly possessed the authority to decide everything by her word alone, then it explained why the Federation’s responses were so swift and why its envoys spoke with such confidence and force.

Don’t think this is normal.

Usually, it’s perfectly ordinary for a kingdom to have two or three competing voices.

Whether in their Kingdom of Suria or other empires, representatives abroad would almost never provide definitive answers—only vague and evasive statements.

And yet—

A nation that preached democracy and equality… had somehow achieved centralized autocracy before the kingdoms and empires still clinging to monarchy?

It was absurd!

How bizarre—did they not fear the Empress making one wrong move and leading them all into ruin?

And yet—he couldn’t help but envy it!!!

A nation with only one voice... ah, how enviable indeed.

———

The telegrams sent from the continent regarding the Dmitria Church’s movements contained nothing beyond Mitia’s expectations.

When she first suspected that the smallpox outbreak might have been a man-made disaster, she had already begun preparing for a new war.

Although she had no evidence to prove that the Church was behind it, in her heart she had already accepted it as truth.

As the Church responsible for controlling and treating smallpox and other infectious diseases across the Seven Nations of the Continent, it would not be difficult for them to engineer such a plague if they wished.

Thus, in addition to the previously dispatched forces, a second wave—two armies totaling roughly one hundred thousand soldiers—had already assembled and set foot on Paria’s soil.

With the lessons from prior campaigns, along the routes within the Federation’s control, every hundred kilometers stood a comprehensive supply center built from massive anti-explosive walls air-dropped by transport airships.

These centers provided temporary rest and vehicle repairs for the army, short-range logistical support, and transport of spare parts, among many other functions.

The outer walls were made of steel mesh frames covered in fabric—taking up minimal space, easy to deploy from the airships, and remarkably effective.

Once filled with locally sourced sand or soil within the mesh nets, they offered excellent defensive protection, stackable in layers.

Within just a few days, a sturdy forward base could be constructed with ease.

At the Paria frontline, the Federation’s Tank Division was undergoing maintenance and awaiting reinforcements of new tanks and reservists, while the other four Armored Infantry Divisions continued advancing toward the Paria Royal Capital.

The Seris Airship Corps played an excellent tactical role during the advance.

Two mid-sized logistical airships, each over 200 meters long, constantly hovered above the troops, providing supplies.

This greatly reduced the strain on the logistical convoys, which now only needed to transport ammunition and part of the food, while the airships handled the bulk of materials.

They could airdrop vast quantities of necessities—drinking water, daily supplies, even the Federation’s newly brewed barrel-aged beer and various cigarettes.

The beer was even chilled—all the airships had to do was ascend into the upper atmosphere for a brief flight, and it’d be ice-cold upon return~

Thus, even after such a long march—crossing deserts and swamps—the Federation soldiers did not feel excessively worn out.

Their morale remained exceptionally high.

Only because the logistical surplus was large enough could the army meet its basic needs and still indulge in such luxuries.

As the Seris Federation marched toward Paria’s Royal Capital, far away on the Main Continent, the Church’s new wave of forces boarded transport ships heading for Paria’s ports.

This time, the Church was going all-in—sending a massive fleet to deliver the entire Fourth Army of the Church, the Penal Legion, into battle.

The Fourth Penal Legion was one of the Church’s elite forces.

Beyond being equipped with Mechanical Bodies for more than half its soldiers, it also contained numerous captain-level units and even General-class Mechanical Bodies for commanders.

They possessed a large number of Magic Crystal Cannons, with their heavy guns transported and operated by Mechanical Soldiers—their calibers comparable to the Federation’s Railway Cannons.

It could be said that the Church was determined to cripple the Federation in one decisive strike.