Chapter 41: Whether We Can Win Doesn’t Matter at All

“Hmm? Aunt An, why are the lights in the living room still on?”

The hectic days of initial material transportation had just passed, and Mitia, who had been persuaded by her subordinates to come back and rest, looked at the light in the living room with some confusion.

Anje came out to greet her and said helplessly: “Milady couldn’t sleep. It’s been going on for several days now.”

Mitia nodded: “I’ll go check on her. You don’t need to worry, go rest.”

She gently pushed open the door and walked into the brightly lit living room.

Hearing the sound, Eliza immediately stood up.

Mitia obediently stood still, and as expected, the next second she was turned this way and that like a doll, thoroughly inspected and patted all over by Eliza.

Smoothing down her silver hair that had been tousled, Mitia comforted her: “Mom, you don’t need to worry.

Unless it’s an extremely difficult situation, it won’t be my turn to act.”

“I know, but I can only feel at ease once I see it with my own eyes.”

Her coat and hat were taken away.

While listening to Eliza’s endless nagging, her head even had to endure a couple of finger flicks from time to time.

Washing up, bathing, changing clothes—Mitia was pushed around in circles.

Sure enough, no matter how formidable she was outside, once she came home, she could only be obedient.

After her bath, she changed into pajamas, walked into the living room, and collapsed directly onto the sofa.

Eliza happened to come out of the dining room with a bowl of porridge and set it down in front of her: “Just have a little to fill your stomach.”

“Mm...”

Seeing Mitia leaning against the sofa with her eyes closed, Eliza sat down beside her, pulled her head onto her lap, and Mitia shifted around to find a comfortable position to lie in.

“Isn’t what you’re doing now a bit too hasty?”

Eliza stroked her silver hair.

When Mitia was little, she loved to rest in her embrace like this, her little mouth slightly open, her round cheeks puffing in rhythm with her breathing—exceptionally adorable.

Ever since her hair color changed, the two of them had never interacted this way again.

“It is too hasty. In fact, the very beginning of reforming the nobility was already very hasty.”

Hearing Mitia, who rarely admitted as much, Eliza grew curious, originally expecting to hear her reasoning and be persuaded: “Then why still do it that way?”

“Mom, tell me—if from the very beginning I had obediently listened to you, followed the path you arranged for me, what would I have become? In the best outcome, I would probably be a great magician respected by everyone on the continent.”

“But in the process, family bonds would have turned into mere kinship, and finally reduced to blood ties. As for the people, they would be nothing more than the masses, and in the end, ants.”

Mitia rubbed her head against her thigh:

“At that time, I don’t know if I would still have the drive to do what I’m doing now. Time changes, and the long years grind away everyone’s edges.”

“I want to act while I still don’t see myself as a true marquis noble, while I’m not yet one of those so-called great magicians—rather than just talking about how things ‘will be’ someday.”

“But we’re not strong enough... It was fine before, just some small skirmishes. But now that the war has expanded, the enemies you’ll face will only grow stronger...”

“It doesn’t matter. I never even thought about winning.”

“Huh?”

Sitting up, Mitia picked up Eliza’s teacup and took a sip, then smiled at her shocked expression: “Winning is indeed very difficult. But negotiating peace still has room to maneuver. The premise, however, is that we must first prove our strength. Only then will there be a chance for both sides to return to the negotiating table.”

“The reason I agreed with the military to set the time of operations in winter is exactly because of this—to force them to fight us in winter, and then we will use war to stop war, use war to promote peace.”

A confident smile appeared on Mitia’s face:

“The winter snow will greatly slow down the Church and the Kingdom’s armies. The heavy snow and the muddy roads after the thaw will make supplies extremely difficult. Right now, all food is stored grain—eat a little, and it’s a little less.”

“They can indeed organize a massive army with ease. But what will so many people eat and wear during the long, freezing winter? Can they handle it?”

“An enormous army is not necessarily a good thing in a freezing winter~”

Especially today, with gunpowder firearms beginning to spread, powdery substances were all very delicate things.

In the cold, damp winter environment, with those old-style flintlocks that required pouring powder and ramming it down the barrel with a rod, whether they could even fire was a serious question.

And the situation Mitia predicted indeed came true.

First was the Church’s ragtag coalition army.

After Mitia launched her attack without warning, the Church’s army—still in the middle of organizing—was forced under strict orders to march quickly to their designated areas.

The organization of Mitia’s army and their railway transport capacity meant her first offensive was bound to be her strongest one.

Because the fighting distance was close enough to Astal, material supplies were extremely fast.

Frontline soldiers had no hesitation at all in using artillery and stick grenades.

As a result, the enemy troops who bore the brunt of the first assault were extremely unlucky.

Though they had gathered a large number of troops at the frontlines due to the joint order of the Kingdom and the Church—

Facing Astal’s overwhelming artillery bombardment tactics where only shells were seen and no men, they had no choice but to collapse under the onslaught.

Once they retreated, the massive stockpiles of supplies they had assembled in preparation for a spring offensive were all happily accepted by Astal.

Progress along several fronts was going very smoothly, with only the Hendak front encountering stiff resistance when attacking the opponent’s capital.

As an old general who had fought on the borderlands for years, Marquis Hendak’s defenses were practically watertight.

However, reinforcements from two divisions of Astal were already on their way.

With the frontlines under attack, the rear was thrown into chaos.

Strategically, the Church made a huge miscalculation.

Previously, they had assigned bishops of each diocese to oversee the armies.

But asking a bishop to lead prayers was one thing—what did they know about commanding an army?

Adding to that, the Church’s soldiers were formerly illiterate peasants and bankrupt small workshop owners, not professional soldiers.

Just teaching them how to use muskets wasted an enormous amount of the Church’s time.

Before any other training even began, they were already rushed off to the frontlines.

One could well imagine the state of military discipline, and their logistics were pitiful, with men freezing to death daily.

To survive, every time they passed through a count’s territory, masses of Church soldiers, carrying the insignia of the Church, looted and plundered villages and towns—only the families of newly conscripted soldiers who were to join them were spared.

In this way, ordinary civilians who hadn’t wanted to take part had no choice but to tie a Church insignia on their arm and follow the Eastern Expedition for the sake of survival.

The bishops didn’t restrain them much either.

On the contrary, they were happy to let them forage for themselves to ease the pressure on logistics.

More soldiers for them, so why not?

As for the minor nobles along the way who were supposed to provide supplies, once they saw this, they pulled back the goods they had intended to send, leaving only a few fine gifts for the Church’s high clergy.

After all, the soldiers wouldn’t dare rob them—only their lowly serfs.

They didn’t care, as long as it wasn’t their own blood being spilled.

The lives of the people under them were never in their considerations.

Every winter was like this anyway.

Dying at home or dying on the road—what difference did it make?

Under the indifference of the upper levels on both sides, a terrifying vicious cycle began.

Those who hadn’t joined in the looting looked at the spoils the looters carried and grew envious.

The same poor companions who had once struggled together in misery could suddenly transform into wealthy farmers.

The psychological gap was too great.

So, when they reached the next village, they too joined in.

At first, families in the villages and towns along the way could escape disaster by sending a man to join the expedition.

But as the numbers of the expeditionary army swelled, this tactic no longer worked.

Everywhere the army passed, only ruins were left in the end.

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