Chapter 38: Winter Offensive, Winter Is Coming

When the Astal Territory had eliminated all potential reactionary elements, the Church’s decree of the Eastern Expedition spread rapidly across all nations, stirring up violent repercussions.

The Church proclaimed the Astal Territory as the Promised Land granted by the Goddess to her believers, yet occupied by heretics.

Countless believers, yearning to change their plight and receive salvation, accepted the arms of the Church, carried wooden insignias of the Church upon their backs, gathered, and set forth toward what the Church declared to be the Goddess’s Promised Land for them.

The surrounding kingdoms also stirred restlessly.

They did not need Astal’s land, but they craved Astal’s advanced industrial manufacturing technology.

With the tacit consent of kings, many great nobles began conscripting slaves and peasants to form musket units, preparing to share in this great feast alongside the Church’s armies.

The weather had already begun to quietly turn colder.

Due to industrialization, in Mitia’s estimation, this winter would be far colder than those of the past.

Thus, their original battle plan had set the precise launch date on the eve of winter, under the codename 【Winter Is Coming】.

On the very first day the weather turned cold and snowflakes began to fall, the news that the Church and kingdoms had formed an allied army spread through trade caravans into the ears of every person within the territory.

But once this wave of caravans left, no new ones came.

The fleets at Sendegas Port no longer set sail, for the port had refused them docking.

The entire Astal Territory seemed to become an isolated island, besieged on all sides.

Some grew angry, some grew fearful.

Here and there, small disturbances broke out throughout the territory.

Under heavy pressure, their nerves stretched too taut, even a minor matter could erupt into brawls.

Everyone’s hearts were filled with confusion.

They wished to escape, but there was nowhere to go.

They were not nobles.

Once they stepped into another lord’s lands, everything they carried would be plundered.

When the cold winds howled, in Uruk City the flags of the Kingdom of Ovinia and the Astal Territory were quietly taken down.

A brand-new flag rose at the city’s highest point, crimson as its base, bordered with white gears, encircled with wheat ears, and a five-pointed star at its heart.

In that moment, every town, village, and street in the Astal Territory raised this new crimson flag into the sky.

Beneath each flag, guards or village officials erected makeshift loudspeakers and magic array devices, then stood silently at the side.

Many civilians, braving snow as they traveled, stopped in puzzlement at this sight.

From time to time, some would pause, gazing thoughtfully at the crimson flags waving in the air.

At the same time, officers of forty divisions had already assembled their soldiers in silence upon the parade grounds of military camps.

Behind them stood rows upon rows of hastily readied wheeled trucks, each hauling a field cannon.

There were also numerous packhorses, patiently waiting with heavy wheeled machine guns in tow.

Aside from the occasional snort of horses, the parade ground was eerily quiet.

All eyes fixed upon the magic array constructed from stacked magic crystals beside the Soldiers’ Committee on the high platform.

With a low hum, vast amounts of magic converged.

A shimmering light curtain arose, revealing Mitia in full military attire.

Her face bore a faint smile as she addressed the screen:

“All citizens of the Astal Territory, through ten years of our unrelenting hard struggle, we have achieved a land where all have food to eat, all have clothes to wear.”

“Here, so long as you are willing to work hard, you can gain land, you can gain employment.

No one can seize the fruits of your labor.

All efforts will be rewarded! This is the paradise and homeland belonging to all ordinary people.”

After briefly reporting their achievements over the years, Mitia’s smile faded: “But here, I must announce to you an unfortunate matter.”

“Through reliable channels, we discovered months ago that the Church has been organizing large-scale sermons, declaring our home as the Promised Land bestowed upon them by the Goddess, and condemning us who live here as heretics.”

“For the safety of the people, I eliminated all branches of the Church within our territory in advance, but this can only delay them.”

Mitia’s gentle voice recounted the matter, spreading through loudspeakers into thousands of homes.

Snow fell heavier and denser, beating upon their windows.

Yet the cold did not breach the cottages.

The hearth fires and steaming food warmed them constantly.

Holding bread in hand, they listened quietly.

“Now they are assembling a crusading army to wipe us out, and the kingdoms are massing troops around us.”

“We do not know their exact numbers, but it will not be fewer than four hundred thousand.

It could be eight hundred thousand, even a million!”

The sound of doors opening echoed across the Astal Territory as people in winter clothes gathered together, listening and watching silently.

They looked at the girl on the screen, the one they had watched grow up, as she spoke:

“They offered me terms—that the nobles reclaim this land, restore their privileges, and let the Goddess continue to ‘protect’ us. But I refused.”

Mitia shook her head, her tone filled with grief and indignation, her bright violet eyes seeming to gaze upon them through the light curtain.

“I know clearly—they want me to surrender. But in my heart... I cannot accept such a fate.”

Those listening below clenched their fists.

They all knew: to yield to nobles and the Church would mean restoring the old order, handing everything back into noble hands.

Many among them, who had risen from slavery to become free people, would be forced back into bondage.

All the policies that had benefited the commoners would vanish.

The land they received, the grain, the winter coats, the jobs, the opportunities for prosperity—

All would be taken back!

They would lose everything, returning to the days of gnawing hunger, to be slaughtered at will, with no place to stand.

They could even recall winters past, when their parents scraped desperately to pay grain to manor lords, leaving the family shivering in drafty thatch huts.

Hunger and cold gnawed endlessly at their bodies.

Relatives with frail health succumbed to sickness, never surviving to see the next spring.

No! Even the memory alone made them tremble with dread.

That gnawing hunger deep to the bone, that searing agony of frostbitten limbs—they would never endure it again!

“I know what everyone has been afraid of. I can tell you plainly: yes, we are indeed blockaded.”

“Our army is outnumbered. We have no noble knights, no great magisters. Our army is made entirely of ordinary people.”

Hearing her words, a heavy sorrow pressed down upon the people, unspoken grief flooding the crowd.

Mitia’s voice rang ceaselessly in their ears:

“This war that is about to come is a reflection of history itself. The kingdoms and Church represent the privileged class—they are of noble blood, they live in luxury, they are adorned in splendor.”

“And we, most of us, are workers and peasants. In their eyes, we are the so-called wretches. We know little magic, we have no land—like rats in the gutter, scurrying unseen.”

“Throughout history, it has always been so. The privileged persecute the people as they wish. They ride upon the people’s necks. They trample the people beneath their feet! And the people are weak and easy to bully.”

Countless crowds poured from their homes, gathering in the central squares of towns and villages.

With Mitia’s words, their bitter pasts resurfaced before their eyes, old scars torn open once more.

“But must it always be this way?”

Through their tears, countless eyes turned red.

Their bodies trembled, and within their hearts a flame began to kindle—then flared into a blazing fire.

Mitia’s tone rose, resounding over the entire Astal Territory:

“If we surrender, how shall we answer the people who once perished under persecution? If we surrender, how shall we answer the hatred of once being treated as slaves and beasts?”

“If we surrender, how shall we answer the People’s Army who died bravely in Harlin for our happiness?”

“Though Astal is surrounded by enemies, we must rise together with all the people, and fight back!”

From the crowd, someone cried out: “We must resist!!!”

More and more voices joined, furious shouts erupting: “Resist oppression! We must resist! We must fight!!!”

“We must resist!!!”

“This is a war between the imperialist aristocracy and the people!”

“Toward the north, the east, the south—all wars are wars of liberation for the people! We will unite with all the oppressed people to build a new nation of our own, united in purpose!”

Her eyes grew moist, emotions surging as sweat dampened her silver hair.

Mitia raised her arm high, crying with passion:

“In this moment, we face the harshest trials, but you must remember—we have only one path: victory!”

“Of course, there is another path—that of death.”

“But death does not belong to us!”

“Victory!!!”

“Victory!!!”

“Long live Mitia!!!”

As her voice fell, the entire Astal Territory erupted in a frenzy.

The heavy snowflakes, like goose down, shattered and spun upward by the roaring tide of voices, then melted in the surging heat of their fervor.

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