I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution Chapter 92

“Bang!”

“Astal! Damn it!”

“Where is the Pontiff?! Tell him to come see me immediately—what on earth have they done?!”

“Hurry and send an order! Recall all the troops dispatched to suppress the rebellion!”

Between the Ovinia Royal Capital and Pue Lalor, which stood as flanking counterparts to each other, communication efficiency was naturally extremely high.

Almost as soon as Lalor had begun its campaign, King Ovinia III had already received the news.

King Ovinia III was well aware that the Continental Church had dispatched a mobile squad to support the Church.

He had been thrilled at the time, believing that this unit would serve as the sharp spearhead for his counteroffensive against Seris.

He had never given up the idea of taking back his lost lands; even his refusal to relocate the capital was due to that very conviction.

Thanks to the delay in information transmission, most of the citizens in the rear had no clear grasp of the situation at the front.

They only knew that the rebellion was severe and that the kingdom had suffered defeats.

But once the capital relocated, no matter how much the news was suppressed, it would still be a tacit admission that the Seris regime had indeed posed an enormous threat to him.

Moreover, since Seris itself was a new regime born out of Ovinia’s territory, it was at best an internal war.

The common people would not harbor strong resistance—whoever ruled made little difference to them.

Therefore, if he relocated the capital, it would not merely be moving a city, but symbolizing a sharp decline in the kingdom’s overall influence—an impact he could not afford to bear.

The territories lost earlier would be permanently forfeited, and the rear would suffer great psychological unrest.

The rebellions that had barely been contained would instantly erupt once more.

As long as he did not relocate the capital, King Ovinia III could still rely on two fortified cities and the supply lines through the port to hold off the Seris offensive.

With a steady flow of reinforcements and weapons sent to Mitia, he could continue fighting a war of attrition.

If the capital were to be moved, the elite troops stationed there would naturally retreat along with the king.

Relying on Pue Lalor alone could very well lead to it being surrounded and blockaded by Seris.

Yet, unexpectedly, the Church had bypassed him entirely and engaged in underhanded maneuvers directly against the Seris Federation.

Now, instead of reinforcements, he faced another enemy offensive—he was being attacked on both fronts!

In response to the king’s summons, the Pontiff Oligovich, who was in Bonwich, had no intention of coming.

However, he did hand over the remaining fifty mobile knights of the Papal Guard for the king’s command.

Through the remnants of his intelligence network within the Seris Federation, he had already learned the details of the situation—and that Mitia had issued a kill order against him—further solidifying his earlier resolve.

In truth, those suffering even more than the king were the many lords and nobles in the rear.

The earlier wars had already stripped their territories of most military forces, while burdening them with heavy supply obligations.

Taxes could be passed down to the peasants, and they had used private soldiers under the manor lords to forcibly collect them—but that had in turn sparked rebellions.

They had barely waited for the royal army to arrive to suppress the uprisings, hoping they could finally catch their breath once the unrest was settled.

But feeding and maintaining an army of over two hundred thousand was no simple matter.

The great nobles had clenched their teeth to keep the troops supplied, hoping that, at least, well-fed soldiers would fight effectively.

And now—just halfway through the campaign with no decisive results—the army suddenly wanted to withdraw? Who could possibly accept that?!

Spring planting had just begun, and there was nothing left to squeeze from the lower classes.

The great nobles could only bleed the small manor owners and petty nobles dry to fund the army.

Yet the army demanded money and resources when they came, and again when they left.

I became a noble to live as a lord, not to be worked like a beast!

Anyway, the rebel forces no longer targeted these minor nobles, so—if they had no money left but still had their lives—some chose rebellion themselves!

The aristocratic sphere soon descended into chaos.

The great nobles could no longer command the small ones, and the grassroots became as rootless as drifting duckweed.

“I’ll just wait and see how long their front line can hold.”

Mitia sneered coldly as she looked over the data on the various territories of the Ovinia Kingdom in her hand.

The army attacking the Ovinia Royal Capital had already completed logistics preparations and was ready to launch the offensive.

To prevent a breakthrough on the main front, King Ovinia III would have no choice but to continue pulling troops from the rear.

This would greatly reduce the pressure on the rebel forces under Tina, allowing them to resume spreading revolution to surrounding territories.

Once those occupied areas stopped supplying resources to the front, the overall supply chain would shrink.

Without self-sustaining capacity, how could the frontlines possibly maintain balance in the war?

With ideological collapse internally and enemies attacking from both sides strategically, Ovinia was already standing at the brink of destruction.

The kingdom likely had only one final option—to offer benefits to neighboring nations and seek alliances, dragging them into this war.

Mitia had long anticipated this.

Against a single opponent, there was no need to issue a full mobilization order; the Kingdom of Ovinia alone could never force the Federation to such extremes.

Aside from massive material transportation to the Ovinia front, the other army groups had not been mobilized on a large scale.

Both the Lalor and Royal Capital fronts consisted entirely of veteran troops, while the newly formed Torines Front Army adopted a veteran-newcomer integration model to expand into a new mechanized division.

By training with a ratio of two-thirds veterans to one-third new recruits, they were built into combat-ready units before being transported to Torines for formal establishment.

At that point, this division would advance directly toward Torines, opening the route to join forces with the Ovinia rebels—linking both factions into a single unified front, then pushing forward to complete reunification.

Meanwhile, the original military regions remained unmoved, maintaining high alert toward neighboring nations.

Mitia was genuinely curious to see which foolhardy one might dare to intervene.

Beside her, Anna said, “The Kingdom of Paria has already chosen a new king. They probably won’t sit by and watch us grow stronger, especially since we took two of their territo—”

Mitia interrupted, “Took what? How is that taking? Since ancient times, that has always been a contested land shared by both peoples. Whoever is stronger rules—it’s perfectly justified.”

Anna covered her mouth and giggled.

“Yes, yes, of course.”

“I’m just reminding you—you put me in charge of that area. I’ve noticed that many commoner slaves from Paria often cross the Pralo Defensive Line to come live here.”

“This phenomenon has only become more serious over time. Paria has sent us multiple diplomatic notes, but I haven’t responded to any. They’re probably at the end of their patience now.”

Mitia teased Little White, who had climbed onto her desk.

The kitten lay sprawled on its back, basking in her gentle strokes.

“Doesn’t that prove the superiority of our system? The common people may be easy to deceive, but they can also see most clearly where their future truly lies.”

Anna praised, “I still don’t know how you come up with these policies.

It’s as if you’ve seen it all before.

Even in the history books, I’ve only ever read of one such example—ours.”

Mitia replied calmly, “The past is the past. From now on, there will be more and more.”

“As long as we continue to exist, we’ll stand like a lighthouse on the shore—guiding those who’ve lost their way to find their home again.”

“But…”

Anna voiced her concern: “What should we do about that Archmage in the Ovinia Royal Capital?”

‘Leave that old man to me—but I’ll need a promise from you, little Empress.’ The elusive Sherria appeared out of nowhere.

“Hmm? What promise?”