Chapter 19: Letting Go of Personal Morality and Embracing a Life Without Conscience

Winning the war would, of course, grant them enemy territory or reparations.

But what if, like in the last great battle at Lasia, they suffered a slight defeat—or worse, a crushing loss?

A debt of tens of billions of rubles could bankrupt Duke Beria.

“If Asgard invades our country, then we won’t have to repay that money. The Britanians think the same way,” Zhang Shan said.

The duke’s eye twitched. “What if the Asgardians don’t attack us?”

Zhang Shan didn’t answer immediately; instead, he countered, “Our country abolished serfdom, right?”

“Correct, it’s been written into the Empire’s constitution. Slavery is forbidden.”

That was the result of the nobles’ compromise during the civil war.

Before the civil war, owning serfs was legal. To gain the support of serfs and workers in overthrowing Ivan XVI, the nobles had to emancipate all serfs, treating every Lasian as a free citizen.

Zhang Shan smiled brightly. “Bringing seventy million Japanese POWs to Beria to farm potatoes—isn’t that legal?”

The old duke’s heart skipped a beat.

Could it be that this young man planned to round up all the Yamato people?

Every word hinted at it, never mentioning it outright but never straying from the idea.

For a moment, the duke almost thought he had fathered a son from Britannia.

Such a mindset, rooted in the triangular slave trade, was hard to conceive without firsthand experience as a slaveholder.

Ironically, every noble of the Lasian Empire had once been a slave owner.

They all longed for the days when they were above all others.

What the duke didn’t realize was that this seemingly good and dutiful son was simply drooling over the system talent called “Mass Assault Doctrine.”

The duke stammered for a moment. “Fine, the Yamato aren’t even human.”

He would bet a ruble that the Lasian nobles, when faced with a bunch of Japanese slaves—er, prisoners of war—would be absolutely delighted.

Free citizens demand wages and must be treated as human; such costs were hardly economical!

He could already picture the palace’s crematorium piled high with the ashes of disobedient Japanese.

***

At any rate, Zhang Shan had pushed his efforts to the utmost at this stage. The rest was temporarily entrusted to generals like Mikhail.

In fact, May, the first month of the war, saw relatively moderate front-line intensity.

The Yamato initially deployed only second-class divisions of limited strength. By mid-May, some first-class divisions originally assigned to Seris began to be redeployed.

The people of Seris, informed by newspapers and other sources, cheered.

“Has the Lasian Empire declared war on Yamato?”

“Not yet, it seems.”

“Why aren’t they fighting then?”

“I heard Duke Beria and the emperor don’t get along.”

“Can Beria even handle Yamato on his own?”

“No one knows. But I heard many elite Japanese troops are being sent north.”

“Fight! Fight to the death! Hopefully, they’ll both be badly hurt.”

“Honestly, I’m kind of hoping Lasia teams up with us for a pincer attack on the Japanese from north and south.”

No matter what, their powerful northern neighbor was finally sharing the enormous military pressure.

There was no choice: for the backward Seris, the Yamato held absolute air superiority and heavy firepower advantage.

At this point, the casualty exchange rate between regular armies often reached a brutal 6:1—six Seris soldiers falling for every Yamato one.

The Yamato northern army pulling its main forces north indeed benefited Seris, but at the cost of sharply increased military pressure on the frontline states of Beria, Red Tower Province, and Coastal Province.

In the general staff headquarters in Barovsk city, Lieutenant General Mikhail was briefing Zhang Shan on the war situation.

“Reconnaissance reports show the Japanese are assembling more and more troops. We’ve identified three first-class divisions—the 7th, 9th, and 12th divisions. These are among Yamato’s elite of elites. Now, along the five hundred li frontline, we could face an assault from over thirty divisions. Fortunately, half of those divisions are virtually ineffective—they are the Weiman, Mongol, and Juri divisions.”

As Mikhail pointed, Zhang Shan saw white plastic figures representing cavalry divisions holding sabers and riding horses, and infantry divisions carrying rifles.

What Mikhail truly valued were the tan-colored figures.

Those carrying rifles were infantry divisions, which Zhang Shan understood, but what were those wearing samurai armor and wielding dual machine guns?

Zhang Shan was sure steam knights were mecha units.

Following Zhang Shan’s gaze, Mikhail explained, “Those are first-class divisions. Each is fully staffed with over twenty thousand troops. Every division is equipped with more than thirty steam knights—oh, the enemy calls them ‘Giant Soldiers.’ They also have over a hundred various tanks and several hundred armored vehicles, plus more than two hundred artillery pieces.”

One staff officer, looking somewhat dejected, said, “We only have one division capable of matching that!”

Suddenly, all the generals and staff officers stared him down, and he fell silent in fright.

Mikhail roared, “Get out of here!”

The officer’s face flushed red, and after a moment of stiff salute, he turned and left.

Mikhail paused to collect his thoughts, then continued, “We are currently defending along the Beria railway line, digging extensive trenches south of the railway with third-class divisions. When the Yamato attack, we dispatch armored trains, even Titan-class trains, to support. Thanks to this tactic, we have repelled multiple enemy assaults. The only remaining problem is Red Tower Province.”

He pointed to a salient.

Its geography was awkward.

Unlike the neighboring southern border of Barovsk and the more distant Coastal Province, which were separated by over a thousand miles of the Anling forest, impassable for heavy equipment over the rugged terrain, and where the Yamato sent only some inferior allied cavalry brigades to harass, the fighting there was intense but ultimately inconsequential.

Red Tower Province’s location was crucial—and frustrating.

On a vast, flat plain sat Red Tower City, a vital hub on the Beria Grand Railway and the only large supply center within a 300-kilometer radius.

Losing Red Tower City would sever all transport between the eastern side of the Beria Railway’s Barovsk borderlands and the capital.

Unfortunately, the entire Far East region had only this single railway.

Without the railway, switching to road transport would reduce supply efficiency by eighty percent.

In other words, losing Red Tower City meant losing half the war.

At this point, Mikhail voiced his greatest worry: “If the enemy concentrates three first-class divisions to attack Red Tower City, even if we commit all our forces, we may not be able to hold it 100%.”

Just as Mikhail, somewhat hopeful, suggested borrowing main force divisions from other electors, Zhang Shan said something that struck terror into them all.

“If we can’t hold it, then don’t. Let Red Tower City become the graveyard of the Japanese.”

Mikhail: ???