Chapter 8: Bulk vs. Bulk

When Zhang Shan couldn’t help but voice the doubts in his heart, Natalie and the group of advisors exchanged uneasy glances.

Several advisors hesitated to speak, but in the end, it was Natalie who leaned in quietly to explain the situation.

Ah!

The Rasian Empire in this world was indeed a bit fantastical. The former emperor, Ivan XVI, known as "Ivan the Cruel," had recklessly stirred up trouble: first declaring war on the Asgard Empire to the west, and then on the Turkic Empire to the southwest.

War is both a game for cowards and a brutal contest where the victor takes all.

As long as Ivan XVI could win, no matter how many Rasians mockingly called "gray beasts" perished, no one dared to voice opposition.

Such was the Rasian people—utterly devoted to authoritarian figures.

If you could win, even if countless lives were lost, you were still considered a good emperor.

Yet Ivan XVI was a military fool. Losing wars was one thing, but to suffer a humiliating six million casualties and still have the audacity to expand conscription and raise taxes caused the entire Rasian Empire to erupt in chaos.

Sometimes, matters unfold like this: the scheming of villains pales in comparison to the sudden inspiration of fools.

At this critical moment, Ivan XVI foolishly tried to emulate his ancestor, the "Thunder Emperor," by slaughtering nobles to resolve internal conflicts.

Theoretically, there was some logic in this.

Killing forty thousand nobles was easier than killing four million rebels.

The common people, already squeezed dry by wartime oppression, had nothing left to offer; so the wealthy nobles became the targets for further extortion.

The mistake was that the emperor once again overestimated his military prowess. This time, all the vassals rose in rebellion and slaughtered the entire emperor’s family.

Ivan XVI’s reckless move came too suddenly, forcing all the great nobles to scramble into battle.

The loyalists were defeated so swiftly that the rebels didn’t even establish a leader.

As a result, the victors of the civil war had no single noble strong enough to dominate the others and claim the throne.

The continuous external and internal wars had already drained the empire’s vitality.

The great powers looked on with hungry eyes.

Under such dire external pressure, the factions quickly reached a consensus and declared unity against foreign threats.

Yet this brought another problem—there was no emperor whom everyone accepted.

The final outcome was that the Rasian nobles decided to copy the method of a certain Holy Empire long ago: the heads of the seven greatest powers would become prince-electors, empowered to choose the emperor. Once the emperor was chosen, everyone would obey him.

Though they swore loyalty, everyone knew the empire was fragmented.

Among the seven prince-electors was even the Grand Patriarch of the Ancient Holy Sect.

Natalie carefully chose her words: “The seven prince-electors are not unified. If the Berlia family requests aid, they will likely have to forfeit many tangible interests to summon reinforcements. Perhaps this is why the Amato people think we’re easy to bully. Moreover, Europe is unstable lately, with the Asgard Empire constantly invading surrounding nations. Most of the other prince-electors are reluctant to send troops at such a time.”

Got it. In the game, this would be called maxing out the global tension level.

Zhang Shan’s head ached.

Historically, the Red Empire was immensely powerful, with an army that could easily crush Amato’s, and the entire nation was united.

Across the way, Amato’s army and navy departments could even fight each other. After all, these two departments were once practically two separate countries, each fond of calling the other “sky pigs.” The fragmentation was utter chaos.

Now, in this world, the Duchy of Berlia, where he was, had become the weaker party?

That was truly frustrating!

When a wall collapses, everyone loves to push it down.

Imagine if the Berlia family showed any sign of weakness; all their vassal states would become unstable. If even one small vassal defected, it could trigger a domino effect of collapse, allowing the Amato people to defeat a stronger foe with cunning.

Zhang Shan was utterly embarrassed. He covered his face with both hands, running his fingers down as if washing it. In the mirror of the carriage lounge, one could see his outrageously handsome face gradually revealed, though his eyes were bloodshot.

“No matter what, we must start a full mobilization in the Far East! How much power do I have now?”

“Uh.” This time, no one in the carriage dared to answer.

After all, Prince Andrei Berlia, the third prince, held little real power.

In the Far East, the highest authority belonged to the grand duke, followed by the Berlia family’s eldest son, Alexander, then the heads of the powerful vassal states and various counts.

Theoretically, Andrei was just a figurehead—noble by blood but useless in practice.

Zhang Shan’s only official military rank was a lowly lieutenant colonel.

“Whatever. I’ve at least warned the other cities and divisions. Whether they obey orders to mobilize is up to them.”

When it rains, it pours.

If they insist on courting death, there’s nothing to be done.

Zhang Shan felt a deep sense of helplessness.

Fortunately, he did not wait long before receiving new information.

“Your Highness, orders have come from the Far East General Staff—disembark at the next train station. They have prepared a transport plane and an escort squadron, so you can fly directly to the northern headquarters in Barovsk.”

“Huh?” Zhang Shan was startled.

He instinctively sensed something unusual.

Most likely, his cheap father was in deep trouble.

In truth, as the third son, he was just a backup backup in the noble game. Despite his noble birth, normally he was useless.

The next station arrived, with an extremely difficult-to-pronounce name, and Zhang Shan was surprised to see a full battalion of Rasian infantry.

This show of force looked suspicious.

As he stepped off the train, Natalie softly exclaimed, “Anna? Isn’t she the grand prince’s guard?”

Leading the welcoming party was a black-haired, spirited female officer. Her once striking features now clearly bore a shadow of sorrow.

“Salute to you, Third Prince!” Anna approached, delivering a formal military salute.

“This…” Zhang Shan was about to speak when Anna leaned close to his ear and whispered, “The grand prince died in battle. His Majesty and the Second Prince are injured. You must return immediately to take command.”

“Ah, this…” Zhang Shan’s mind was a blur.

As expected, the Amato faction was ruthless, having tasted success with assassinations, now bombing the Berlia family.

This was a fight to the death!

“Injured” was a technical term.

Even if someone had but a breath left, they were considered injured.

They might even be completely wiped out, yet the death would be kept secret.

Surrounded by a group of duke’s guards, Zhang Shan was ushered into an armored car and swiftly transported to a nearby field airstrip, where he was boarded onto a TB-3 bomber.

Accompanying the bomber were nine I-16 fighters forming a formidable squadron.

This massive air fleet tore through the sky, heading straight toward the eye of the war storm—Barovsk!