Chapter 2: You Die, I Live? Please, You Go Die.

Chapter 25: You Die, I Live? Please, You Go Die.

The Pope had already used up nearly every method at his disposal, but even by wielding power to suppress her, he still failed to make Mitia yield and hand people over.

It wasn’t that she wasn’t afraid of the Church’s overwhelming influence, but this matter touched on the fundamental principle of her establishing a new ideology.

Both sides were fighting for leadership over the common people.

If today she allowed the Church to take people away, would tomorrow mean abolishing the officer units dedicated to ideological work, letting priests take over instead? A single step back would only mean retreating further and further.

“Let’s hope you don’t force me...”

Watching the Pope’s party leave with anger written across their backs, Mitia thought to herself.

She did have a countermeasure against clerical authority—setting up a personality cult to offset the Church’s influence.

But she hesitated to take that step, since it could easily spiral out of control.

Still, if the Church insisted on stirring up trouble, she did not mind doing just that...

A few of them walked to the window and looked down.

Below, the guillotine was already prepared.

The gendarmerie troops had dragged out more than a hundred people, young and old, bound with ropes and shackles, standing beneath the platform as the trial began.

The Commander’s Mansion they stood in was a new-style building of reinforced concrete.

Though it was only three stories tall, its solidity was beyond comparison with traditional structures.

Setting up an execution ground right before the Commander’s Mansion was a clear public statement of their stance, showing that they had the confidence to judge all injustice.

It also told the people that the Commander and the common folk stood as one.

“Milady... I feel a bit confused.”

“Hm? Speak.”

Anna looked at the ragged men, women, and children below, their wrists bound by ropes and chains.

A trace of pity flashed in her eyes, mixed with bewilderment: “Between us and them... must it really come down to you die or I live? Is there no other way?”

Mitia leaned on the railing with both hands, her white hair fluttering in the wind.

Her gaze deepened as she spoke:

“You die or I live? Who exactly are the ‘them’ you speak of? Those nobles on the platform? Why are they nobles? Who doesn’t want to be a noble? Do these commoners not want the same?”

“What poor man doesn’t dream of rising up and becoming a noble? And nobles fear poverty even more.”

“To climb upward, the poor toil diligently, working their fields, crafting their tools, each caring only for themselves.”

“But aside from the very rare few—like my grandfather, who seized an opportunity to risk his life on the battlefield and rise to glory—”

“Most never even had that chance. They remained mired in hardship, struggling even to fill their stomachs.”

“Is it because they didn’t work hard enough? Because they weren’t ambitious?”

Mitia shook her head and firmly replied: “No! That’s not it.”

“It’s because today’s nobles are unwilling—and refuse—to give the poor a chance to rise. They won’t share their fine clothes and rich food.”

As the first sentence reached its end and the execution was about to begin, Count Boli Sivius fell to his knees, weeping bitterly, pleading with the surrounding crowd and the executioner.

He begged them to spare his only son, who, though barely ten years old, already had slave blood on his hands.

“They see poverty as shameful, and they fear it. That’s why they spare no effort in squeezing the poor, hoarding wealth, all to preserve their status and fortune forever, to bless their descendants.”

“In their eyes, all the beings under heaven aren’t worth even a speck of their gold and status.”

“They speak of survival of the fittest: if you fail to seize from them, then you deserve to die; if you succeed, then you must be killed. Isn’t that exactly the you-die-or-I-live drama? Where is the path left for the poor?”

As the little brat cried for his father and mother, pressed by gendarmes onto the guillotine, the spurt of blood mingled with the cheers of the crowd.

Mitia finally turned back to the young lady beside her, who had grown up with her since childhood—called a maid, but in truth a sheltered companion who had never known hardship.

She spoke:

“These nobles were the ones who started this game of survival of the fittest, where only those who control resources deserve to live. This so-called choice between you die or I live was theirs from the very beginning.”

“Since they dealt the cards, there’s no such thing as quitting halfway. Whatever they did to others, we’ll return in kind. That’s all.”

“...I’m sorry, Milady, I understand now!”

“It’s fine. You don’t need to apologize. As long as you understand.”

“Your thoughts reflect part of the mindset of ordinary people. They feel all suffering is past, and now they just want to live quietly, peacefully, without conflict. That’s a good thing.”

“But the reason we fight outside is precisely so they can live peacefully. I want you to take on this ideological work.”

Anna’s eyes widened in shock.

She pointed to herself: “Ah! Me?!”

“Yes, you. You’ll report to the officers’ department in the army. I’ll arrange it for you.”

Anna waved her hands frantically: “I... I can’t do it!”

“What’s so impossible? You just showed signs of that comfortable way of thinking spreading. But precisely because you understand both sides, you can empathize. That makes you perfectly suited for this work.”

“Lately, the common folk in our Astal territory have grown somewhat complacent. It’s crucial that they understand why we keep fighting.”

“Life is better for them now, but let’s not forget those in regions still unliberated. Their lives are still in darkness.”

“Only by uniting more people can we grow stronger, strong enough that no one dares to bully us, so everyone can truly live their quiet lives.”

Anna rubbed her hands together, hesitated a while, then whispered: “I... If Milady needs me, I’m willing to go!”

Mitia hugged her and patted her little head, smiling: “Good girl, don’t be afraid. Doing ideological work isn’t dangerous. It’s more about going to villages, talking to the people.”

“You’ve been by my side so long, you understand me best. I need you to help me understand their thoughts and needs, and tell them mine in detail.”

“Mhm!”

Dizzied from Mitia’s rough head-rubbing, Anna nodded hastily, accepting the task and obediently went back to prepare.

Watching her leave, Mitia smirked mischievously: “That’ll teach you for being too soft-hearted.”

The next morning, Anna packed her things.

Led by soldiers Mitia had sent, she went to sit for the school examinations.

Mitia had granted her a fast-track privilege, letting her jump in and take the comprehensive exam with the current students.

After all, having followed Mitia for years, Anna was no stranger to the exam content—she was even quite skilled in it.

The new-style schools had been established for several years, training large numbers of young men and women in new ideologies.

They formed the ideological officer corps in Mitia’s army, dispatched to the companies.

Now, with the army rapidly expanding, the shortage of officers was severe.

There were two types of officers.

One kind passed the ideological exam, applied to transfer into the army, trained with recruits, and were finally assigned to companies.

These were mostly men, since it was easier to gain merit.

The other kind were women like Anna, physically weaker.

After passing the exam, they didn’t join the army but transferred to the Ministry of Internal Affairs.

After simple military training, these fresh recruits were sent to towns and villages.

They checked how well policies were being carried out, and explained and clarified new decrees for ordinary people who couldn’t read or understand them.

Women were especially suited for this work because of their natural affinity.

By the time Anna finished her exams and training, Mitia had already issued new decrees, instructing them to spread the word to the villagers, explaining the stakes clearly.