Chapter 47: The Internationalist Fighters

During the brief pause while waiting for the first batch of castings to cool, the tense work finally stopped for a moment. The makeshift workshop was filled with the smell of metal and sweat. Everyone was exhausted and found a spot to sit down and rest.

Morin took a canteen and some black bread from his orderly Hans and shared them with the chemistry professor and the master craftsmen. “Have something to eat, gentlemen. We still have a lot of work ahead.”

The workers didn’t stand on ceremony, taking the food and biting into it heartily. The professor gracefully thanked him, sipping his water delicately.

Andrei, the bearded commander of the International Brigades, also joined them, sitting down beside Morin and pulling out a dented metal flask. “Care for a sip? It’s strong liquor from my hometown, good for refreshing the mind.”

Morin smiled and waved his hand: “Thank you, but no. I never drink before a battle.”

“You truly are a disciplined Saxon,” the bearded commander took a large gulp himself, exhaling a strong scent of alcohol.

Morin looked at the busy International Brigades volunteers nearby and couldn’t help but ask a question that had been on his mind for a long time: “Andrei, I’ve always wanted to ask you, why are you here? You traveled thousands of miles to Aragon to fight a war that has nothing to do with your own country.”

Andrei exhaled a puff of smoke, his eyes becoming somewhat profound. “For the ideal, Second Lieutenant Morin. For a world without oppression, where technology serves everyone.” He turned to Morin, his voice revealing indignation at the injustice. “Look at those Britannians. They use their monopoly over Magical Energy to dominate the world, treating other nations as mere sources of raw materials and markets for dumping goods!”

“They enjoy the benefits of technological progress but are unwilling to share the spoils with anyone else. If they gain control of the Kingdom of Aragon, the consequences will be unimaginable! We are here to break that monopoly.”

“We believe that technology and knowledge should be the wealth of all humanity! Only by allowing every nation to develop and improve the quality of life for ordinary people can this world become better!”

Hearing Andrei’s words, Morin fell silent. He hadn’t expected that even though the starting point of this world’s International Brigades was different from the one he knew, their ultimate ideal was still so… grand.

Soon, Morin voiced another long-standing confusion: “But as internationalist fighters, why did you choose to ally with an autocratic empire like Saxon?”

“Hahahaha!” Hearing Morin’s question, Andrei burst into laughter, though his amusement was tinged with helplessness. “Because globally, only your Saxon Empire’s Emperor and generals are willing and daring enough to challenge Britannian hegemony. Only you are willing to provide us with weapons, supplies, and logistical support.”

Morin: “Then this is essentially a transaction.”

“Exactly, Second Lieutenant Morin. Every one of us knows this is a transaction.” The bearded commander’s eyes sharpened as he continued: “Your Saxon Empire wants to use us to weaken your old rival, the Britannian Empire, and expand your influence on the continent. And we need an opportunity and a battlefield where we can put our ideals into practice.”

“Our enemy is common—the old order established by the Britannians, based on the Magitek monopoly. We must break it, to share the fruits of technological progress with the entire world, allowing ordinary people in every country to live better lives.” His words were full of passion and power, infecting the International Brigades soldiers resting nearby. Everyone nodded in agreement, their eyes gleaming with idealism. One young man excitedly added: “We want to build a new world with no oppression and no exploitation!”

Morin looked at these dedicated fighters and couldn’t help but ask the next question.

“I understand your ideal.” Morin chose his words carefully to avoid sounding offensive. “But even if you help Crown Prince Alfonso win this war, the Kingdom of Aragon will still ultimately be a monarchy, a monarchical state… That seems somewhat contradictory to the ‘new world’ you seek?”

Andrei laughed again, then patted Morin’s shoulder. “My friend, revolution is not a feast achieved overnight, but a long and winding expedition. We never expected to achieve everything at once.”

He took a gulp of liquor and continued, “Crown Prince Alfonso is a recognized enlightened monarch. He has promised to carry out reforms, improve livelihoods, and, most importantly, he is willing to accept new ideas and new technology. Under his rule, the people of Aragon will at least live a life a hundred times better than now. They will have enough food, jobs, and the conveniences brought by technological progress. That is enough—at least for the current stage, it is enough.”

“Revolution is a tall ladder, not a single leap,” a voice chimed in from the side. It was the chemistry professor from West-Lucia. He adjusted his glasses and calmly added: “We must climb one rung at a time, first overthrowing the most reactionary and oppressive rulers, establishing a relatively enlightened order, and then moving step by step toward the ultimate ideal.”

Morin was silent. He found himself unable to refute this pragmatic ‘gradual revolution’ theory. He could feel the sincerity and idealism of these people. But as a transmigrator, he saw a colossal historical paradox hidden beneath these beautiful visions. The widespread adoption of new technology would certainly drive productivity, but it would also quickly lead to market saturation, followed by the almost inevitable inflation and economic crisis. In this world, which resembled the early 20th century of his previous life, the consequences of a global economic crisis were obvious.

When that happens, what will emerge will likely not be a better ideal, but a more extreme form of nationalism and fascism.

The International Brigades fighters were now using their blood and lives to ignite the spark of technological revolution in this world. But they might not realize that this very spark could ignite an unprecedented powder keg.

Thinking of this, Morin felt a strange sense of heaviness. He decided to abandon this serious topic and switch to another question he had been curious about.

“Professor, Andrei, you mentioned you came from the ‘West-Lucia Provisional National Government.’ Honestly, I’ve never heard that name before.”

The bearded commander shrugged: “It’s not surprising. Our ‘government’ is still a provisional operation that you won’t find on any map, Second Lieutenant Morin. It’s normal that you haven’t heard of us.”

“I haven’t heard of it. In my understanding, the region you hail from should be called…” Morin started to say ‘Tsarist Russia’ but paused, unsure of the name in this world.

“Second Lieutenant Morin, are you trying to say the ‘Great Russia Empire’?”

At the mention of that name, both the bearded commander and the professor showed a complex expression, mixing distaste and nostalgia.

And then, after a long silence, the familiar alert sounded in Morin’s ear again.

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(End of Chapter 47)