Holy Roman Empire

The winter wind brushed across the air, scattering the drifting clouds. Mixed with the earthy scent, it carried an intoxicating freshness.

In a quiet little village, thin wisps of smoke rose from chimneys, swaying and bending under the wind, as if whispering tales of life’s hardships.

As night gradually fell, Joseph Hahn, a militia member on guard duty, let out a sigh of relief. Today was finally safe. Without much education, Joseph didn’t know how to articulate his feelings. He could only let out a helpless sigh.

Ever since the outbreak of the Russo-Prussian War, the atmosphere in the border regions had grown increasingly tense. The rampant raids of the Cossack cavalry had only escalated the tension to the breaking point.

The village of Budaski, located in Lublin, lay less than a hundred kilometers from the front lines, naturally making it a priority security zone.

To counter the enemy’s arrogance, the Prussian government had locally organized militias and distributed weapons.

The border between Prussia and Russia was simply too long. With the Prussian main forces tied up elsewhere, even a fully mobilized defense could not comprehensively guard against enemy incursions.

The larger cities were relatively secure, with stationed troops deterring the Cossacks from attempting to crack such hard nuts. But scattered small towns and villages bore the brunt of the devastation, becoming the favorite targets of these “bandits.”

Joseph Hahn had once visited a village ravaged by these “bandits.” It was nothing short of a living hell.

Burning houses, severed heads hanging at the village entrance, scattered remains, and survivors missing arms and legs.. all told harrowing tales of the atrocities committed by the “bandits.”

Under the harsh reality of life, the honest and humble Joseph Hahn picked up a weapon and joined the militia to protect the peace of his small village.

Though they called it “protecting,” in truth, they lacked the strength to face the enemy head-on. The primary task of the militia was to spot the enemy, raise the alarm, cover the villagers’ retreat into a castle, and defend it until the regular army arrived.

Not every place had a castle, and not every castle was capable of withstanding an assault. Only the castles of a few powerful nobles could resist the raids of the “bandits.”

Over the past century, Poland had been ravaged by war, leaving many local nobles in decline. The emerging nobility lacked deep pockets, and many, influenced by new ideas, had abandoned castle construction altogether.

In the open plains, without castles or fortresses, it was nearly impossible to fend off cavalry raids.

For safety, the local population had long taken action. Under government organization, they repaired or rebuilt castles to defend against the “bandits.”

In this regard, the European populace had a knack for survival. Every war came with looting, and after thousands of years, people had developed unique survival skills.

This time, the enemy was simply more brutal, but life had to go on.

Under the constant threat of raids, night became everyone’s favorite time. It was the one period when the enemy would not act.

With their tension momentarily eased, the militiamen returned home in twos and threes. Joseph Hahn was among them. Perhaps it was due to their physical and emotional exhaustion, but no one spoke a word.

When Joseph returned home, his wife had already prepared dinner. The meal was incredibly simple with roasted potatoes and vegetables, all grown in their small garden.

For their family of five, there were only six fist-sized roasted potatoes. It was clearly not enough, not even to satisfy Joseph’s appetite alone.

But there was no other way since life was harsh. Normally, they only had two meals a day: one in the morning and another in the afternoon. Dinner was usually skipped since there was no work to be done at night.

But now, with Joseph serving in the militia and training every day, he needed proper nutrition. His wife and children also worked on fortifications and required extra strength. So, despite their limited supplies, they had added an extra dinner meal with a heavy heart.

Tonight was particularly dark, with not even a sliver of moonlight. His usually frugal wife had no choice but to light a candle.

Perhaps it was because he was too hungry, or maybe because he couldn’t bear to waste anything, Joseph didn’t even bother peeling the potato skin and shoved it straight into his mouth. ŕâɴОᛒĚš

“Joseph, I heard that the town of Fick twenty miles away was raided by the Russians. All the militia were killed. You must be extra careful when you’re out there!”

His wife’s trembling voice made Joseph’s heart tighten. He had also heard about the situation in Fick. Not only were all the militia killed, but even the elderly, women, and children had suffered heavy casualties.

The enemy slaughtered everyone who resisted, and the survivors were either wounded or maimed. It was clear the Russians were deliberately creating wounded survivors to increase the burden on the Prussian government.

Perhaps because there were too many wounded and the government couldn’t care for them all, or perhaps to stir the villagers’ resolve to resist, a few injured survivors had even been accommodated in their small village.

Joseph said, “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. You must also stay vigilant. If you see any sign of the enemy, hide in the cellar. The Russians never stay long.”

Clearly, Joseph had little faith in the castle currently under construction. The world was already in the age of firearms, yet the castles being built remained stuck in the designs of the previous century.

It wasn’t that people didn’t want to build stronger fortifications, but with castles being constructed everywhere, resources like steel, cement, and stone were in short supply. They had no choice but to rely on earthen walls.

The Prussian government had already increased imports, but the costs were exorbitant. These limited resources were prioritized for strategic strongholds, leaving no room for ordinary villages.

Some had suggested evacuating the villages and relocating civilians to the cities to reduce casualties among the population. But that was easier said than done.

Due to the war, the food production of the Prussian-Polish Federation had already plummeted. Reaching even 80% of their usual yield in 1880 would be considered a monumental success.

If they abandoned the border regions, which were key grain-producing areas, food production would decline even further. A shortfall of millions of tons of grain annually was not something easily remedied.

“Got it.”

Their exhaustion left little room for further conversation. After finishing their simple meal as quickly as possible, Joseph’s wife hurriedly extinguished the candle.

…

Under the bright sunlight, the sign reading “Austrian Ministry of Foreign Affairs” gleamed brilliantly.

A diplomatic carriage, adorned in official insignia, stopped at the building’s entrance. A middle-aged man in a well-tailored suit stepped down from the carriage, holding a thick stack of documents, and strode purposefully into the building.

The secretary spoke softly, “Your Excellency, Count Kovačević, the Prussian-Polish Federation’s ambassador to Austria, has arrived.”

Wessenberg set down his coffee and asked, “Did he have an appointment?”

As the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Wessenberg’s schedule was always packed, with daily appointments meticulously planned. Unless it was an exceptional situation, diplomatic meetings typically required prior arrangements.

The secretary replied, “No, he didn’t. But Count Kovačević looks extremely troubled. He emphasized repeatedly that it’s urgent and he must see you immediately.”

“Urgent?” Wessenberg’s initial intention to decline was halted by a sudden realization that this likely had something to do with the Russo-Prussian War. After a brief pause, he said calmly, “Send him in. And let him know I can spare only half an hour.”

…

After a brief exchange of pleasantries, Ambassador Kovačević handed the thick stack of documents to Wessenberg and said, “Your Excellency, these photographs and materials were provided by concerned individuals. They document the atrocities committed by the Russians.”

Taking the file and casually flipping through it, Wessenberg was immediately confronted with images of lifeless bodies strewn across the ground, burning houses, and severed heads hanging as grim trophies—all testaments to unspeakable barbarity.

Even a man as experienced and well-traveled as Wessenberg was visibly shaken. He closed the file without looking further and shifted his gaze toward Kovačević.

“Your Excellency,” Kovačević began, “Your nation has always been a pillar of peace and international order. On behalf of God, we hope your country can intervene and put an end to these Russian atrocities.”

The brutal tactics employed by the Russians had left the Prussian government overwhelmed, with no choice but to seek international support.

No matter how harsh reality might be, European nations generally maintained a veneer of restraint. The Russians’ conduct, however, had long crossed the line of acceptable warfare.

Ignoring Kovačević’s flattery, Wessenberg replied calmly, “This issue is deeply complex, and we must conduct a thorough investigation before we can give your country a definitive response.

However, rest assured, Ambassador, that if the contents of these documents are proven true, the righteous people of the world will not allow such atrocities to continue unchecked.”

Undoubtedly, this was a diplomatic stalling tactic. The atrocities committed by the Russians were hardly a secret since Austria had military observers on the frontlines and was fully aware of what was happening.

However, knowledge alone wasn’t enough. Without sufficient strategic or political gain, the Austrian government would not intervene.

Furthermore, such acts of violence were not exclusive to the Russians. The Prussian military was guilty of similar acts, and the colonial empires of Europe had committed far worse crimes overseas.

It was simply that these truths remained hidden, and everyone tacitly chose to ignore them. But this time, the Russian government had gone too far with casualties among Prussian-Polish civilians reaching hundreds of thousands.

In times of war, small-scale killings were considered inevitable, but large-scale massacres broke the unspoken rules of civilized warfare.

While the Russians had avoided outright massacres in some cases, the consequences were nearly identical. The survivors were often severely injured, with many left permanently disabled.

With a bitter expression, Ambassador Kovačević pressed on, “Your Excellency, these photos were taken by brave individuals who risked their lives. I can personally vouch for their authenticity.

Every day, tens of thousands of civilians are dying under Russian blades…”

Wessenberg raised a hand to interrupt him, “Rest assured, Ambassador. The truth cannot be hidden, and falsehoods cannot be made real.

As members of the civilized world, none of us can allow such atrocities to continue. I will immediately arrange for an investigation. Please return and wait for our response!”

After seeing Kovačević off, Wessenberg leaned back in his chair, rubbing his temples. To intervene or not to intervene—that was the question weighing heavily on his mind.

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