I Became a Witch and Started an Industrial Revolution

Chapter 7: Blood-Colored Night

“But...”

Eliza still harbored doubts: “Even if you deal with them, what happens afterward? We don’t have enough people to take over.”

Mitia sneered: “Graf’s magical letter reported that the Hunter Family was found hoarding grain in four entire warehouses, enough to feed those thousands of people in his fief for a whole year! Some had even already spoiled, yet he still refused to release them.”

“Mother, I once heard a saying: if a man steals money, he is guilty. But if he steals food, then it is society that is guilty.”

“Lords of this level—our Astal Family alone has no less than eighty or a hundred of them. Just think how much grain they have hoarded.”

“So you absolutely don’t need to worry about the functioning of those territories. Without these parasites, the people will only live better!”

This famine had struck several neighboring kingdoms with drought.

Ordinary commoners were indeed short of food, but the nobles were not.

Only in the Astal Family’s fiefs was the taxation on harvests so low.

In other regions, levies of fifty percent were common.

One didn’t need to think deeply to know how many would die.

Where had Mitia bought grain earlier? Naturally, it had been sold by nobles—the caravans were merely gloves worn on the nobles’ hands.

Buying grain from other major lords—even after deducting travel expenses—had actually been cheaper by several margins than buying within her own fief.

That alone showed just how excessive those lamp-post-hanging bastards were.

To them, it mattered little if serfs and slaves starved to death.

The most important thing was profiting enormously by selling grain during natural disasters.

Nor did they worry about uprisings—the disparity in force was so vast that success was impossible.

Kill a batch, and the rest would be suppressed.

It just so happened that the Astal Family had stepped forward to provide relief at this time, serving as a fat sheep for them to fleece even more.

With money and grain, power could expand, and arrogance would grow.

Thus, Mitia wanted to show them what it meant to “have the life to earn, but not the life to spend.”

The “opportunity” she spoke of was to make herself the blade’s edge.

That way, she could consolidate power while the lower classes filled their stomachs.

Killing off this group of manor lords during the famine was the optimal solution.

And in the face of hunger, even the deepest-rooted servility would be broken.

In the end, as long as she promised amnesty, the bewildered masses would lay down their bloodstained farm tools raised above their heads and use them where they truly belonged.

In her past life, her time spent in libraries had not been in vain.

It was not uncommon for nobles to exploit uprisings, disguising themselves as rioters in order to eliminate rivals under the cover of chaos.

“How will we explain ourselves to the royal capital?”

“When they gather in rebellion, there will be no need for explanation. Even if they had not rebelled, riots among famine victims are still their dereliction of duty.”

Mitia pulled out a secret letter—intelligence sent back by a hidden piece that Ackerman had planted years ago among the manor lords.

Eliza finally fell silent and said no more.

With her tacit approval, Mitia began assigning tasks to their subordinates.

The task was simple: lead the famine victims to assault noble territories, while Mitia and the others would eliminate the strongest among them.

The rest would be allowed to band together, only to be wiped out in one sweep.

The strategy was simple, and execution was easy.

The only price was that countless innocent lives would forever remain in this night.

Time shifted to midnight.

Inside the castle of Viscount Sinos, the lights still blazed.

His study bustled with people hurrying in and out.

“Bang!”

“Have these lowborns gone mad? What are they rioting for? Are they seeking death?!”

Sinos slammed his palm onto the desk, roaring at the subordinate kneeling before him.

The man’s armor was stained with blood, as though he had been dredged out of a pool of it.

Wiping his face, the man replied: “My lord, we’ve suppressed the riot for now. Roughly several hundred of the mob are dead. A few of our brothers sustained minor injuries.”

Casting a look of disgust at the still-dripping blood staining his precious carpet, Sinos waved a hand:

“Enough. Go rest for now. Tomorrow, make sure the leader’s corpse is tied behind a horse and paraded through the streets. Let them all see what happens when they defy me!”

The subordinate sighed in relief, rose, and prepared to leave.

At that moment, hurried footsteps rushed from outside.

“Master! Master, something terrible has happened!”

The man burst into the study without regard for etiquette, collapsing to the floor.

Sinos immediately grabbed a fine teacup from the desk and hurled it: “Bastard! You dare barge in here knowing I am present? Do you want to die?”

The teacup’s force was nothing compared to the dents of maces and even bite marks littering the man’s armor.

He staggered to his knees, voice trembling:

“Master, it’s terrible! The mob somehow brought in powerful help—they scattered our forces! Even the magician is dead! We’ve lost many men!”

“The defenses at the main gate have been breached. A huge mob is heading this way...”

At these words, Sinos panicked: “What?! Quickly! Close the castle gates! Raise the drawbridge! No one is allowed inside!”

“But my lord, the moat has already dried up...”

“Stop spouting nonsense! Even one more layer of planks is still more defense! Hurry, fetch bows from the warehouse and man the walls! Quickly! And notify the lord for reinforcements!”

In fact, no notification was needed—Mitia had already arrived near his small castle, gazing with interest at the sturdy structure.

Building a castle in one’s own fief, as if afraid of being clubbed in the night—was that not an admission of guilt?

Because there were too many manor lords to deal with, Mitia herself had to personally take care of a few difficult ones, weakening the enemy’s strength before they could unite.

The main gate of Sinos’s manor had been shattered by her Meteor spell.

The low-level mage had been slain by her hand as well.

Not long after her arrival, the “mob” surged forth like a tide.

There was none of the thunderous shouting or burning zeal depicted in dramas—only endless silence and numbness.

Before Mitia’s eyes, these people barely resembled humans anymore.

Clad in rags, eyes vacant, they walked forward mechanically, stuffing anything remotely edible into their mouths as they passed.

At that moment, atop the castle, Sinos bellowed for arrows to be loosed.

A rain of arrows descended, and faint cries echoed across the ground.

But the rest did not stop.

To move forward meant death.

To stop meant starvation.

They pressed on, until struck down by arrows and left lying in pools of blood.

Mitia’s heart gave a faint twitch.

She sighed.

She had not expected the high-level magic crystal she carried to be put to use so quickly.

Clutching the crystal in hand, she absorbed its elements.

Her eyes half-shut as she murmured the incantation.

Inside the castle, Sinos immediately felt the rapid gathering of magical elements.

Its vast scale made him scream in panic:

“A magician?! A high-level magician?! The ‘helper’ you spoke of is a magician? Why didn’t you say so earlier?!”

“You’re a magician too, my lord...”

“I only just advanced to intermediate! Am I supposed to stake my life against that? It’s over!”

The chant reached its end.

As the crystal on Mitia’s staff pointed to the ground, a whirlwind suddenly formed upon the soil, rapidly swelling into the might of a tornado.

Dirt, rubble, and arrows were swept up and hurled at the castle.

The outer wall resisted only briefly before being torn apart.

The soldiers upon it were shredded as well.

The once-brown tornado took on a heavy red hue, finally crashing against the castle’s blue-glowing barrier.

The wall and several rooms collapsed.

From that moment, the castle was wide open.

Countless people surged inside.

Resistance drowned beneath the tide.

At the very center of the assault, even if Sinos was not dead, he had no strength left to resist.

Mitia steadied her weakened body, glanced at the devastation she had caused, and quietly departed.

Magicians were no common commodity in the kingdom.

The deaths of two already were enough to make that alliance feel the sting.

For alliances like this, formed only for certain interests, cohesion was always loose.

They still clung to the old tactics of minor nobles: joint pressure.

Never had they imagined that one day, a major lord would truly fight them to the death.

Their misjudgment of the conflict’s severity had already sealed their fate.