Chapter 47: The Internationalist Warrior

During the brief pause while waiting for the first batch of castings to cool, the tense work finally came to a momentary halt.

The temporary workshop was filled with the scent of metal and sweat. Everyone was thoroughly exhausted and each found a place to sit and rest.

Morin fetched a water canteen and some pieces of dark bread from his orderly, Hans, and distributed them to the chemistry professor and several veteran workers.

“Have something to eat first, gentlemen. There’s still a lot to do ahead.”

The workers accepted the food without hesitation, biting into it heartily. The professor politely thanked him, sipping water in small, refined sips.

The bearded commander of the International Brigade also came over and plopped down beside Morin. He pulled out a dented metal flask from his pocket.

“Want a sip? It’s strong liquor from back home—helps clear the mind.”

Morin smiled and shook his head. “Thanks, but I never drink before battle.”

“You really are a disciplined Saxon.”

The bearded commander took a big swig, exhaling a strong scent of alcohol.

Morin glanced toward the busy volunteers of the International Brigade in the distance and couldn’t help but ask a question that had long been on his mind:

“André, I’ve always wanted to ask—why are you here? Traveling all the way to Aragon to fight in a war that has nothing to do with your own country.”

André exhaled a smoke ring, his eyes deepening with thought.

“For ideals, Lieutenant Morin… for a world without oppression, where all technology serves everyone.”

He turned to Morin, his tone tinged with a sense of injustice.

“Look at those Britannians. They wield their monopoly over arcane energy to bully the entire world, treating other countries as mere sources of raw materials and dumping grounds for their goods!”

“They enjoy the benefits of technological progress but refuse to share it… If they gain control over the King of Aragon, the consequences would be unimaginable! We’re here to break that monopoly.”

“We believe that technology and knowledge should belong to all humanity! Only by developing every nation and improving the quality of life for ordinary people can the world truly become better!”

Hearing André’s words, Morin fell silent.

He hadn’t expected that, although this International Brigade differed somewhat from the one he knew in its origins, their ultimate ideals were just as grand.

Soon, Morin voiced another long-held doubt:

“But comrades like you, internationalist fighters—why do you ally yourselves with a despotic empire like Saxony?”

André suddenly burst into laughter, though it was laced with helplessness.

“Because, looking around the world, only the emperor and generals of the Saxon Empire are willing and brave enough to challenge Britannian hegemony… Only you provide us with weapons, supplies, and transportation.”

Morin: “So it’s essentially a transaction, then.”

“Exactly, Lieutenant Morin… We are all fully aware this is a transaction.”

André’s eyes sharpened as he continued:

“The Saxon Empire wants to draw us in to weaken its old rival, the Britannian Empire, and expand its influence on the continent… And we need a chance and a battlefield where our ideals can be put into practice.”

“Our enemy is a shared one—the old order built on the Britannians’ monopoly of arcane technology… We want to break it, so that the fruits of technological progress are shared worldwide, allowing ordinary people in every country to live better lives.”

His words were full of passion and power, inspiring the resting soldiers around him.

Everyone nodded, their eyes shining with idealism. A young man exclaimed excitedly, “We want to build a new world without oppression or exploitation!”

Watching these idealistic fighters, Morin couldn’t help but ask another question.

“I understand your ideals,” he began carefully, trying not to offend.

“But even if you help Prince Alfonso win this war, the Kingdom of Aragon will still be a kingdom—a monarchy… That seems somewhat at odds with the ‘new world’ you’re striving for?”

André laughed again and patted Morin’s shoulder.

“My friend, revolution is not a feast to be devoured in one sitting, but a long and arduous expedition. We never expected to get fat overnight.”

He took a swallow from his flask and continued:

“Prince Alfonso is recognized as an enlightened ruler. He promises reform and improving people’s lives. Most importantly, he’s willing to embrace new ideas and technologies…

Under his rule, the people of Aragon can live at least a hundred times better than now—they can eat their fill, have jobs, and enjoy the conveniences brought by technological progress…

That’s enough, at least for now.”

“Revolution is a tall ladder, not an easy leap.”

A voice came from nearby—the chemistry professor from West Lucia, who adjusted his glasses and calmly added:

“We must climb step by step—first overthrow the most reactionary and oppressive regimes, establish a relatively enlightened order, and then gradually advance toward the ultimate ideal.”

Morin fell silent, realizing he couldn’t easily refute this pragmatic ‘staged revolution’ theory.

He sensed the sincerity and ideals of these people.

But as a traveler from another world, he saw the great historical paradox hidden behind these beautiful visions.

The spread of new technology would indeed boost productivity but would soon lead to market saturation, followed almost inevitably by inflation and economic crisis.

Given the early 20th-century-like backdrop of this world, what would happen after a global economic crisis was obvious.

What would rise then would likely not be a better ideal, but more extreme nationalism and fascism.

These International Brigade fighters were now igniting the sparks of a technological revolution with their blood and lives.

Yet they might not realize that this spark could also ignite an unprecedented powder keg.

…

Thinking this, Morin felt an inexplicable heaviness.

He decided to leave the heavy topic and asked another question he had been curious about.

“Professor, André, you mentioned you’re from the ‘Provisional National Government of West Lucia’… Honestly, this is the first time I’ve heard that name.”

The bearded commander shrugged.

“No wonder. Our ‘government’ is just a makeshift troupe now—you won’t find it on any map. It’s normal you haven’t heard of it, Lieutenant Morin.”

“That’s true. From what I know, your side should be…”

Morin wanted to say “Tsarist Russia” but hesitated, uncertain if that was the correct name in this world.

“Lieutenant Morin, you mean the ‘Greater Lucia Empire,’ right?”

Hearing the name, both the bearded commander and the professor showed a complex expression—part disgust, part lament.

At that moment, Morin’s earpiece chimed a long-missed notification.

[Current information collection progress: 20%]

[A new entry has been unlocked in ‘Information’]