I Became the Last Princess of the Brown Bear Kingdom

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Stalin, in charge of defending Tsaritsyn, was in deep trouble.

Well, it was quite clear that they were militarily at a disadvantage.

That so-called trench was collapsing in an instant.

Moreover, the main force here consisted of conscripted peasants.

The officers and generals from the imperial era were refusing to cooperate, perhaps because of the White Army led by the princess. Meanwhile, England, France, and Germany were throwing various military supplies at the princess. It was said that the United States was supporting the White Army with food through the Far East.

No matter how capable Stalin was, defending in such a situation was proving immensely challenging.

They had already been pushed back to the Volga River basin.

“Comrade. Comrade Voroshilov reports that the reactionaries’ attacks are very fierce. The trench line has been breached!”

Every incoming report was filled with despair.

One side barely held out. The other had broken through. Those were the only sorts of news.

Given that it was just one city, who knew how long they could hold out.

Next up could very well be urban warfare.

“Damn those British bastards. Supporting the reactionaries. Truly just another bunch of imperialists.”

Stalin clenched his fists and slammed them against the wall.

In actual history, the British tank divisions were supporting the White Army, which led to the relative retreat of the Red Army.

However, if they could hold this ground, they might be able to prevent the Southern Russian White Army from linking up with the Siberian White Army.

But in this altered history, Anastasia had become the focal point, changing many things.

Anton Denikin from Southern Russia was currently moving cautiously, receiving support from the British, French, and Germans through the Black Sea.

For Anastasia in Yekaterinburg, who was receiving tank support from afar, she needed to reclaim Tsaritsyn to effectively benefit from the support of the great powers.

And that was exactly what was about to happen.

Stalin felt like tearing his hair out.

The situation was just too dire.

Damn Trotsky. He should just take the Tsar’s family hostage. Why did he have to suffer because of the mess that idiot made?

“Comrade Stalin.”

“Is there anything more to discuss besides the breached defense line?”

“It seems that Princess Anastasia herself is at the reactionary front.”

At that moment, a spark lit up in Stalin’s eyes.

The princess was at the reactionary front?

Then, was the princess truly the mastermind after all?

It felt suspicious from the start.

“I can see why the White Army is rampaging like that. The mere existence of the princess must be boosting their morale.”

“Yes.”

Then surely, they needed comrade Lenin to come here.

Right now, the Soviet Union was like a candle in the wind.

The Bolsheviks had barely grabbed hold of power, yet they were isolated from the world. They urgently needed to end the civil war and govern their internal affairs.

Yet here they were, forced to defend themselves.

“Now that the reactionaries have a leader, we should be able to make a move.”

“That aside, the military disadvantage is clear.”

“Damn it.”

If they could pin all the blame for the execution of the Tsar’s family on Trotsky and fail in the attack on Yekaterinburg, they could win just by holding this defense.

But somehow, the current situation was far from favorable.

What the hell got into these imperialists to support the princess instead of halting the war and crushing the Bolsheviks?

If foreign troops had come to support, they could have branded the princess as a traitor and stirred some public sentiment. But with only weapons coming in, it wasn’t that easy.

Moreover, with the princess’s reforms, the Bolsheviks were struggling all the more.

“What… what should we do?”

“Comrade. We need to stay calm, especially in times like this.”

The princess, whose parents and siblings had been brutally slaughtered right before her eyes, was driven by a thirst for revenge and was fiercely attacking the Bolsheviks.

Yes, with that level of rage, she was poised to march straight to Moscow.

Stalin let out a deep sigh.

“Tsk. Who would’ve thought that executing the Tsar’s family would lead to this.”

Rumor had it that the Bolsheviks executed Tsarevich Alexei in front of Nicholas II and the Empress, and that the Empress and the princess were humiliated and killed in front of Nicholas II as well. That rumor spread throughout Europe.

While the story transformed and elaborated as it spread from mouth to mouth, Stalin didn’t doubt the local Cheka agents would take such tales as fact.

There must have been many people furious with the Tsar’s family.

Yet, because of that, the lone survivor, the princess, had awakened.

If they were going to kill, they should have gotten it over with all at once. How could they let a fish they had caught get away like this?

It would have been better to completely turn the Tsar’s family over to them.

If only some reinforcements had arrived to attack the princess from behind. But realistically, that was difficult to expect.

No, if they wanted to avoid the humiliation that was Trotsky, they needed to at least score some points.

“How long can we hold out?”

“We might not even survive today.”

How useless.

Yes, given the current state, it looked like a collapse could come in an instant.

At this rate, his grand plan to oust Trotsky and take that position for himself would sink without a trace.

He needed to think about the future, yet was he going to abandon the comrade Voroshilov, with whom he had grown close?

Survival was the priority right now.

How would they break through that siege? Their defense was already crumbling, and what could they even use against the vengeful princess’s army?

“Comrade Stalin!”

Voroshilov came to him in a frenzied state.

For a brief moment, Stalin seriously contemplated hanging himself out of sheer despair but soon dismissed that thought.

At this stage, all he could do was grin foolishly.

“Comrade Voroshilov, are you telling me the princess is bringing the reactionaries to hunt us down into the city?”

“Should we consider an escape?”

Escape? How nice that sounds.

But was that even possible? They were surrounded on all sides.

What was said about preventing the connection between the Southern Russia and Siberian White Armies? Those guys were surrounding them while linking up.

With the Volga River basin pushed back and the city itself under threat, where could they escape to?

Of course, if they tried to flee under the cover of enemy troops, that could work, but then they would find themselves in a situation like Trotsky, crashing and burning in Yekaterinburg.

He didn’t want to die here, but he thought he needed to at least save face.

“Is your plan to hand the city over to those reactionaries? You think I could just wag my tail and run away?”

In a situation like this, he didn’t even know if running was an option.

“There’s an escape route to the north!”

An escape route to the north?

Defending against an overwhelmingly superior, qualitatively superior enemy was nothing short of miraculous, and now there was supposedly an escape route to the north?

Wasn’t Yekaterinburg in the north, where the White Army was stationed?

What the hell were those reactionaries thinking?

As he struggled to think, he couldn’t find an answer.

Or perhaps the encirclement wasn’t completely solid yet?

It was clear there were problems.

Yes. If there’s a chance to live, he had to take it. Survive and either finish the revolution or follow in Lenin’s footsteps.

Then he needed a justification for fleeing.

“It had to come to this ever since Trotsky failed to seize Yekaterinburg!”

Indeed, Voroshilov had said what he had wanted to hear.

Yes, it was all Trotsky’s fault.

Because of Trotsky, he was facing this humiliation right now.

Anyone could see that the fight had turned into a hopeless struggle because Trotsky, who held the military power of the Red Army, couldn’t even push forward on Yekaterinburg, now with a girl who hadn’t even matured yet in charge.

Of course, Trotsky would have his excuses, claiming it was due to the Czech Legion holding firm through various battles.

But right now, that hardly mattered.

Stalin jumped up from his seat.

“Is Comrade Voroshilov forcing this humiliation on me?”

“We need to think ahead. We can’t throw away the Red Army for a pointless death.”

At the very least, they couldn’t throw the Red Army into the line of fire until they had some countermeasure against those tanks or whatever they were.

“Right. In the end, it all comes back to Trotsky.”

Stalin repeated Trotsky’s name again.

Anyway, all of this was Trotsky’s fault.

“Quickly. We need to get out of here.”

“But if we go, we can’t just leave quietly.”

“What do you mean?”

No matter what, he could never forgive being guided by that princess.

“Send out a Dagger brigade to take care of the Romanov.”

“Is that even possible?”

“We need to show we did something before we retreat.”

So they wouldn’t die just from getting shot? Nonsense.

No matter how lightly someone got hit by bullets, they’d die eventually.

Sure, maybe someone had miraculously survived and spread some weird stories, but he doubted anyone would manage to live through this round.

* * *

The Battle of Tsaritsyn was a victory.

Stalin didn’t engage in desperate resistance.

If it had gone that way, it would have annoyed him more. After all, it was likely that they didn’t want to die due to Trotsky’s blunders.

There would be excuses as well. Now that Stalin had returned to Moscow, he would take on Trotsky’s responsibility for the defeat and compete with him for a long time.

With the retaking of Tsaritsyn, the Southern Russian White Army threatening Moscow was now joining their ranks.

Meanwhile, they had to manage their internal affairs based on Southern Russia and Siberia, using the Far East as their base.

“It’s a shame we missed the chance to eliminate all the enemies.”

“Indeed.”

While Kolchak and Krasnov lamented, this was indeed the right move.

“Who was the one who contributed the most in this battle?”

“Mikhail Drozdovsky. He led with tanks at the front and infantry following closely.”

“What was his original position?”

“He was a chief of staff, but he insisted on leading the tanks. He wouldn’t listen.”

That guy wasn’t just any commander that the White Army had, was he?

He was definitely a distinguished general who supported the White Army during the civil war, but he heard that he favored Grand Duke Mikhail instead of Nicholas II in supporting a constitutional monarchy.

Wasn’t that guy supposed to be dead?

He had heard he would die of sepsis in 1918.

Had something gone quite wrong for him to be alive?

Had that old bastard made me Anastasia because I knew so little about Russia?

No, if that were the case, he would have picked someone who actually liked Russia. I just got unlucky and ended up tied up in this mess.

Anyway, the guy who should be dead was still alive.

He wasn’t like me, possessed as I was, but with the civil war going strangely, it seemed there were people who should have died now living.

Yeah. For now, let’s head into Tsaritsyn.

“Let’s enter Tsaritsyn for the time being.”

“Yes.”

The atmosphere in Tsaritsyn felt grim.

After all, the city had been under enemy flag.

It seems one could say it had been influenced by Bolshevik ideology.

What if another assassination attempt happened—

“Princess Anastasia! I shall kill you in the name of the people!”

Damn it, is this an annual event?

I couldn’t even count how many times I’ve faced this.

Maybe the dead Archduke of Austria would be quite jealous.

“Your Highness!”

Bang!

Does the gun still not work?

Still, that was a bit shocking. This time, it genuinely felt like my forehead was tingling.

“W-Why aren’t I dead? Why aren’t the bullets sticking?”

Here we go again.

The assassin, realizing that I wouldn’t die even when shot, began to retreat, only to collapse.

Such a disjointed development. This is definitely amusing.

“Regrettably, I’m not in the mood for an ending like the Archduke of Austria. I prayed. Please let me not die from a bullet. My nature is quite different from yours.”

Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!

The one who shot at me just a moment ago was turned into a honeycomb by the White Army’s gunfire.

And thus, the citizens of Tsaritsyn bore witness to this spectacle.

The undying princess. Princess Anastasia. The citizens under enemy control also saw the truth of that rumor.

“Is it truly the Saint?”

“Is the reason she survived in Yekaterinburg really true?”

Looks like that’s going to spread as a rumor again.

The silver lining here is that the White Army leadership following me couldn’t see clearly.

In the future, this would be recorded as a rumor spread for the canonization of Anastasia.

I feel like the Mensheviks and various factions would protest when we eventually decided to deal with the Bolsheviks first.

Well, let’s set that aside for now.

What matters now is that I should think about uniting with Southern Russia.

There are those preparing to welcome us once we enter Tsaritsyn.

Baron Beria and Mikhail Drozdovsky.

Both greeted me amidst the destruction of the Bolshevik command in Tsaritsyn due to artillery fire.

“You must be Pyotr Wrangel, and that’s Mikhail Drozdovsky over there.”

I had seen pictures of Pyotr Wrangel once or twice.

I used to like browsing through historical knowledge before the world I lived in fell apart.

“It’s a relief to see you, Your Highness.”

“I’m honored to meet the Saint of Russia.”

“Where’s Major General Anton Denikin?”

“The Major General is overseeing the logistical support from the great powers in Crimea.”

“Hmm. I see.”

I heard that guy not only failed at capturing Moscow but also ruled like a tyrant.

Well, that issue could be pushed to the back burner for now.

Right now, what mattered was that I had met the black baron, Pyotr Wrangel.

He was the greatest commander of the White Army who led Southern Russia and tormented the Bolsheviks to the very end.

And he was right here in front of me.