The first emotion the generals at Sevastopol Fortress felt upon hearing of Gennady's dramatic suicide incident was confusion.
Suicide? Why?
At first, they assumed he had taken an extreme measure to preserve at least his honor and avoid a disgraceful punishment.
But after hearing the full story, their confusion only deepened.
"…Was Gennady really that kind of commander? One who cared so much for his soldiers?"
"I'm not sure. He was sent to the Asian front, so I don't really know…"
"To say that soldiers shouldn't be treated as expendables for the Emperor's pride… Those are not words you say unless you're truly prepared to die."
"…And he did throw his life away."
A man who had risen through connections and spent his days making a mess of things had suddenly started speaking like someone in his right mind.
Admiral Pavel Nakhimov widened his eyes in disbelief.
"What? Don't tell me you've been moved by Gennady?"
"That's only because you weren't there, Admiral. It's not just me—every officer present probably feels the same."
"…What? Wait. Even if what he did came from genuine patriotism, do you have any idea what will happen if that spreads among the soldiers? You should've strictly silenced everyone who was there!"
"We did. But, Admiral… there were war correspondents present as well. Do you really think they'll write the same kind of articles after witnessing that?"
"Damn it! Then you should've banned the reporters entirely! No—kick every journalist out of the army immediately!"
In truth, it hadn't been long since Russia began allowing reporters to accompany its army.
It started after they learned that the British army had been bringing journalists along and producing numerous articles.
At first, they ignored it—but the effects were beyond expectation.
As reports exposing the realities of war and criticizing Russia poured out, all of Europe began condemning Russia and uniting against it.
Seeing this, the Russian high command also proposed embedding journalists within the army, and Nakhimov had obeyed the Emperor's order without complaint.
Of course, their approach was entirely different from that of the Allied forces.
Russian journalists followed strict reporting guidelines. Their articles were propaganda—praising Russian bravery and depicting the Allied forces as weak and disorganized.
Until now, it had worked. It had helped boost morale.
But if those same journalists suddenly snapped and began reporting the truth…
"You knew that, and still allowed them in?"
"Admiral… to be frank, this is an opportunity."
"…What? An opportunity?"
"Yes. Under normal circumstances, we should already be negotiating terms of surrender in exchange for our safety. The only reason we haven't surrendered is because of the order from the capital to fight to the end."
"…Don't tell me you're planning…"
To waste soldiers in a battle that couldn't be won was, as Gennady said, something a commander should never do.
Better defeat than annihilating the army through poor judgment—it was no different from selling the nation's future.
"If we surrender, we become traitors for disobeying His Majesty. But if we lose control of the troops due to the journalists' agitation, then it's not a surrender."
"And the failure of control won't be our fault—it'll be blamed on those fools up top who sent in the reporters. That's a very clever excuse."
Of course. There was no way these men had suddenly reformed because of Gennady's noble sacrifice.
They were simply desperate to end the war before it consumed them—a pure, self-serving instinct.
Even so, Admiral Nakhimov couldn't reject them outright.
To be blunt, he had already begun to feel that he'd had enough of this war.
While they bled on the battlefield, nobles in the capital dined on white bread, warm soup, and juicy meat.
Fight to the death? Then send your own sons to the front lines first.
"…I will pretend I heard nothing today. I know nothing about what the reporters are thinking, nor about whatever schemes you may have. Do as you wish."
"Thank you, Admiral. Naturally, we know nothing either. The orders to deploy reporters came from above, so we will simply trust them to continue writing favorable articles for our side."
"…Very well. Proceed."
With Nakhimov effectively declaring himself blind and deaf, there was nothing left to restrain them.
"What do you mean supplies aren't coming? What kind of bullshit is that?! Are we supposed to just fight here until we die to buy time?!"
"Isn't this British propaganda? Those bastards lie every time they open their mouths!"
"Hey! That commander from the Asian front—Gennady—he begged that we not be sent to die and then shot himself in the chest! The officers and journalists all saw it! How is that propaganda?!"
"Shit! Then no reinforcements are coming?! They're planning to let us all die here?!"
Until now, Russian soldiers had firmly believed the announcements:
Even the newspapers delivered by journalists inside the army had been filled with those claims.
But now, all of it was a lie.
And on top of that, they heard that a commander had shot himself after pleading for them to face reality.
Of course their restraint snapped.
Bang!
"I'm done with this bullshit, you sons of bitches!"
"How long are we supposed to keep fighting?!"
"If supplies are so plentiful, then give us some damn meat!"
"Do you think we're just expendable cannon fodder, you bastards damned to hell?!"
It was far easier to spill water than to fill it, easier to cut a knot than to untie it.
The soldiers had already been on the verge of boiling over. It only took a single spark.
The officers who remained loyal to the Emperor tried to suppress the chaos—but it only poured oil onto the flames.
The soldiers beat down those officers who tried to execute "rebels" and rose up instead.
"Send us home!"
"We want to live!"
"Tell us the truth!"
Sensing the unrest within the fortress, the British seized the moment—
but instead of launching a full assault, they fired just two cannon shots.
That alone was enough.
"Ah—! The British are attacking!"
"It's a full assault!"
"Fuck this! I'm not fighting! Why should I die here?! Raise the white flag! Raise it, damn it!"
With the chain of command already collapsing, the mere rumor of an all-out attack was enough.
The soldiers defending the fortress threw down their weapons and abandoned the fight.
Some units even bound their own officers and raised white flags on their own initiative.
At that point, Admiral Nakhimov had no choice.
"The command will negotiate with the Allied forces to ensure the safe return of our soldiers."
This was not a surrender.
It was an inevitable collapse.
A fortress that had held firm for over a year—
fell apart from within just four days after Gennady's "suicide."
"We will hand over the fortress and disband the army. In return, guarantee the safety of the soldiers."
The proposal—practically unconditional surrender—sent the Allied camp into a frenzy of excitement.
"Of course we accept! We thought this might drag on for another year, but if they're surrendering, what more could we ask for? I'll send a reply immediately guaranteeing every soldier's safe return. That's acceptable, right?"
"Absolutely. And don't forget to include a statement honoring the Russian soldiers and Admiral Nakhimov for their efforts despite unfavorable conditions."
"Of course. But if we're saying that, shouldn't Your Highness deliver it personally? After all, you're the highest-ranking figure in our forces."
Good grief, look at that grin.
His mouth's practically split to his ears.
I get it—we've taken the fortress far faster than expected. But I'd appreciate it if he didn't look at me with such… affection.
A middle-aged man gazing at me like that is just uncomfortable.
But FitzRoy seemed completely oblivious, staring at me with syrupy admiration.
"Capturing Sevastopol is no different from taking Crimea itself. We can now occupy Ukraine without resistance—this war is essentially won! We must send this news as quickly as possible!"
Even Admiral Parker, who would normally credit everything to the Royal Navy, simply nodded in agreement.
"We'll transmit the news by telegraph immediately. Russia's inferior information network will delay the news reaching their capital, but once our forces learn of it, the enemy will naturally catch on as well."
"Excellent idea!"
"When you went to Asia, Your Highness, I wondered whether it was necessary—but to think you would return with the decisive means to end the war in an instant…"
"I didn't exactly plan it that way."
Gennady, who had staged the suicide, was secretly transported to the rear and swapped with a corpse of similar build without a trace.
Naturally, Russia was informed of his death.
In accordance with his "final wish," a coffin was thrown into the Black Sea before everyone's eyes.
After we guaranteed their safety, Admiral Nakhimov immediately disarmed his forces and opened the fortress gates.
And once again, I prepared an event with journalists and photographers:
This wasn't just about showing off my achievements.
If these photographs spread far and wide, they would inspire Allied soldiers still facing Russian forces—and force the Russians to abandon their delusions.
From Vladivostok to Sevastopol—
With my presence stamped on key strongholds in both Asia and Crimea, people would no doubt marvel at how tirelessly I had moved.
"…Looks like this damned war is finally coming to an end."
All around, soldiers who had captured the fortress shouted in wild celebration, waving flags and dancing.
Not just because they had taken a strategic point—but because they knew this victory meant the war was ending.
Relief, hope, and joy at the thought of going home soon were written into every movement.
Hearing my muttered words, FitzRoy and Parker exchanged emotional congratulations like men completely out of character.
Yes.
At last, the end of this long, exhausting war was within sight.
At this point, even the Russian Tsar—no matter how loudly he insisted there would be no surrender—couldn't hold out any longer.
He wouldn't come personally to the peace negotiations, so I wouldn't get to see that bald eagle of a face…
…but he would pay for what he had done.
Watching the soldiers embrace each other in tears of joy, I quietly steeled myself once more.
I had no intention of settling for a modest indemnity.