Just before news of the annihilation of the Siberian brigade reached Saint Petersburg—
Tsar Nicholas felt his stomach burn every time he received another report from the worsening front.
Lately, the stress had become so severe that each morning he would wake to find his pillow covered with fallen hair.
His hairline… even the crown.
The sight reminded him of the canal the British were digging through Egypt—an empty line carved cleanly through the center.
It was, quite frankly, unbearable.
The more his stress grew, the faster his hair fell out. And the faster it fell out, the worse his stress became.
A perfect vicious cycle.
It took only three months for the emperor's crown to become visibly barren.
If only some hopeful news would arrive—but unfortunately, the reports from Europe remained grim.
"Your Majesty, a fortress has fallen to Prussian forces supported by the British fleet."
"If it is not essential to the defense, disregard it."
"A request for reinforcements from the Grand Duchy of Finland."
"Ignore it. The defense of the capital comes first."
Russia was doing everything it could to hold the line, but even for a nation like Russia, it was impossible to withstand the combined advance of Britain, Prussia, and Austria.
Had the main forces not been tied down in Crimea, perhaps a counterattack might have been possible—but the available manpower was simply too limited.
And yet, Russia continued to endure.
At the cost of everything.
They conscripted relentlessly, without regard for the consequences.
But even that had its limits.
Britain was not merely trying to stall the front.
All maritime supply routes had already been cut off.
On top of that, Prussia and Austria had seized the fertile grain regions first, severing the food supply heading toward the capital.
No matter how many men you threw into the grinder, soldiers still needed bread before they could hold a rifle.
"Even if it means taking a long detour, ensure supplies reach us without entering enemy-controlled areas."
"Your Majesty, if we do that, it will be nearly impossible to supply both the capital and Crimea."
"...Then reduce the supplies going to Crimea."
The commanders shut their eyes tightly, but none dared object.
After all, they needed food here, now.
The best option would have been to surrender outright.
But no one had the courage to say it.
At the very least, they needed one victory—or mutual destruction somewhere—to avoid being crushed under war reparations.
As things stood, they were being beaten unilaterally.
There was no outcome left but total capitulation.
And then—
As if to strip Tsar Nicholas of what little hair he had left—
a devastating report arrived.
"Your Majesty! The forces deployed from Siberia have been annihilated in a surprise attack by Qing troops!"
"…What? Annihilated? Wait—Qing? Our army was ambushed by Qing forces? Why?"
"That is… Qing proposed an alliance against Britain, even signing a formal agreement—then launched a surprise attack. Commander Gennady believes they sided with Britain and struck us down to gain their favor…"
"What kind of nonsense is that?!"
First it was Japan pulling unheard-of tricks.
Now Qing?
Clutching his head, Tsar Nicholas shouted—and felt something come loose beneath his fingers.
When he lowered his hand, it was filled with strands of his own hair.
Silence fell over the room.
The ministers averted their eyes.
"Are all Asians savages?! Even in war, there are rules! Who forms an alliance and then attacks from behind?!"
"Y-Your Majesty is absolutely right! Such a nation cannot be left unpunished!"
But what could Russia do?
They had already scraped together every possible man—and lost them all.
If they now spoke of war with Qing as well, the army itself might revolt.
"I should grind those yellow devils to dust!"
"To expect honorable conduct from them was a mistake to begin with."
"Your Majesty! Their boldness comes from relying on Britain as their backer. We must lodge a formal protest with Britain!"
"Indeed! We must demand whether Britain condones such methods—or encourages them!"
It was pathetic.
But this was the best Russia could do.
Tsar Nicholas instinctively reached to brush back his hair—then stopped himself midway.
"…Very well. Foreign Minister Gorchakov will draft a protest to Britain."
"Yes, Your Majesty!"
If Britain simply brushed it aside…
Then perhaps Russia could declare surrender—only to ambush the negotiations and capture every delegate present.
It was a ridiculous thought.
But that was how far Qing's actions had shattered all sense of normalcy.
At first, they had laughed when a minor state like Korea sent a declaration of war.
But now?
At least Korea had done that much.
Compared to this—nations that attacked without declaration, killed without taking prisoners, or signed alliances only to betray them—
Korea almost seemed saintly.
And yet…
"Could it be… Korea is also plotting something?"
If declaring war was abnormal in Asia, then perhaps even that "normal" act concealed ulterior motives.
"Investigate the situation in Primorye in detail."
Darkness clouded everything.
But Russia had endured worse.
Once the war ended, they might have to lie low for a time—but when their strength returned, they would exact a bloody revenge.
"Let everyone here remember this humiliation. No matter how long it takes—we will make them pay. Without fail."
Russia did not forget its grudges.
With that vow—unheard by those it targeted—
Nicholas threw the clump of hair in his hand onto the floor.
"I will never forgive them. Never."
The ministers quietly closed their eyes.
"The fleet is ready."
Many things had happened.
Even I had not anticipated all of the variables that arose, causing slight delays.
"Your Highness, preparations for departure are complete."
"And our reliable allies?"
"Qing has agreed to follow our direction. The Eight Banners are advancing toward Vladivostok. Combined with the Shogunate forces landing from Sakhalin and Joseon troops advancing from the south, the port will be surrounded on three sides."
"Remarkable, isn't it? To besiege a port city in the Far East without deploying a single soldier from the home army."
"Was this not your design, Your Highness? You've invested heavily in Asia."
I wasn't some kind of mind controller.
I couldn't make them move exactly as I wished.
Of course, I had planned to pressure Primorye using Joseon and Japan.
But the way things spiraled—starting with Japan, then Qing going completely off-script—was far beyond my expectations.
Still, my head nodded naturally.
"Of course. It's all proceeding more or less as intended."
"Truly remarkable… To shape events in both Europe and Asia alike—how do you even conceive such strategies?"
"With the right balance and a broad perspective, it's not difficult."
"…As expected."
Their admiration pricked my conscience a little.
But it wasn't like I'd predicted nothing.
Joseon and Japan had been part of the plan.
They were just… overachieving.
"Vladivostok will be completely destroyed as a port for the time being. Make sure everyone understands that."
"Would it not be better to seize and use it?"
"Why would we? A port that requires icebreakers in winter is hardly useful. Russia may value it, but we have no reason to hold it—and no means to sustain it."
Britain already had access to every ocean year-round.
With Joseon and Japan as supply bases, there was no need to invest in Primorye.
Still—
Just because we didn't need it didn't mean Russia should have it.
If possible, I'd strip them of their Black Sea ports too.
But since that wasn't realistic, destroying this one would have to suffice.
Vladivostok was a critical strategic point for Russia.
They had even sold Alaska to secure it.
If all that effort turned to nothing—
how furious would Nicholas be?
"Prepare the photographers. When they surrender, I want the moment we step onto that land properly recorded."
Photography in this era was crude.
It wasn't as simple as pointing and clicking.
But nothing rivaled visual proof for propaganda.
Especially now, when such images were rare.
The impact would be immense.
I'd be on the front page of every newspaper.
Flanked by naval commanders.
The composition alone would be magnificent.
A British envoy seizing Russian territory in the Far East without shedding blood.
A Russian commander surrendering his city in humiliation.
Perfect.
"Make sure everyone understands—this victory will influence the European front as well. The clearer our triumph here, the sooner this war may end."
"Yes, Your Highness. I will inform the other officers."
Compared to the army—riddled with corruption—the navy was disciplined, sharp, and reliable.
After this war, the army would need serious reform.
Adjusting my admiral's hat, I gave the order.
Thus, fully prepared—
the British fleet, supplied from Hong Kong, Asia, Japan, and Joseon,
set sail toward Vladivostok.
At last—
it was time to bring the Asian front to its conclusion.