I Became the Last Princess of the Brown Bear Kingdom

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* * *

What am I to do? Bullets don’t hurt when they hit softly.

The bullets touch my body and roll weakly on the ground, making me think they must be made of wood and not metal. Rather, it only adds credibility to the fact that I am a saint.

“W-what?”

“God has already said the Empire will fall once. My father and mother carry the heavy sin of destroying the Empire, but He commanded me to raise it again. Therefore, I forgive your sins.”

“Sins? The Tsar should have died! You all deserve to die!”

The man was too busy raging whether the princess was truly alive or not.

Despite his frantic shouting, listing sins as if he hoped I would be buried in the ground, he stood no chance as long as I willed not to be buried.

More than anything,

“Were the young Tsarevich and princess, raised ignorant in their greenhouse, to be blamed for sins?”

“!!”

Why must the young Tsarevich and princess die?

The underlying intent was painfully obvious.

“Be honest. You all were afraid. If my father, my mother, and my siblings were alive, they would surely be the focal point of the loyal Imperial Army fighting against the Bolsheviks. However, God has commanded me to forgive your sins.”

I must speak plainly.

These folks feared if the Tsar were to be the focal point, the Soviet would crumble.

And yet, here they were, talking about executing instead of condemning.

“It’s nonsense! You want me to prepare that horrible Tsar’s throne again? No way! The Empire is fallen! The red flag of the workers is raised!”

“God has also ordained the future of the Bolsheviks. Their regime shall be stained with authoritarianism and violence.”

“Lies!”

“If it’s a lie, then what am I, standing before you? Shot by bullets and bayonets, drenched in sulfuric acid yet I survive, what am I?”

The Bolsheviks fell silent.

If anyone had lived after killing their comrades.

No, if I spoke of forgiving those who killed my family, it likely wouldn’t enter their ears.

I would be left dumbfounded.

Soon enough, the man who seemed to lead the execution spoke.

“Why didn’t God protect that great Empire? Why did He not safeguard the Tsar’s subjects!”

“Stagnant water tends to rot. Soon, Russia will overturn.”

“Do you mean… you will truly forgive us, the ones who killed your parents and siblings?”

“If I do not forgive you, I must also hold accountable for your desire to rape the princess. With a pious heart, I have even forgiven that.”

They had whined to Yakov about wanting to rape the daughters of Nicholas II.

They were referred to as lowly criminals, I suppose.

“D-don’t be fooled! T-that’s right! The dead Rasputin must have done something!”

“Isn’t it funny you would say that? If Rasputin truly manipulated things, wouldn’t that mean he was a true saint? I have said I forgive your sins. With the death of my father and mother, the Empire shall rise anew.”

**Bang!**

A hole was blown through the forehead of the man who had just shot at me and was questioning me.

I believe his name was Yakov.

He who led the execution now had a bullet hole in his skull.

Even if the Tsar’s family had been wronged, it seemed they shot without mercy.

The Reds really have no principles.

“Ahh. I forgive your sins. You shall be citizens of the Empire once more.”

Regardless, the circumstances are urgent.

Surely at this time, the White Army would be starting its activities.

They executed the Tsar hastily for fear the White Army would retrieve the Tsar’s family.

“Ah, Saint of Russia.”

“Guide us in our path.”

The Reds who killed Yakov kneeled before me and began to pray, hands together.

“You have now become the enemy of the revolution; thus, you must follow me.”

“Then?”

“Go to the great powers currently at war and tell them the Bolsheviks have horrifically murdered the Russian royal family. Request their aid, using every expression method conceivable in human language to convey how pathetically the Romanov family was slaughtered.”

Of course, despite my current state…

I could not allow myself to be with those who killed my own family.

I would leave one to assist me and send the others off elsewhere.

The plan is quite simple.

First, we head to the soon-to-be-established Russian state.

Then, whether by taking the Trans-Siberian train or whatever means, we must reach Vladivostok and board a ship, either to America or Britain for asylum.

After all, the White Army should hold an advantage.

I must survive.

* * *

Moscow, Russian Soviet Republic

The news of Princess Anastasia’s survival didn’t take long to reach Moscow.

Vladimir Lenin, who had received reports from the Bolsheviks dispatched to Yekaterinburg, was horrified.

“Comrade Trotsky, what is the meaning of this? Yakov is dead, and the body of Princess Anastasia is missing?”

“Yes, comrade. The other comrades in charge of the execution are also missing.”

“Did they perhaps abduct the princess and take her somewhere?”

“Princess Anastasia was said to be exceptionally beautiful, so perhaps.”

“Ha! Do they intend to have their way with her before killing her? Is that the reason they killed Comrade Yakov?”

Lenin clenched his hands tightly.

How this madman’s mistake would unfold, he had no idea.

“They were already said to be of a low character.”

“Find them. We must capture them immediately! If ever the day comes when the princess falls into the hands of counter-revolutionaries due to their twisted lust, we will be in trouble!”

If that were to happen, the situation would become dire.

With the White Army converging from all directions, if Princess Anastasia fell into their hands…

The fate of this civil war would become unimaginable.

The generation of officers in the former Russian Empire, as well as those discontented with the Bolsheviks, could unite under that princess and resurrect the Romanov dynasty.

The mere thought of it was horrifying.

The civil war would prolong, and the Western capitalist nations would not recognize the Soviet as a sovereign state.

They would undoubtedly support the White Army, unified under Princess Anastasia’s banner.

“They must still be in Yekaterinburg.”

“What could the Cheka agents who took the princess be up to?”

“We must kill the princess to survive, Comrade Lenin…”

Yes. She must die.

It was imperative, but things were spinning out of control.

“Urgent report! The White Army is headed to Yekaterinburg!”

“The Czechoslovak Legion is pressuring Yekaterinburg!”

The enemies of the Bolsheviks, the White Army, were sensing the scent and rushing towards Yekaterinburg.

Unlike in the original history, the White Army began to move swiftly upon hearing the news of the princess’s survival.

Also, the movements of the Czech Legion, who had positioned themselves as neutral in the Red-White civil war, had become suspicious.

All of this was due to the princess’s survival.

“Why was the news transmitted so quickly?”

“Well, comrade. It seems the local Cheka agents were blabbing everywhere about searching for the princess.”

“These fools! Didn’t we intend to kill the Tsar’s family to prevent them from falling into the hands of the White Army? What do they think throwing out bait will accomplish?!”

We must catch them at all costs.

If we manage to kill that princess, the torn apart White Army will ultimately be unable to defeat the Red Army.

If we let her slip through our grasp, it’s nothing but obvious they would march towards Moscow, crying out for vengeance for their family.

* * *

“Damn it.”

How did it come to this?

Three days have passed since then.

For three days, these Reds tenderly prepared a proper funeral for the parents and siblings of Anastasia they themselves had killed, avoiding public appearances for a while.

I heard they planned to hold out until their comrades withdrew.

After that, I had to hold my debut here in this city.

These damn Reds, whether they genuinely had a change of heart or simply wanted to parade me around as a spectacle, had me riding a horse to promote myself in the very city where my family had been killed.

At least after learning to ride horses, I was doing well.

“This is Her Highness, Princess Anastasia, the Saint of the former Russian Empire!”

Those Reds were going around promoting me as a saint.

Yes. They had killed my family yet, in the name of God, I had graciously forgiven them, including Anastasia herself, whom they had already killed.

FFgNb6pUN1YyUHRlUnNwNmRhMmZ3alRTUzRHZ09xSjl3aFVSbHRydHhPdU93M1ZNaFlON1kmb1JuS2UwYzQtN1lVaCtiY1Z5UThqRVo4TiNzPQ

Perhaps that is why I had truly lost my mind and decided to join the White Army.

Regardless.

I was still here, along with the turned Bolsheviks.

“Ёбаный.”

Now I had become quite accustomed to Russian swears.

It was impossible not to curse.

To be honest, even if I was Russian, I might have wished to chew on the flesh of Tsar Nicholas.

There was simply too much filth to avoid.

If there was a problem, it’s me.

Tsar Nicholas II and his family are all dead, and only Princess Anastasia survived.

These mad Bolsheviks went around proclaiming that, featuring me.

Responses from passersby were varied.

Some were intensely cursing the Romanov dynasty while others exhibited sympathy, and others still swore to do anything for the Romanovs even if it meant dying.

I didn’t know if they truly considered me a real Romanov.

“Is she really a princess?”

“Where has the Tsar gone, leaving the princess all alone like this?”

“Is she strolling around like a commoner too?”

The citizens of Yekaterinburg seemed to look at me with disdain during this period, which was thick with red undertones.

But is this truly Yekaterinburg?

Yes, Yekaterinburg, indeed.

After all, my father and mother just died here.

And the crazy folks who killed my parents are now parading me around as a saint in the city where my parents were murdered.

Did they refer to themselves as Cheka?

Is this real?

Just to be sure, I asked.

“Is this really Yekaterinburg?”

Surely, they wouldn’t be promoting me in the city where they killed the Tsar.

“Yes.”

What are they so cheerfully affirming about?

Yes. Thank you for giving me a definite answer.

These idiots should I seriously wonder if they had taken out their brains to clean them, parading the last survivor of the imperial family they slaughtered in the very city where they killed that family.

At least.

It seems those who had their brains washed want to diligently work to cover their sins of murdering the Tsar’s family, and hence are doing all they can to promote me.

“The Tsar was murdered by the Bolsheviks! He should have faced the people’s trial and been sentenced to execution, but the Bolsheviks cruelly shot not just the Tsar, but even his children! The Empress and the princess suffered in kind, and this person is the last surviving princess!”

“The Tsar deserved to die, but his children too?”

“Seems the Bolsheviks aren’t normal; they shoot indiscriminately if they don’t like you, right?”

Now even sympathetic gazes were being poured down upon me.

Ha ha, yes. Well, rather than having someone wish for my life, such looks are preferable.

Isn’t this more embarrassing?

I have to get out of this city quickly.