Reincarnated as Nikolai II

Naturally, as the Great War stretched from its expected quick resolution into a prolonged conflict of attrition, these organizations evolved rapidly. What began as single departments expanded into full-fledged agencies, and these agencies, driven by wartime necessity, eventually grew to achieve ministry-level status and influence, commanding significant resources and political attention.

Amid this, in 1916.

When the two-front war reached its peak.

Some figures in the British cabinet came to think this way.

"If the war ends like this..."

"Won’t France and Russia divide Europe after Germany disappears?"

"This structure is dangerous!"

It was concern about the post-war structure.

If the Franco-Russian Alliance becomes even stronger through the anti-German war and Germany, which had been restraining French and Russian armies, disappears, they might divide Western and Eastern Europe.

Of course, Britain had become quite friendly with France while roaming the Western Front together, but as always, human nature reveals itself before interests.

As the British Empire was most absorbed in imperialism, they couldn’t trust the other two imperialist countries.

At this time, the Petrograd Declaration spread throughout the world.

It couldn’t help but be a hypocritical declaration that made one nauseous and break out in skin disease just hearing it, but listening a bit patiently, it seemed like they could draw quite a good picture.

"The Petrograd Declaration is clearly a pan-Slavism, that is, an interventionist justification declaration."

"And the current Tsar has transformed Russia into a more pro-Jewish state than ever."

"Then... Doesn’t this mean they can intervene in any country where Jews live?"

Though they know better than anyone that it’s obviously not true and impossible, when fitted together, it’s not completely nonsensical.

Because Russia was actually openly presenting Balkan intervention based on that justification.

The Secret Intelligence Service was moved by such a series of thoughts from high-ranking cabinet gentlemen and military whispering together.

What they wanted to achieve was simple.

"Then... Shouldn’t we just create reasons to hate Russia after the war?"

Legitimate reasons to hate the Russian Empire.

Plausible reasons.

Very valid reasons.

Just need to create those reasons regardless of truth.

The Protocols of Zion and Jewish-Slavism were thus born in the hands of those suit-wearers and uniform-wearers.

As if proving their direction right, America claimed they would spread democracy and liberal innovation to the world as soon as they entered the war.

’If the United States comes out like that... Public and ethnic sentiment will become even more important.’

’The regimes of defeated countries will also not join hands with Russia.’

If the Great Game blocked Russia through ships above water, this time they block Russia using invisible human psychology below water.

It’s not that the British Home Office or military particularly emphasized this propaganda operation or adopted it as an anti-Russian diplomatic policy.

This was just one of many common operations, nothing more, nothing less.

Frankly speaking, Europeans hate Jews whether they believe in Protestantism or Catholicism.

If that hatred of Jews just connects to hatred of Slavic people, this is profitable business.

Such light propaganda that wasn’t given much meaning was the identity of the Protocols of Zion created by British Secret Intelligence Service.

However, they hadn’t considered that this would reach the Tsar’s ears and grow larger.

More precisely.

"Ambassador Nicolson, perhaps because I haven’t held my social gatherings due to wartime. It seems long since we’ve met face to face."

"I’m just grateful you haven’t forgotten and called me. But a private audience? Do you perhaps have something separate to tell me?"

They couldn’t imagine the Tsar would catch this without evidence and care about it.

"My mind has been troubled lately. Yes, perhaps my heart is as uneasy as my allies fighting desperately in Paris."

Sensing this wasn’t called for anything good, Nicolson covered his mouth with a teacup and tried to read the atmosphere as much as possible.

Regardless, Nikolai explained his miserable feelings in a calm tone.

"I’ve been wondering when I felt this kind of feeling in the past few days. As I reign as Tsar of the empire, I wasn’t in a position of weakness to suffer such disappointment, helplessness, anger and injustice. So as I slowly searched through my dusty old memories... Exactly 18 years ago. That dynamic emotion I felt in those young and passionate days is swirling inside me again after a long time."

The longer and more verbose the introduction became, the more Nicolson’s tension rose.

To suddenly call after a long time and say such things.

Moreover, since this was being said in a private audience, not through Kokovtsov, the Chief of Staff, or other ministers representing the Tsar’s will, he couldn’t help but feel the weight.

"People tried hard to package it as purges for the driving force of reform, but looking back, it wasn’t. In fact, I just wanted to convert everything that bothered my eyes into morning dew on the execution ground in the face of miserable reality. Yes, I was too young then too. I killed too many."

Though the talk was long, by this point Nicolson felt his hand holding the teacup trembling without realizing.

Any metaphor.

Diplomatic rhetoric.

Political language beating around the bush.

None existed here.

Only the Tsar’s excessively honest and stark emotions were covering Nicolson.

"Plenipotentiary Ambassador Nicolson."

"Yes, Your Majesty."

"Sir Arthur Nicolson, Baron Carnock."

"...I’m listening."

"You are the highest diplomatic representative stationed in Petrograd who represents the British Empire, handles all Russia diplomacy, and leads relations between our two countries, correct?"

"That is correct."

"Good, very good..."

Though unsure what was good about it, more than that, Nicolson felt cold sweat running down his whole body even at these simple questions.

His instincts, sharpened through a lifetime rolling through political and diplomatic circles, were screaming.

Something.

Something is coming.

"Depending on your answer here and now, your country’s war direction will change."

"Y-Your Majesty-"

"The Protocols of Zion. Did the British Empire create this?"

The Tsar’s eyes staring at Nicolson without focus.

His young days of purges that turned the colorless Tsar into the bloody Tsar.

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Those young and red days’ eyes.

Were looking at Nicolson.

They were the eyes of a killer observing a target that must be killed.