The air in the main hall of the Magnitogorsk Steel Works tasted of hot metal and coal smoke. Even in the summer of 1913, the heat from the new Bessemer converters was a physical presence, a testament to the raw power Mikhail had unleashed in the heart of the Urals. He stood with Alexei on a high gantry, watching as a river of molten steel poured into a massive ladle below.
"Production is twenty percent above projection, Your Highness," Alexei shouted over the din, his face glowing in the orange light. "We are now producing more high-quality steel than any facility in France. The new naval plate for the Imperator fleet is ready for shipment."
This scene, replicated in dozens of new industrial cities across the Urals and the Donbas, was the tangible proof of the new Russia Mikhail had built. The nation was no longer an ailing beast; it was a roaring engine of production. But an engine needs a purpose, and Mikhail had long ago decided what that purpose would be.
Back in St. Petersburg, he convened a secret meeting of the State Council. The mood was confident, but he was about to introduce a new, colder reality. He stood before a large map of Europe.
"For the past fifty years," Mikhail began, his voice calm and analytical, "Europe has been building a complex machine of interlocking alliances. It is a machine designed to create a catastrophic, continent-wide war. The fuel for this machine is the rivalry between Germany and Britain. The spark will be a crisis in the Balkans. It is not a matter of if, but when."
He laid out the strategic situation with the chilling precision of a man reading a blueprint. When he was finished, he turned to Captain Orlov, who stepped forward with a slim file.
"Captain Orlov will now brief us on the specific nature of the coming spark," Mikhail said.
Orlov's report was concise and terrifying. "Your Highness, the Directorate has been monitoring radical nationalist cells in Serbia, specifically a group calling themselves the 'Black Hand.' We have credible intelligence, including confirmation from our agent Tishchenko's network, that they are actively planning an assassination attempt. The target is the heir to the Austro-Hungarian throne, Archduke Franz Ferdinand, during his planned state visit to Sarajevo next year."
A heavy silence fell over the room. Mikhail looked at the faces of his council. "When this assassination occurs, Austria will declare war on Serbia. The alliance system will be triggered. Germany will support Austria. France and Britain will be drawn in to support Serbia and oppose Germany. The continent will be at war within six weeks of the first shot being fired."
"We must warn the Austrians," General Denisov stated immediately.
"No," Mikhail said flatly. "We will do nothing. This is the event that will begin the great unraveling." He turned back to the map. "Russia will not honor its old treaties. We will not leap into that meat grinder. We will declare our neutrality. We will, however, become the arsenal of the Entente. Our factories will sell Britain and France the shells, steel, and grain they need. While they bleed each other white, their treasuries, their industries, and their manpower in the trenches of the Western Front, Russia will grow rich. We will become the world's banker, its factory, and its granary. When the old empires have collapsed into exhaustion and revolution, a stable, powerful, and untouched Russia will be there to dictate the terms of the new world order."
It was a plan of breathtaking cynicism and brutal, strategic genius. He would profit from the suicide of a continent.
His new foreign policy was put into immediate effect. He assured the French ambassador of Russia's friendship while politely declining any binding military alliance. He signed a non-aggression and trade pact with a pleased German Kaiser, ensuring his western border would be secure. He was playing all sides, his moves perfectly informed by the historical outcome he alone knew.
He gave General Denisov his final strategic directives. Three of Russia's best armies were to be secretly mobilized, not to the German border, but to the southern frontiers with the weak Ottoman Empire and a vulnerable Austria-Hungary. Their orders were to wait.
The chapter concluded on a warm evening in late June, 1914. Mikhail stood with Sofia and their young son on a balcony of the Tsarskoye Selo palace. The sun was setting over the immaculate gardens. It was a scene of perfect peace, a peace he knew was about to be shattered for the rest of the world.
"There are troubling rumors from the Balkans," Sofia said quietly, her expression worried.
Mikhail looked at the map of Europe in his mind's eye, a map of trenches, battlefields, and fallen empires. He saw the future with absolute clarity. He saw the fall of the Kaiser, the collapse of the Habsburgs, the exhaustion of Britain and France. And he saw the rise of his own new Russia, standing astride the ashes.
"The old world is dying, my love," he said, his voice soft. "And it is our destiny to build the new one."
The next day, Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated in Sarajevo. The gears of the great machine began to turn, just as he had known they would. The Great War had begun.