The estate gradually emptied after the banquet.
The last carriages left early the next morning.
Servants cleaned the main hall.
Dishes were removed from the tables.
The candles had long burned out.
Only traces of the previous evening remained—reminders that just hours earlier, men and women who might one day shape the fate of an entire nation had gathered under this roof.
Now silence had returned.
Skoropadskyi spent most of his time in his study.
Fresh newspapers and telegrams constantly covered his desk.
Vienna.
Berlin.
Saint Petersburg.
Belgrade.
Every day brought new statements.
New threats.
New diplomatic language.
And every day European newspapers repeated the same phrase.
A local crisis.
A limited conflict.
Diplomatic pressure.
Skoropadskyi read it all with a grim expression.
He knew far too well how this would end.
One evening his wife entered the study while he was reading yet another newspaper.
—"You have barely left this room for three days."
He did not look up.
—"Austria is moving toward war."
—"Many still believe negotiations will solve this."
Skoropadskyi finally raised his eyes.
—"Most of Europe currently resembles passengers arguing about the weather while ignoring the iceberg ahead."
She quietly stepped closer.
—"That bad?"
—"Worse."
He stood and walked toward the map of Europe.
—"Austria wants to punish Serbia."
His finger moved east.
—"Russia will not simply watch."
Further west.
—"Germany will support Austria."
Further.
—"France will support Russia."
He paused.
—"And Britain will try to avoid war until the final possible moment."
His wife remained silent for a while.
—"And all of this because of one assassination?"
Skoropadskyi shook his head.
—"No."
He looked at the map.
—"Because of decades of hatred, fear, and stupidity."
Several days later news arrived about Austria's ultimatum to Serbia.
Even newspapers described its terms as humiliating.
Skoropadskyi read the full text.
Then exhaled heavily.
—"They did this deliberately."
At the same time, ministers and generals gathered in Vienna.
Some still feared Russia's reaction.
Others were far more confident.
One general spoke with complete certainty.
—"Serbia must be destroyed as a political force."
The foreign minister warned about diplomatic risks.
The military repeatedly interrupted him.
—"If we show weakness again, the empire will appear dead."
Another official added:
—"Germany will support us."
That single sentence changed the atmosphere in the room.
Germany's support gave them confidence.
Far too much confidence.
When the final version of the ultimatum was approved, one official quietly said:
—"The Serbs cannot accept this."
The answer came immediately.
—"That is precisely what we are counting on."
Later that evening, the document was delivered to Emperor Franz Joseph.
The old emperor looked exhausted.
Age showed in every movement.
He had survived too many crises over too many decades.
But the murder of his heir had become deeply personal.
He slowly finished reading the document.
—"Serbia must understand the consequences of its actions."
One minister carefully spoke.
—"Your Majesty, there is still the risk of Russian intervention."
The old emperor remained silent for several seconds.
—"If the empire fears every Russian statement, then it has already lost."
He signed the documents slowly but firmly.
—"We cannot afford to appear weak."
As ministers left the room, many remained convinced that the war would be short.
Limited.
Controlled.
The atmosphere in Belgrade was completely different.
Telegrams arrived one after another.
Ministers argued.
Military officers demanded mobilization.
Some politicians still hoped to buy time.
When Serbian leadership received the ultimatum, silence filled the room.
One minister quietly said:
—"They demand our humiliation."
Another replied:
—"They demand our surrender."
Military officers demanded immediate preparations.
One diplomat warned:
—"If Russia does not intervene, we will stand alone."
The answer came quickly.
—"Russia cannot allow Austria to destroy Serbia."
But even those who said it confidently were uncertain deep inside.
Later that night, King Peter I arrived at the royal residence.
Age and illness had already limited his activity.
That was why Alexander remained beside him throughout the meeting.
The king slowly lowered himself into his chair.
—"I have lived through too many wars not to recognize the smell of another."
Alexander remained silent.
The ministers waited for a decision.
The king looked at the ultimatum.
—"If we accept everything, Serbia will cease to be independent."
One minister quietly replied:
—"And if we refuse, there will be war."
The king closed his eyes for several seconds.
—"Then let history at least say that we did not surrender without dignity."
After that, mobilization became inevitable.
Serbia had already survived two Balkan wars.
Its army was exhausted.
Its economy was weakened.
The country was not ready for another major conflict.
That night soldiers began moving through the streets of Belgrade.
Civilians watched them in uneasy silence.
On the edge of Europe, a fire had begun that would soon consume the entire continent.
In Berlin, the news from Vienna was met with far more enthusiasm than caution.
Many within military circles had long viewed a continental war as inevitable.
Now they believed it was finally arriving under favorable conditions for Germany.
At the imperial palace, Kaiser Wilhelm II received reports regarding Austria's actions.
He quickly read through the documents.
—"At last, the Austrians are showing some resolve."
One adviser carefully responded.
—"Russia may intervene."
The Kaiser waved the concern away.
—"Russia always threatens."
The Chief of the German General Staff spoke far more seriously.
Maps covered the table.
Railway schedules.
Mobilization timetables.
Operational plans prepared years earlier.
—"If Russia begins mobilization, our window becomes limited."
The Kaiser looked at him.
—"And France?"
—"If Russia enters the war, France will almost certainly follow."
The room grew quieter.
One general finally spoke.
—"Then we must act quickly."
The map already showed routes through Belgium.
The plans had existed for years.
Now they were slowly becoming reality.
Wilhelm remained silent for a moment.
Then he quietly said:
—"Europe is behaving like a sleepwalker."
No one answered.
And no one tried to stop what was happening.
As diplomatic pressure intensified, Germany sent increasingly aggressive demands to Russia.
Berlin demanded an end to mobilization.
An immediate response.
Immediate guarantees.
Every new telegram made war more likely.
Yet many German officers still believed victory would come quickly.
France would fall fast.
Russia would mobilize slowly.
The war would be over before Germany's economy truly felt the strain.
Very few understood how catastrophically wrong those assumptions would prove to be.
Saint Petersburg was far more chaotic.
Telegrams arrived every few minutes.
Ministers argued.
Generals demanded decisions.
Diplomats warned about consequences.
Tsar Nicholas II looked increasingly exhausted with every new report.
The Foreign Minister spoke first.
—"If we abandon Serbia, we lose all credibility in the Balkans."
The War Minister responded harshly.
—"If we mobilize, Germany will answer."
Nicholas remained silent.
He stared at the map of Europe.
Too many borders.
Too many alliances.
Too many obligations.
Later that evening he met privately with senior generals.
One of them spoke confidently.
—"Partial mobilization against Austria gives us room for negotiations."
Another immediately disagreed.
—"Our railway system is not designed for partial mobilization on this scale."
The argument quickly descended into chaos.
Orders changed.
Telegrams were canceled.
New telegrams were sent.
Then canceled again.
Nicholas sank into his chair.
—"Does no one have a solution that does not lead to war?"
No one answered.
Later that night he exchanged personal telegrams with Wilhelm.
Their messages became increasingly desperate.
Each tried to avoid being remembered as the man who started a continental war.
But neither could stop the machinery their governments had already built.
When military planners finally explained reality to Nicholas, the conclusion was brutal.
Partial mobilization would damage Russia's own war plans.
If Germany entered the war, the empire would be left in a far weaker position.
Nicholas stared at the documents for a long time.
Then he picked up a pen.
—"Full mobilization."
One minister quietly said:
—"After this, there may be no way back."
Nicholas signed the order.
—"Perhaps there never was."
That night mobilization orders spread across the Russian Empire.
Millions of people were still asleep.
Completely unaware that their lives had already changed forever.
The telegram arrived early in the morning.
Short.
Official.
An immediate order to report back to his division.
Skoropadskyi had been expecting it.
He calmly folded the paper.
His wife silently watched him.
For several seconds, neither of them spoke.
—"When?"
—"Today."
She slowly nodded.
As if she had been preparing herself for that answer for weeks.
The younger children were still asleep.
Skoropadskyi deliberately chose not to wake them.
Only Petro was already waiting for him in the study.
He looked unusually serious.
—"Is it war?"
Skoropadskyi remained silent for several seconds.
—"Yes."
Petro lowered his eyes.
—"For how long?"
That question was harder to answer.
—"I do not know."
He stepped closer to his son.
—"Take care of your mother."
Petro nodded.
—"And the factories?"
Skoropadskyi allowed himself a brief smile.
—"Those as well."
Before leaving, he stepped outside into the courtyard.
Work continued as usual.
The mill.
The warehouses.
Workers moving supplies.
Everything looked peaceful.
That made the situation feel even more absurd.
The railway station was already descending into chaos.
Hundreds of people filled the platforms.
Reservists.
Officers.
Families.
Crying women.
Shouting children.
Priests.
Newspaper vendors.
Patriotic speeches.
An orchestra desperately trying to play military marches through the noise.
Some men were smiling.
Many genuinely believed the war would be over by Christmas.
Skoropadskyi had seen too much history to share their optimism.
Trains were constantly delayed.
Some military transports were suddenly pushed forward.
Others stopped without explanation.
At one station he saw an entire train loaded with artillery shells sitting motionless for nearly a full day.
At another station, hundreds of reservists waited for a train that had not even departed from another city yet.
A railway officer was furiously arguing with civilian officials.
—"We do not have enough tracks."
—"The army requires priority."
—"Everyone requires priority."
Skoropadskyi watched in silence.
This was exactly what he had warned senior commanders about during the military maneuvers.
Now the chaos had become reality.
Several days later he finally reached his division.
The camp already sounded like a giant machine preparing for war.
Horses.
Supply wagons.
Field artillery.
Mobilized reservists.
Mountains of supplies.
Thousands of men trying to prepare for battle.
Bolbochan met him first.
The younger officer looked dangerously enthusiastic.
—"Finally."
—"Report."
Bolbochan immediately became serious.
—"The horses are in good condition. Reservists are arriving slower than planned. Supply deliveries remain unstable, ammunition shipments are delayed, and our signal units are still understaffed."
Skoropadskyi nodded.
Nothing unexpected.
A short time later Bezruchko and Omelianovych-Pavlenko joined them.
Bezruchko carried several documents.
—"Intelligence reports suggest German mobilization is moving faster than expected."
Omelianovych-Pavlenko added:
—"Many officers still believe Austria will remain our primary enemy."
Skoropadskyi answered coldly.
—"They are wrong."
That evening he rode through the camp.
Many soldiers were singing.
Some were writing letters home.
Others cleaned rifles.
Young officers spoke confidently about quick victory.
Older officers remained noticeably quieter.
Late that night another telegram arrived.
Germany had declared war on Russia.
Skoropadskyi read it twice.
Then he slowly stepped outside the headquarters building.
Campfires still burned across the darkness.
Thousands of soldiers were asleep.
Completely unaware that within weeks many of them would be dead.
He looked west.
Somewhere beyond the darkness, the largest war in human history had begun.
And his division was riding directly toward it.