Reincarnated with the Country System

High above the city, the wyvern raiders of Britannia's Air Guard darted through the skies. The wyverns screeched as they swooped in, their riders releasing bolts of lightning and spears aimed at the dragon's skeletal wings and armoured body.

Yet, the dragon seemed impervious. It moved with an unholy grace, its massive wings cutting through the air effortlessly. It ignored the wyverns as if they were mere insects, its hollow eyes glowing with a malevolent red light.

Suddenly, the dragon opened its massive maw, unleashing a torrent of dark fire upon the streets below. The flames weren't like ordinary fire; they burned black, consuming everything they touched. The stone and wood of houses melted away, and the people caught in the fire screamed in agony. But the horror did not end there. The bodies of the fallen, consumed by the dark flames, began to rise moments later, their eyes empty and their movements twisted. They had become undead.

Above, the wyvern raiders faced new horrors. A flock of skeletal vultures, suddenly attacked them. They knocking riders from their saddles. Screams and the clash of claws echoed through the air as the raiders, overwhelmed, were forced to divert their attention from the dragon.

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From atop the walls of the Royal District, the soldiers watched in horror as the undead dragon approached. The flames of the burning city illuminated its grotesque form. Its skeletal body was massive, its wingspan large enough to cast shadows over entire blocks. The air itself seemed to grow heavier with every beat of its wings, and the screams of the undead rising from the streets below created a cacophony that chilled the soul.

The undead swarmed the streets, their grotesque forms closing in on the district.

Fear spread like a plague among the soldiers.

"Is that… an undead dragon?" one young soldier whispered, his voice trembling. His hands gripped his bow so tightly that his knuckles turned white.

Another soldier, an older man with scars across his face, placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Steady yourself. Fear won't save us tonight." His voice was calm but carried the weight of years spent hardening himself for moments like this.

Some soldiers flinched, their courage wavering. A few crossed themselves, murmuring prayers to the gods.

"Hold your ground!" a commanding officer bellowed, his voice cutting through the growing panic.

Then, the dragon let out a deafening roar, shaking the very stones of the walls. The undead following in its wake screeched in response, their twisted voices adding to the dreadful symphony. The atmosphere was suffocating, an oppressive combination of fear and despair.

"Hold your positions! Prepare for battle!"

Officers barked orders as the defenders of the Royal District prepared for the inevitable clash.

"Archers, to your positions! Magicians, prepare your spells! Load the ballistae and arbalests!"

The walls became a flurry of activity as the soldiers readied their weapons. Archers nocked arrows tipped with holy water, their hands steady despite the tension. Magicians stood in rows, their staffs glowing as they chanted incantations. The massive ballistae were loaded with heavy bolts, some enchanted with runes designed to pierce even the toughest armour. Soldiers hefted javelins, their tips gleaming with sharpened steel.

---

As the dragon drew closer, the magicians unleashed their first wave of spells. Fireballs streaked through the night sky, their light cutting through the darkness. Bolts of lightning followed, crackling as they struck the undead below. Holy magic, glowing with pure white light, rained down upon the horde, disintegrating scores of the undead with each blast.

The soldiers on the walls loosed a volley of arrows. The air was filled with the sharp hiss of projectiles, each one aimed with precision. Arbalests fired thick bolts, their impact sending undead flying backwards. The ballistae released their massive bolts, each one tearing through multiple undead before embedding itself in the ground.

The dragon, however, was a different matter. It roared as the ballista bolts struck its skeletal frame, but the damage was minimal. The creature's bones were reinforced with dark magic, and ordinary weapons seemed to do little more than irritate it.

The dragon opened its maw once more, releasing another wave of dark fire. The flames washed over the streets below, creating more undead that now swarmed toward the walls. The soldiers braced themselves as the first wave of undead reached them.

"Javelins, now!" shouted an officer.

A rain of javelins fell upon the undead, impaling dozens. But for everyone that fell, two more took its place. The magicians redoubled their efforts, casting spells to thin the horde, but the undead seemed endless.

The dragon swooped low, its massive form blotting out the moonlight. It crashed into one of the outer towers, shattering stones and sending soldiers flying.

"Ballistae, aim for its wings! Bring it down!"

The ballista crews adjusted their aim, targeting the dragon's wings. One bolt struck true, tearing through the membrane of its left wing. The dragon roared in fury, momentarily unbalanced. It lashed out with its claws, tearing through the wall's defenders. Then It turned its gaze toward the ballista crews, its red eyes glowing with malice.

"Incoming!"

The dragon unleashed another torrent of dark fire, this time aiming directly at the ballistae. Crews scattered as the flames consumed their positions. Those caught in the fire screamed as their bodies were consumed, only to rise moments later as undead.

---

On the walls, the soldiers fought desperately. Arrows rained down on the advancing undead, piercing through their rotting bodies. The magicians continued to cast their spells, their faces pale with exhaustion.

The dragon circled back, preparing another attack. One soldier, a young woman barely out of training, stood frozen as the beast loomed overhead. The older man beside her shouted, "Aim for its wings! Bring it down!"
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With trembling hands, she loosed her arrow. Although it hits the dragon it turns the dragon's attention to them

The undead dragon circled back, preparing to unleash another wave of devastation. The soldiers braced themselves, their weapons trembling in their hands.

Then, a distant whirring sound cut through the chaos. At first faint, it grew louder, sharper, and more deliberate. The air seemed to shudder as the noise became unmistakable: the rhythmic thump of rotor blades.

Out of the smoky horizon, a sleek, black silhouette emerged—a Cobra attack helicopter.