Reincarnated with the Country System

The first thing the people of Jimland noticed was the silence.

The birds had stopped singing. The wind carried no scent of pine or wet earth—only the metallic tang of approaching rain, laced with something fouler. Gunpowder. Ozone. The stench of empires on the march.

From the high watchtowers of the capital, sentries with owl-like eyes saw them first: black columns moving across the northern plains like spilled ink. The Stormbreaker floated among the clouds, its massive silhouette warping the sunlight, casting the land below into premature twilight.

A young fox-eared messenger sprinted through the muddy streets, his voice raw with panic.

"They're here! The Empire—they've crossed the border!"

The words spread like wildfire. Doors slammed shut. Market stalls were abandoned. Mothers grabbed their children—some with fur, some with scales, all with the wide, terrified eyes of prey that knows the hunt has come.

In the town square, an old badger-faced priest of the Horned God climbed onto the dry fountain, his gnarled hands shaking as he raised a carved bone totem.

"The Empire comes to punish our defiance! But the old gods yet live! They will—"

A distant whump cut him off.

Then the fountain exploded.

Shards of stone and bone rained down as the crowd screamed. The priest's body landed twenty feet away, his chest a ruin of splintered ribs and mangled fur.

High above, on the Stormbreaker's command deck, a gunnery officer lowered his binoculars.

"Target silenced. Moving to next grid."

...

The palace, once a grand structure of carved oak and gilded beast motifs, was now a skeleton of its former self. The stained-glass windows depicting Jimland's old gods had been shattered, leaving jagged teeth of colored glass. The throne itself—a massive seat of antlers and lion's fur—sat empty.

At its base, two figures stood before a hooded stranger, his face obscured by the flickering torchlight.

Princess Kiera and her brother, Prince Callum.

And then there was him—the man who had promised them salvation.

The man who had lied.

"You said nothing would happen," Kiera hissed, her voice a blade wrapped in silk. "You swore the Empire wouldn't notice. That they wouldn't care."

The stranger didn't flinch. His voice, when it came, was smooth as poisoned wine.

"I said the Empire wouldn't act immediately. You, however, were impatient. You moved too soon. You let your rebels strike the supply caravans. You let your pride write checks your army couldn't cash."

Prince Callum stood at the shattered stained-glass window. The distant crump of artillery made his ear twitch.

He then stepped forward. "We followed your plan! You told us the Empire was stretched thin—that they wouldn't risk another war!"

The stranger chuckled, low and humorless. "I told you what you wanted to hear. And you, Prince of Ashes, believed it."

A beat of silence. Then—

"They're going to kill us," Kiera whispered.

The stranger tilted his head. "Oh, no, Princess. They're not just going to kill you." He leaned in, the torchlight finally catching the edge of his grin. "They're going to make an example of you."

...

Beyond the palace walls, the horizon darkened—not with storm clouds, but with steel.

The HMS Stormbreaker loomed in the distance, its engines a constant, hellish growl. Beneath it, columns of imperial soldiers marched in perfect sync, their black armor drinking in the fading light. At their flanks, siege engines rolled forward, their payloads hidden under tarps. No one wanted to guess what new horror the Empire had brought to break Jimland's spine.

A scout, his rabbit ears twitching in panic, burst into the throne room.

"They've reached the outer farms! They're—they're not taking prisoners! They're burning everything!"

Callum's claws dug into his palms. "Then we fight. We die on our feet."

Kiera grabbed his arm. "No. We run."

"Run?!" Callum roared. "This is our kingdom!"

"It was," Kiera snapped. "Now it's a grave. And if we stay, we'll just be two more corpses in it."

The stranger nodded, almost approving. "Smart girl. The Empire doesn't just want you dead—they want you broken. They'll parade your corpses through every city that ever thought of defiance. Your heads on pikes. Your skin as banners."

Callum's breath came in ragged bursts. "Then what do we do?"

...

Outside, the first screams began.

The Empire had reached the city.

The streets ran red.

Imperial soldiers advanced in perfect kill-teams, their black armor sealed against spells and arrows. Their rifles barked short, precise bursts. Each shot dropped a defender—through the eye, the throat, the heart. No wasted ammunition. No mercy.

A bear-clawed warrior roared and charged, his great axe raised—

—until a hypersonic round removed his head mid-sprint.

In the alleys, things were worse.

The ISSD's "Cleansers" moved like living shadows, their monofilament wires slicing through flesh and bone. They didn't just kill. They dismantled. A rabbit-eared girl hiding in a barrel saw one pause, tilt its helmeted head, then methodically sever a dying man's limbs while he still breathed.

Back at the palace, the stranger watched the siblings' faces as the screams filtered through the stone walls.

"Hear that? That's the sound of lessons being taught."

Callum lunged. His sword flashed—

—and stuck fast in the stranger's outstretched palm. No blood. Just a hand wrapped around the blade, unmovable as a mountain.

"You don't want to fight me, princeling. You want to fight them."

A massive explosion rocked the palace. Dust rained from the ceiling. Somewhere, a wall collapsed.

Kiera grabbed her brother's arm. "He's right. We need to go."

The stranger tossed something at their feet—two bone-white masks, etched with faintly glowing runes.

"Wear these. They'll hide you from the Empire's eyes. For a time."

Another blast, closer now. The door burst inward, revealing a squad of ISSD operatives, their rifles up and scanning.

The stranger didn't turn. "Tick-tock."

...

They fled through the palace's underbelly—through wine cellars and servant tunnels, past the hidden shrines.

The masks clung to their faces like living things. Kiera felt hers shift, molding to her features, sealing away her scent, her heat, her very presence.

A drone buzzed past overhead, its red eye scanning. It paused. Hovered.

Then moved on.

Callum's voice was raw. "This isn't over."

Above them, the Stormbreaker's main cannon charged, its hum vibrating through the stones.

Kiera touched her brother's scarred ear—the one he'd gotten shielding her from a Latvian blade.

"No," Kiera whispered. "It's just beginning."

As the palace collapsed behind them, the heirs of Jimland disappeared into the smoke.

Somewhere in the darkness, the stranger smiled.