Reincarnated with the Country System

The sun hung low in the sky, painting the grasslands gold as Kain's boots crunched along the uneven dirt. The settlement in the distance—timber walls, smoke from chimneys, and narrow wooden towers—was their only lead in this strange world.

They hadn't spoken much during the descent.

Raihan kept to himself, eyes scanning the road ahead. His armor, once bright with divine blessing, was scorched and cracked, dusted with ash. He walked like a man who had carried the weight of others for too long. His surviving paladins followed behind him, quiet and wounded, their divine magic silent in their veins.

Kain glanced at his men—Exo Knights in heavy suits, most damaged from the rift, visors retracted now to seem less threatening. ISSD operatives moved like ghosts, watching everything.

Every soldier—paladin and Exo Knight alike—was adjusting to the same disorienting realization: this wasn't just a different place.

It was a different world.

Raihan walked beside Kain, his armor scratched and dusted with ash. He looked more like a tired traveler than a war-hardened paladin commander. His gaze stayed on the village ahead.

"You feel it, don't you?" Raihan asked, voice low.

Kain nodded without looking at him.

"I've prayed three times since we woke up," Raihan murmured. "Not even a whisper. No warmth. No presence. It's like the gods were never here to begin with."

Kain didn't answer. He wasn't a believer.

Behind them, the survivors moved slowly. The paladins had stripped their glowing sigils and folded their tabards under cloaks. The Exo Knights had retracted their helmets, revealing a mix of scarred faces, cybernetic eyes, and tired expressions. None of them looked like invaders anymore. They looked like refugees.

An old lightning-blasted tree marked the edge of the fields. Its blackened trunk stood hollow and split like a warning finger to the sky.

The village—if it could be called that—was clearer now. A wooden palisade circled a small cluster of thatched rooftops. Just timber, rope, and primitive carpentry.

Kain raised a hand. The group stopped. "Alright. We approach slow. Keep your weapons sheathed unless things go south."

Veyers, his second-in-command, snorted. "And what if they scream and start throwing rocks at us?"

"Then smile and act dumb," Kain replied. "We don't want to panic them."

Raihan stepped forward. "Let me take the lead. These people look pre-industrial. They'll trust a knight before they trust a walking tank."

...

They approached the gate.

Two guards stood near the gate—lean men in leather jerkins, holding long spears with iron heads. Their helmets were uneven, poorly fitted. When they saw the approaching group—armored giants, holy knights, and robed survivors—they didn't shout or challenge.

They just froze.

One dropped his spear.

The other backed toward the gate, wide-eyed. "D-Demons?" he stammered in a thick rural accent.

Raihan stepped forward, raising one empty hand.

"We are not demons," he said calmly.

The guard ran.

The gate slammed shut behind him. A bell rang from inside—three sharp clangs. Voices rose on the other side, confused and panicked.

Kain sighed. "Fantastic start."

Soon, villagers gathered behind the palisade—men with axes and hoes, women clutching children, and a few robed elders on crates or stools. No real warriors. Just frightened people facing something they didn't understand.

They whispered to each other, eyes filled with fear.

One elderly man stepped forward atop a small wooden box, hunched and white-bearded.

"Go back!" he called, waving a stick. "We don't want your kind here! You've brought omens!"

Raihan tried again. "We are not your enemies. I am Raihan, Champion of the Holy Empire, chosen by the gods. This is Commander Kain of the Bernard Empire. We were caught in a storm. We need shelter and food."

There was silence.

Then someone shouted from the crowd, "Go away, you deceitful devils. You cannot fool us. There is no country called the Holy Empire or the Bernard Empire."

Another shouted, "Look at their skins! Metal beasts! Magic robes!"

"They wear cursed symbols! It's the old tale! The metal sons of the void!"

A rock flew through the air and bounced harmlessly off Kain's chestplate.

"Go away!"

He didn't even flinch.

"Sir," Veyers muttered, "permission to respond?"

"No," Kain said quietly. "Stand down."

Solas rolled his eyes. "They're like frightened rabbits."

Kain agreed, but he knew better than to push a panicked mob. "We'll try a different approach."

They backed away from the gate slowly, then set up camp about a hundred meters off, beside a dry creek bed. The soldiers moved in silence, setting perimeter watches. Some villagers watched from the wall but didn't come closer.

As night fell, the group sat around several small fires, eating ration bars and purifying water from a nearby stream. A few had salvaged thermal blankets; others used cloaks or robes.

Tension hung thick in the air.

"We can't stay here," Elira said, sitting beside her wounded brother. "These people are terrified. They think we're spirits or monsters."

"They're not entirely wrong," Solas muttered.

Kain looked up from his small tablet—mostly useless now except as a light source. "So we play it slow. We don't threaten them. Eventually, someone braver—or smarter—will come talk."

Raihan gave him a hard look. "You're too calm about this."

"I'm still breathing," Kain said. "That's enough for now."

Raihan didn't smile.

The two men weren't friends. But the rift had buried that rivalry—at least for now.

...

It was mid-morning the next day when someone finally approached.

Kain was sharpening a broken piece of armor plating when he heard soft footsteps.

A boy, barefoot and maybe twelve, approached slowly. He wore rough wool and carried a cloth sack. He held out a small sack of bread with shaking hands.

Behind him, at a distance, a woman watched from the trees—probably his mother or sister.

Kain stood slowly and approached.

The boy froze, eyes wide.

Kain knelt to one knee, removed a ration bar from his belt, and held it out in return. "Trade?"

The boy hesitated. Then nodded quickly. They exchanged goods. The bread was stale, but real. The boy ran back to the woman, who vanished into the woods with him.