Reincarnated with the Country System

17-5-1561 WC

♦♦♦

The rain had not stopped for three days.

A cold, salt-laced wind swept through the eastern coast of the Vengal Kingdom, lashing the dark stone walls of Stormhall Keep — Prince Kaen's fortress and the stronghold of the reformist faction.

A foreign ship had docked in the hidden cove beneath the keep, bearing no flag, only the imperial seal of the Bernard Empire carved discreetly into its stern.

In the great chamber of the keep, Prince Kaen sat at the long oaken table, flanked by his trusted officers and a few of his father's former ministers — those who had secretly defected to his cause. Across from him stood the messenger of the Empire: a tall, clean-shaven man in a slate-grey officer's coat, its gold trim glinting beneath the firelight.

Behind him stood six heavily armed imperial, their rifles gleaming with an unfamiliar metallic sheen — sleeker and more precise than any blackpowder weapon forged in Vengal's workshops. Between them, four heavy crates lay stacked and sealed with red wax.

Kaen eyed the crates, then looked back at Marius. "You came a long way to offer charity."

"Not charity, Your Highness," The man replied smoothly. "Opportunity."

"And you are?"

"Marius Estellan from Bernard Empire," the man said. "Envoy of His Imperial Majesty." He smiled again. "I bring gifts. And possibilities."

He snapped his fingers. One of the soldiers stepped forward, pried open a crate with a polished crowbar, and tilted it forward just enough for the torchlight to catch the glittering interior.

Gold.

Stacks of minted imperial coins, stamped with Emperor Alberto's profile — the same coins now circulating across the conquered realms of Britannia, Latvia, and Harnas.

A collective breath sucked in from Kaen's men. Even Lord Halvar, the skeptical admiral seated beside Kaen, leaned forward in disbelief.

The second crate opened—not gold this time, but weapons.

Gleaming steel and oiled walnut rested within, each rifle laid in careful order. Long, almost austere in their elegance, the firearms bore the imperial sigil: an eagle's head, wings arched around a crown of flame.

Marius laid a hand upon one. "This is a Gewehr 98," he said softly. "Bolt-action. Five-round internal magazine. Chambered for the 7.92x57mm Mauser cartridge. Effective range: over five hundred meters. With a skilled marksman, it can pierce armor at four hundred."

He lifted the rifle, its weight balanced like a finely crafted blade.

"These rifles," Marius continued, "were used to pacify rebels in Jimland, Harnas and Latvia. These are the standard weapons for our Colonial armies. These are meant to keep people in line."

He paused, lifting his eyes to the high arched window.

"…it changes the definition of power."

Marius moved to the window, calm and deliberate. Rain slashed against the stone. Far below, half-buried in sand and surf, a driftwood log bobbed — no larger than a man's chest.

Kaen and his men turned, startled, as Marius raised the rifle.

A breath.

A crack of thunder — but not from the sky.

CRACK.

The sound rang like the hammer of the heavens.

The driftwood exploded in a burst of splinters and salt spray.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Even Lord Halvar stared, his seaman's instinct briefly overwhelmed by the knowledge that he had just witnessed a thing beyond the world he knew.

Marius stepped back from the window. He did not gloat. He merely handed the weapon to one of his men, who cleaned the barrel with a dark cloth.

He turned to Kaen. "Imagine what they could do... against your brother's coral triremes and bone-bladed fanatics."

Silence.

Tolvet, youngest of Kaen's officers, took a step forward, eyes wide. "I've heard of these.... Imperial guns. The merchant fleets talk about them — say even the pirates won't fight where these show up."

Halvar found his voice. "You bring these for our war?"

Kaen remained silent.

Marius stepped away from the weapons. "We don't bring war, Lord Admiral. We bring investment. In you, Your Highness."

Kaen's jaw tightened. "And in return?"

Marius stepped closer. "The Emperor knows who you are, Prince Kaen. He knows your mind—your vision. He sees in you what Vengal has refused to see for generations: the potential to lead your people into a new age. Not just a king," he said, "but a governor. As a great friend of the empire "

Lord Halvar narrowed his eyes. "Governor? You mean vassal."

Marius gave a diplomatic smile. "The word is just structure. But under our system, governors control their regions with full autonomy. Trade, policy, defense — all managed locally. In return, you become part of something greater. The Bernard Empire is not a leash; it is a bridge to the future."

He paced to the map table at the center of the room, where a broad cloth chart of Ostra was spread.

"In four months," Marius said, stepping beside him, "we rebuilt Latvia's coastal ports, eliminated piracy from the eastern strait, and re-established order in twenty-six districts. Infrastructure, security, education. Stability — with strength."

Halvar scowled but said nothing.

Kaen looked again at the crates. "And if I agree?"

"You'll receive full imperial support," Marius said. "Gold. Arms. Training. You will be Governor of the Southern Ostra Coast."

Kaen raised a brow. "And if I refuse?"

Marius' smile faded slightly. "Then the Empire will remain neutral in your civil war — for now. But neutrality is not eternity, Prince. Your brother Sarul still holds the Meranites. If he wins, and refuses our trade terms... we will not allow instability to fester on this continent. We may deal with him. Or remove him ourselves."

Kaen turned away from the table. His mind churned, his heart quiet. He had dreamed of changing Vengal — dragging it out of the rotting embrace of tribal feuds. But this... this was more than change. This was a surrender.

And yet...

Sarul would never compromise. The Meranites despised modernity. They would never share power with machines, or humans who bowed to distant emperors. There would be war.

Kaen's fist closed around the edge of the map.

Alberto was ruthless — that much was certain. His empire had already grown larger than Vengal could resist alone. If Kaen fought the war on tradition alone, he would lose. And the empire would come anyway. Just later. Just harder.

If he made the deal now, he could win the war — and shape the future while holding the pen.

He met Marius' gaze, and for the first time, returned the faintest of smiles.

"I will consider your offer," he said.

Marius inclined his head. "Of course. We do not demand answers tonight."