Reincarnated with the Country System

Alberto opened his eyes to a void—a vast, endless expanse of darkness that stretched in every direction. There was no ground beneath his feet, no sky above his head, only an infinite abyss that seemed to pulse with a faint, otherworldly glow. He floated weightlessly, his mind struggling to make sense of his surroundings.

Am I dead?

The question echoed in his mind, sharp and insistent. He tried to recall what had happened. The last thing he remembered was the helicopter had exploded— by the lion-man. After that… nothing. Just darkness.

"Mortal, welcome back to my domain!"
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The voice was thunderous, reverberating through the void like the tolling of a cosmic bell. Alberto's head snapped up, and his breath caught in his throat.

Above him loomed a being of unimaginable scale. It was neither human nor beast, but something beyond comprehension. Its form shimmered with the swirling colours of galaxies, stars, and nebulae as if the universe itself had been woven into its flesh. Its eyes—if they could even be called that—were twin black holes, endless and consuming.

"You are The Guardian,"

The being's lips—or what passed for lips—curved into a smile. "You can call me whatever you want,"

Alberto swallowed hard. "Am I dead?"

The Guardian's laughter rumbled like distant thunder. "No, Mortal, you are not dead. Not yet. Not until you finish the task I gave you. Besides, even if you die, I can bring you back again and again. Death is but a temporary inconvenience for those who serve my purpose."

Alberto's mind raced. The Guardian's words were both a comfort and a curse. He wasn't dead, but the implication that he could be brought back—repeatedly—sent a chill down his spine.

"Then why did you bring me here?"

The Guardian's form shifted, its cosmic body rippling like a living tapestry. "You are making great progress, Mortal. But now it's time to guide you onto the right path. The Ostra continent is in turmoil, I want you to eliminate the unrest in the Ostra continent."

Alberto's brow furrowed. "You mean Latvia. I've done some research on this. It's not that easy."

The Guardian's smile widened, revealing a void darker than the abyss around them. "If you find this difficult, I'll tell you that you will face even greater challenges in the future. Latvia is but a trivial matter compared to what lies ahead. You must build yourself stronger, Mortal. Stronger in mind, body, and spirit. You must act. You must fight. You must conquer."

Alberto didn't say anything. The Guardian's presence was overwhelming, its will unyielding.

"It's time for you to go now," the Guardian said, its voice echoing with finality. "The game has begun, and you must see it through to the end."

Before Alberto could respond, he felt a sudden, irresistible pull. The void around him seemed to collapse, the darkness rushing in like a tidal wave. He reached out, trying to grasp something—anything—but there was nothing to hold onto.

"Wait!" he shouted, his voice swallowed by the abyss.

The Guardian's voice was the last thing he heard, faint and distant, as the darkness consumed him.

"Trust your instincts, Mortal. And Always remember—Getting to know people is the hardest journey of all, for even the darkest souls may hold a glimmer of light, and the brightest hearts may cast the deepest shadows."

♦♦♦

Britannia Kingdom

The orders rippled outward like a shockwave. By noon, criers marched through the streets of the capital, their voices echoing off the rubble:

"By decree of Her Majesty, Queen Maria of Britannia—all able-bodied men and women aged fifteen and above are to report to the barracks! Refusal will be met with death! Glory to Britannia!"

The response was chaos. In the market districts, fishermen dropped their nets, blacksmiths abandoned their forges, and farmers shouldered rusted scythes. Mothers clutched their children, begging soldiers for mercy. Fathers shoved daggers into their sons' hands, whispering final prayers. The prisons were emptied, chains clattering as thieves and murderers were handed spears and shoved into formation.

In the mage tower, royal mages worked tirelessly, enchanting weapons with flickers of fire and frost.

Maria herself descended into the armoury; her gown exchanged for a suit of blackened steel. She strapped a dagger to her thigh, its blade etched with the royal crest.

Then the Knight Captain came there. "Your Majesty, The Bernard Empire envoy is securing their forces in the city. He… requested an audience with you."

Maria's jaw tightened. "Tell him to wait."

.....

That evening, the war council reconvened. The map of Britannia was now littered with carved figurines—wooden ships for the Latvian fleet, crimson flags for the Elysian rebels, and black stones for the undead remnants.

"Our scouts report that Latvia's army is a horde of nightmares," General Voss said, gesturing to the northern border. "Orc berserkers leading the charge, they have also many other races warriors. And their general… they call him—Ghorrak the Butcher. He skins his enemies alive and wears their flesh as armour."

Maria's expression didn't flicker. "Then we will give him new material to work with."

Duchess Milana unrolled a scroll, her voice trembling slightly. "The conscription numbers, Your Majesty. We've mobilized 300,000 so far. But… only 60% have proper weapons. The rest will fight with pitchforks, clubs, stones."

"Let them throw stones, then," Maria said. "A thousand stones can bury a troll."

Admiral Nikolas scowled. "Latvia's sea monsters are tearing through our ships. We lost three vessels at dawn. The crews… they say the waters turned red in seconds."

"Then we fight on land," Maria said. "Lure the monsters into shallow bays. Trap them with chains and harpoons. Drown them in tar and set them ablaze."

The council continued late into the night, strategies spiralling into desperation. Maria listened, her mind sharp but her soul weary. When the final plans were laid, she dismissed the room and retreated to her chambers.

Alone, she approached a locked chest at the foot of her bed. Inside lay a single item—a silver locket, its surface engraved with the faces of her children. She clutched it to her chest, her composure crumbling at last.

"Elina," she whispered, tears streaking through the ash on her cheeks. "Where are you?"

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