Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

The volley of gunfire sent shockwaves through Palace Square, ripping through the panicked crowd. Protesters screamed and scattered in every direction, trampling one another in the chaos. The sharp crack of rifles echoed off the surrounding buildings, drowning out the cries of the wounded and dying.

Kalashkov dove behind a cart, pulling Anya down with him. "Stay low!" he shouted, shielding her from the carnage. The air was thick with the acrid smell of gunpowder and the coppery scent of blood.

"They're killing us!" Anya cried, her voice breaking. "Why are they doing this?"

"They think the assassin is here," Ivan replied grimly. "Fools. They're only making it worse."

The police, still unsure of the sniper's location, fired sporadically into the crowd, their actions fueled by panic and confusion. Some officers shouted at each other to cease fire, but the lines of command had already broken. Protesters retaliated by hurling rocks, bottles, and anything they could find, further escalating the violence.

Above the square, the sniper slinked through the shadows of the rooftops, his mission complete. He discarded his rifle and disappeared into the labyrinth of alleys, leaving behind only chaos in his wake.

Inside the Winter Palace, Tsar Ivan Alexandrovich was rushed into a secure room by his guards. Blood seeped through his bandaged shoulder, staining his once-pristine robes. The royal physician worked frantically, applying pressure to the wound.

"You'll live, Your Majesty," the physician said. "But you must rest."

The Tsar winced, his face pale. "Rest? Do you hear what's happening out there?" He gestured weakly toward the window, where the sounds of gunfire and screaming could still be heard. "This... this massacre is on my watch."

General Orlov entered the room, his face grim. "Your Majesty, the situation is out of control. The police are firing on the crowd. We've lost communication with half the units in the square."

Tsar Ivan's voice was laced with despair. "Stop them. Whatever it takes, stop this madness."

Orlov nodded and rushed out, barking orders to the remaining guards.

By the time the firing ceased, the square was a scene of horror. Bodies lay strewn across the cobblestones, their blood pooling in the torchlight. Survivors huddled in corners, their faces etched with shock and grief. The once-defiant chants had been replaced by a haunting silence.

Kalashkov emerged cautiously from his hiding place, pulling Anya along. They stepped over the lifeless forms of men and women who had stood beside them only moments ago.

"This... this isn't a protest anymore," Anya whispered, tears streaming down her face. "It's a massacre."

Kalashkov's jaw clenched. "And it will be remembered as the day the Tsar declared war on his own people."

As dawn broke over St. Petersburg, news of the massacre spread like wildfire. Word reached the surrounding towns and villages, igniting fresh protests and strikes. Factories shut down as workers refused to return to their posts. Trains halted as railway unions declared solidarity with the dead. The entire empire teetered on the edge of collapse.

Inside the Winter Palace, the council reconvened in the early hours of the morning. The mood was somber, the weight of the previous night hanging heavily over the room.

"Seventy dead," Count Mikhailov said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Over two hundred injured. The people are calling it 'Bloody Night.'"

Tsar Ivan Alexandrovich sat in silence, his injured shoulder wrapped in fresh bandages. He looked older, his face gaunt and his eyes hollow.

"What do they want now?" he asked finally.

"They demand your abdication," Mikhailov replied bluntly. "They blame you for the massacre. Some factions are already calling for a republic."

General Orlov slammed his fist on the table. "Abdication? Madness! The Tsar is Ruthenia. Without him, there is no empire."

Count Mikhailov shot back, "And with him, there may be no people left to rule! This empire is crumbling, General, and last night may have sealed its fate."

The room erupted into arguments, voices overlapping as each advisor tried to make their point. Ivan raised his hand, silencing them.

"What are our immediate options?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Finance Minister Ivanov spoke cautiously. "Your Majesty, we could offer a public apology and immediate reforms. Release political prisoners, impose stricter controls on the police, and expand relief efforts for the poor."

"And will that bring back the dead?" Ivan asked bitterly.

"No," Ivanov admitted. "But it may prevent more deaths. The people need to see that you are still capable of ruling."

***

While the palace debated its next steps, underground revolutionary groups seized the moment. In hidden meeting places across St. Petersburg, leaders of various factions gathered to discuss their plans.

Anya sat beside Kalashkov in a dimly lit basement, where a dozen men and women listened to a speaker. The man, a former army officer named Sergei Volkov, spoke with fiery conviction.

"The massacre proves what we've known all along," Volkov said. "This regime is rotten to its core. The Tsar is not a leader—he's a tyrant who clings to power at any cost."

"What can we do?" a young man asked. "They have the guns, the soldiers."

Volkov's eyes gleamed. "We have the people. Strike their supply lines. Sabotage their factories. Turn their soldiers against them. This is no longer a protest—it's a revolution."

Anya clenched her fists. "Count me in."

Kalashkov placed a hand on her shoulder. "Be careful, Anya. Revolution is not just about fighting. It's about survival."

***

By evening, the Tsar stood once more before a microphone, his voice broadcast across the empire. His words were heavy, laden with regret.

"To the people of Ruthenia," he began, "last night, tragedy struck our beloved nation. Blood was spilled, and lives were lost. For this, I take full responsibility."

The admission shocked both his advisors and the public. Tsar Ivan continued, "I have failed to protect you, my people. I have failed to provide for you in your time of need. But I will not abandon you now."

He outlined sweeping reforms: the dismissal of key officials, investigations into the massacre, and an emergency relief fund for the families of the victims. But his words, though heartfelt, did little to stem the rising tide of anger.
Enjoy new tales from empire

As the speech ended, the streets of St. Petersburg remained tense. Protesters continued to gather, their demands for justice growing louder. Revolutionary factions gained momentum, their calls for action spreading beyond the capital.

Inside the palace, Tsar Ivan Alexandrovich sat alone, staring at his reflection in a gilded mirror. The bandage on his shoulder was a stark reminder of the night's events, but it was the haunted look in his eyes that revealed the true cost.

For the first time, he wondered if the empire he had fought so hard to preserve was slipping through his fingers.