Reincarnated with the Country System

Location: Temporary Port, Frostspire Sound, Northern Britannia

The Bernard Empire's fleet anchored in the icy embrace of Frostspire Sound, a narrow fjord flanked by jagged cliffs where the water plunged to depths of 300 meters—a natural harbour for the Empire's ships. It was a temporary port, built for the ships of the Bernard Empire. The air reeked of diesel and brine, mingling with the shouts of sailors guiding LSTs (Landing Ship Tanks) onto the ramps.

Lieutenant General Eva Cortez stood at the edge of the central pier, her gloved hands clasped behind her back. At 28, she was the youngest high-ranking officer in Bernard's history and the first commander of an expeditionary force. She had been promoted from Brigadier General to Lieutenant General to lead this operation.

"Report," she said, her voice cutting through the din.

A logistics officer clutching a clipboard hurried forward. "Ma'am, only 40% of the 9th Armored's T-72s have disembarked. The gravel roads collapsed under their weight. We're laying steel mats, but the local labourers keep deserting. They've never seen… this." He gestured to a tank rolling off an LST, its 41-ton frame shuddering the pier.

Eva's eyes narrowed behind her tinted aviators. "Replace the labourers with our engineers. Prioritize fuel and ammunition."

"Yes, General!"

As the officer retreated, a group approached—locals in fur-lined cloaks led by a young man with a silver circlet resting on his brow. He stopped before Eva, offering a shallow bow.

"Lieutenant General Cortez," he said, his Britannic accent thick. "I am Cedric of House Farl, heir to Frostspire. My father sends his regrets—he's marshalling levies at Stonehold Keep. You… are younger than I expected."

Eva removed her sunglasses, revealing eyes like flint. "War cares little for age, Lord Cedric. Only results. My forces will secure your territory. In return, your father honours the trade agreements outlined in the Britannia-Bernard Mutual Defense Pact."

Cedric blanched at her bluntness but steadied himself. "Of course. Though I must ask—are your iron chariots truly worth the roads they'll destroy?" He pointed to a T-72 grinding inland, its treads churning the gravel into slurry.

"The T-72," Eva said, stepping toward the tank, "is a 41.5-ton main battle tank. Composite armour, 125mm smoothbore cannon, 780-horsepower diesel engine. It travels at 60 kph on paved roads. Your 'roads'?" She kicked a loose stone into the mud. "A hindrance. But not insurmountable."

A sergeant nearby muttered to his crew, "Tell that to my suspension…"

Cedric's eyes widened as he touched the tank's glacis plate. "Gods above—it's like touching a dragon's scales. But how will you move these beasts to the Baraka? The Frostspire Pass is narrow, and the mud season has begun."

Eva motioned to a team of engineers welding metal tracks to a stalled APC. "We adapt. Your father's maps indicate a logging trail west of the pass. We'll widen it."

"That trail hasn't been used in decades! It's haunted by—"

"Superstition," Eva interrupted. "My scouts surveyed it yesterday. Wolves, not wraiths. Now, if you'll excuse me." She turned to a radio operator. "Patch me to Sergeant Major Hargrove."

♦♦♦

The March Begins: 12 Hours Later

Location: Frostspire Logging Trail, 15km Inland

The 5th Infantry Brigade marched in column, their AKM rifles slung over M69 flak jackets. Behind them, the 9th Armored's T-72s inched forward, their treads sinking ankle-deep into the muck.

"Move it, maggots!" barked Sergeant Major Viktor Hargrove, his face smeared with grease. "I want those log bridges reinforced before the next tank crosses!"

Private Lucas Argento groaned, heaving a pine log onto his shoulder. "This isn't war—it's manual labour!"

Corporal David Reyes shoved him forward. "Shut up and pivot! If that T-72 tips into the ravine, the LT will feed your guts to Graves' 'field experiments.'"

Nearby, Major Elias Graves—a hulking figure with a handlebar moustache—stood inspecting a half-buried boulder. "Corporal! Bring me the shaped charges. We'll blast a path."

"Sir, the noise might trigger avalanches," a lieutenant cautioned.

Graves grinned, patting the M18 Claymore slung across his chest. "Then we'll outrun them. Adapt and overcome."

As the engineers worked, a low rumble echoed through the pass.

"Contact front!" shouted a scout.

A cluster of figures emerged from the mist—Britannian peasants, their carts piled with turnips and firewood. An old woman pointed at the tanks and wailed, "Demons! The heavens punish us for sheltering heretics!"

Private Elly Nakamura lowered her binoculars. "No weapons. Just locals."

Lucas wiped his brow. "Think they've ever seen a tank?"

"Doubt it," said David. " You know a farmer asked me if my radio was a 'soul-stealing box.'"

Eva's command Humvee skidded to a halt nearby. She stepped out, flanked by two MPs with M16s. "Sergeant Major! Why are civilians in the AO?"

Hargrove saluted. "They live here, ma'am. No intel warned us about villages along the trail."

Eva cursed under her breath. Britannia's cartography is 16th-century garbage. She approached the peasants, her tone softening. "You. Where is the nearest solid ground? Stone, not mud."

The old woman spat. "You bring metal monsters to anger the earth! The river will swallow you!"

Cedric, trailing behind Eva, translated rapidly. "She says there's a granite shelf a mile north. But it's… sacred ground." Discover exclusive tales on My Virtual Library Empire

"Sacred or not, we're using it," Eva said. "Lord Cedric, ensure they're compensated."

Cedric tossed the woman a pouch of silver.

"You can't bribe the gods!" the woman shrieked.

"No," Eva said, climbing back into the Humvee. "But we can bribe you."

Logistics Hell: 48 Hours Later

Location: Granite Shelf "Steelcrusher," Northern Frostspire Pass.

The detour cost them a day. The tanks now rumbled across a weathered granite plateau, their treads screeching against stone.

"Pressure's dropping in the left track," growled Staff Sergeant Rivas, peering into his tank's engine bay. "This rock's grinding the treads to shit."

Nearby, Major Graves supervised a team stripping a broken-down T-72 for parts. "We'll cannibalize this one. Transfer its fuel to the others."

"We're abandoning a tank?!" a private exclaimed.

Graves lit a cigar. "You wanna push 41 tons uphill? We don't have time for that. Move."

At the column's head, Eva studied satellite photos showing Latvian positions across the Baraka River. Ten-to-one odds, she mused. Unless the armoured division arrives intact.

A motorcycle courier skidded to a stop beside her. "General! Forward scouts report the Logging Trail's washed out. The 9th Armored is stuck at the Steelcrusher. They'll need four days to bypass."

Eva crushed the satellite photos in her fist. "Unacceptable. We need to reach our destination quickly. Ask Duke Farl's son to come here. I want to discuss our travel routes with him. "