Reincarnated with the Country System

Date: 21-6-1561 WC

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The third morning of the siege broke gray and bitterly cold. Mist hung low across the plain, turning tents and cannon wheels into shadowy shapes. Beyond the ridges, the walls of Northern Mountain City stood cracked and smoke-stained, their proud silhouette marred by jagged holes.

Prince Kaen stood with his officers near the forward batteries, cloak tight across his shoulders. He looked rested, almost serene. For three days his cannons had spoken without pause, day and night. Now, the results were plain: towers collapsed, battlements shattered, whole streets inside the city burning.

His soldiers, far from weary, were in high spirits. They had lost no more than a handful of men, most from accidents with powder or stray fragments. Against them, the defenders had already lost hundreds. In his line, men joked while they hauled powder crates; gunners wiped soot from their faces and smiled when they heard another tower tumble.

Kaen allowed himself a rare smile. He felt as if the mountain itself bent to him.

One of his field commanders came to him, dismounted and bowed.

"My lord," he said. "The southern wall will collapse within hours. We have spotted cracks across the entire stretch. If the bombardment continues, no stone will hold by nightfall."

Kaen's jaw tightened with satisfaction. "Good. Once the wall breaks, the rest is nothing but work with bullets and bayonets."

The officer nodded, but Kaen had already turned his gaze back toward the burning city.

Victory was not just within reach—it was already clenched in his fist. He thought of his brother Sarul, far away, confident in his alliances. Soon, Sarul would learn how little those alliances meant. Every city that had chosen his side would be taken, every noble who backed him will crushed.

Kaen's thoughts burned bright. He knew that by breaking this fortress, he would cut Sarul's roots. Without Northern Mountain, Sarul's support would wither. Without Sarul, vengeance would finally be his.

The thunder of cannons rolled across the plain, shaking the ground like constant earthquakes. Dust clouds rose, blotting out the sun.

....

Inside Northern Mountain, the world was falling apart.

The city lord, Lord Alric Veynar, sat deep beneath his citadel in a stone-walled refuge. His wife and daughter huddled near him, their faces pale in the flickering lamplight. Even here, under meters of rock, they could hear the ceaseless pounding. Every blast shook the chamber, sending dust from the ceiling. Each tremor reminded him how fragile even stone could feel.

Alric had never known such fear. In his youth he had fought bandits and seen raids, but this… this was not war as he understood it. This was annihilation.

One of his commanders burst into the chamber, armor dented, soot streaked across his face. He saluted hastily.

"My lord. The southern wall is collapsing. The cracks are widening by the hours. We may hold until night, but no longer."

Alric's chest tightened. "And casualties?"

"Too many," the man admitted. "Thousands dead. The barracks struck again this morning—half our reserve destroyed before they could even march. The people panic. Fires rage across the markets. Morale is broken."

Alric closed his eyes. He could still hear the screams, even down here. He imagined the faces of his people—the miners, the traders, the smiths—those who had trusted him to keep them safe.

He opened his eyes again. "What of Prince Sarul? Has word reached him?"

The commander hesitated. "We sent riders three nights ago. But even if the prince received the message, he cannot march in time. To gather men, wagons, logistics—it will take a week, perhaps longer. We have only hours."

Alric's hand trembled. He clenched it into a fist. "Then what would you have me do? Fight until we are ash? Let Kaen slaughter us all?"

The commander glanced at the ground before answering. "My lord… surrender is the only path left. Or rather, not surrender—allegiance. If you change sides, if you swear to Kaen, he may spare us. His strength is backed by the Bernard Empire. We cannot oppose that. Not with our walls, not with our blood."

The words cut deep, but Alric could not deny their weight. He had heard the same whispers among other officers: Kaen was now untouchable. Bernard was the rising giant of Ostra, their rifles and cannon rewriting the rules of war.

Another voice spoke. It was his daughter, Elenya, who had been silent until now. She was young, barely nineteen, with pale hands gripping her mother's arm. Her voice trembled, but it carried anger too.

"Father, you cannot betray Prince Sarul. You swore to him. You swore before the gods."

Alric turned to her, his heart heavy. "Child, do you think I do not know? I chose Sarul because I believed in him. Because I thought he could win. And because you admired him. I thought aligning with him would bring you happiness."

Her eyes filled with tears. "And now you would throw that away?"

Alric's mouth tightened. "What good is loyalty if it costs every soul in this city? What good is honor if we are all dead?"

The chamber fell silent but for the distant thunder.

Then his advisor, an old man— stepped forward again, voice low but firm. "My lord, I now agree with the commander. Sarul may have the Meranites behind him, yes. But Kaen has Bernard. And Bernard's strength grows by the year. They have conquered 90% of the Ostra already. I heard their muskets break cavalry, their cannons level castles in days." He gestured toward the trembling ceiling. "Our old weapons cannot match theirs. Our culverins cannot even reach their lines. We fight shadows while they destroy us from leagues away."

Alric's wife, touched his hand. "Husband… perhaps it is true. Perhaps we must bend before we break. For Elenya's sake, for the people's."

Alric looked at her, then at his daughter, then at the commander and his Advisor. His chest felt as if an iron band had closed around it.

Still… to betray an oath? To change banners in the face of siege? Would Kaen even accept such surrender, or would he see it as weakness to be punished?

Alric stood, his legs unsteady. "I must think."

The commander bowed. "Do not wait too long, my lord. When the wall falls, we may not even have the chance."