Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

The icy wind bit at Johannes's face as he climbed the final rung of the ladder, the weight of his briefcase dragging on his arm like an anchor. The moment he emerged, the metallic clicks of rifle safeties being disengaged filled the air. A dozen Ruthenian soldiers stood in a semicircle around him, their weapons leveled at his chest.

"Climb up! Slowly!" barked the officer in charge, a burly man with a thick mustache and piercing gray eyes.

Johannes raised his hands, palms open, signaling compliance. Each movement felt like it was being scrutinized, every breath weighed against the barrels pointed at him. He carefully placed his foot on the cobblestone street, his briefcase dangling from his left hand.

"Drop the case," the officer ordered, his voice sharp, his finger resting firmly on the trigger.

Johannes hesitated, clutching the briefcase tighter. The contents inside were invaluable to the revolution, but he had no choice. Slowly, he placed it on the ground, the sound of its metal edges scraping against the frozen stones echoing in the tense silence.

"Now, get on your knees!" the officer barked.

Johannes obeyed, his knees pressing into the cold, uneven cobblestones. His breath came in visible puffs, mingling with the rising fog of tension in the air. He glanced around, noting the rigid stances of the soldiers, their eyes flicking nervously between him and their commanding officer.

"Hands behind your head!" the officer shouted.

Johannes complied, interlocking his fingers behind his head. His pulse pounded in his ears, but his face remained stoic. This is not the end. Think. Adapt. Survive.

One of the soldiers approached cautiously, his rifle still aimed at Johannes. Reaching into his belt, the soldier produced a pair of steel handcuffs, the metal glinting under the dim streetlights. He grabbed Johannes's wrists roughly, snapping the cuffs on with practiced efficiency.

The officer leaned down, his face inches from Johannes's. "Who are you? You are seen collaborating with the revolutionaries! Are you a foreign spy?!"

"I'm but a humble reporter from a nation called Valoria," Johannesa introduced himself.

"Valoria? That country!?" The officer spat in disdain, the name Valoria flipped a switch inside him as he remembered the loss of his country against Valoria. "The nation that humiliated Ruthenia, that shattered our pride in the war. And now, one of their men crawls through our streets, stirring rebellion?"

Johannes met his gaze, his expression calm but calculating. "I am not here to humiliate Ruthenia further. I am here to document the truth, to show the world what is happening. The revolutionaries let me in because they wanted their voices heard."

The officer scoffed, stepping back and crossing his arms. "A convenient story. But why would a Valorian care about Ruthenia's struggles? Your country has already taken enough from us."

Johannes kept his tone steady. "Because instability in Ruthenia affects everyone, not just Ruthenians. The revolution is not just your story—it is Europe's. And the people I've spoken to, your people, believe they have a right to be heard."

"Enough!" the officer snapped, his patience fraying. He motioned to his men. "Get him up. We'll see how willing he is to talk once he's behind bars."

The soldiers yanked Johannes to his feet, their rough handling nearly causing him to lose his balance. His briefcase was seized by another soldier, who tossed it onto the back of the truck with a careless thud. Johannes's mind raced, each second bringing him closer to a fate he could not afford.

As they marched him toward the vehicle, the officer barked new orders. "Double the guard on the city checkpoints. If this man is a spy, there may be others. We're not letting the revolutionaries slip through our fingers."

The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances but complied. The air around them was heavy with suspicion, every shadow an imagined enemy.

The interior of the truck was dimly lit by a single flickering bulb. Johannes was shoved onto a metal bench, the cold from the steel biting through his coat. Two soldiers sat across from him, rifles resting on their knees. The officer climbed in last, slamming the door shut behind him.

The truck roared to life, its engine coughing before settling into a grumbling rhythm. As the vehicle jolted forward, Johannes shifted slightly, testing the strength of his cuffs. They were tight, biting into his wrists, but his years of training in Valoria had prepared him for situations far worse than this.

The officer studied him with a sharp, calculating gaze. "You're remarkably composed for a man who's just been caught aiding enemies of the state."

Johannes leaned back against the wall, his voice calm. "A journalist learns to keep his composure. Panic doesn't make for good reporting."

The officer smirked, his eyes narrowing. "We'll see how long that composure lasts when the secret police have their turn with you."

The mention of the secret police sent a shiver down Johannes's spine, but he didn't let it show. Instead, he changed tactics. "What do you think will happen if you hand me over to them? The revolutionaries will only gain more support when they hear of my capture. Your people are already losing faith in the Tsar. Arresting someone who came here to tell their story will only fan the flames."

The officer's smirk faltered for a moment, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. But it was quickly replaced by a hardened expression. "You underestimate the Tsar's resolve. This rebellion will be crushed, and men like you will serve as an example."

"I think this is going to cause problems in your country if you are intending on capturing me. Because I'm a foreign national and you can't simply arrest me without repercussions," Johannes said, his voice steady, yet deliberate. Stay updated with empire

The officer's eyes narrowed, his grip tightening on his rifle. "Foreign national or not, you're a threat. And Ruthenia does not bow to external pressure. We handle our own matters."

Johannes leaned forward slightly, meeting the officer's steely gaze. "You're certain about that? Imagine the Valorian government's reaction when they discover one of their journalists has been unlawfully detained. Imagine the scrutiny it will bring to your regime, already teetering on the edge. Do you think the Tsar is prepared for that?"

A tense silence filled the truck, broken only by the rumble of its engine and the rattling of its old frame. The officer's jaw clenched, clearly weighing Johannes's words. The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances, their earlier confidence visibly shaken.

"You're bluffing," the officer said finally, but his voice lacked conviction. "Valoria wouldn't risk involving itself in Ruthenia's internal affairs."

Johannes's lips curved into a faint, calculated smile. "Wouldn't they? With the way your revolution is unfolding, Europe is already watching. Do you really want to add Valoria to your list of concerns?"n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

The officer stood abruptly, his frustration evident. "Enough! Your words won't save you, Valorian. We'll let the secret police decide your fate."

The truck jolted to a halt, the sudden stop throwing Johannes forward slightly. Outside, the muffled sounds of orders being barked and boots on gravel signaled their arrival at what Johannes could only assume was a military outpost or detention center.

The officer gestured to the soldiers. "Get him out."

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