Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

The streets of St. Petersburg were no longer silent. The sharp crack of gunfire echoed through the air, accompanied by the acrid scent of smoke and the distant wail of alarms. What had begun as a declaration of martial law had spiraled into outright conflict. Revolutionaries, emboldened by the Tsar's oppressive measures, had risen in rebellion. The iron fist of Tsar Ivan III, intended to crush dissent, had instead become the spark that ignited a full-scale civil war.

The room was tense, filled with senior military officers and state officials. Maps of Ruthenia were sprawled across the central table, marked with red and blue to denote areas under the Tsar's control and those seized by the revolutionaries. Gregori Vasiliev stood at the head of the table, addressing the room with his usual composed intensity.

"Reports from the southern provinces indicate heavy clashes," Vasiliev said, his voice steady despite the dire news. "Revolutionary cells have taken control of key supply routes and are fortifying their positions in the cities of Novogorod and Perm. Our forces are engaged but spread thin."

An officer slammed his fist on the table. "This is unacceptable! We have the numbers and the firepower. Why haven't we crushed them yet?"

Vasiliev shot him a cold glance. "Because this is not a conventional war. These are not soldiers in uniform standing on a battlefield. They are civilians hiding among the population, striking and disappearing before we can respond. Our forces must adapt."

Tsar Ivan entered the room, his presence commanding immediate silence. He moved to the head of the table, his expression unyielding.

"Enough excuses," Ivan said, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. "This rebellion will not stand. Mobilize every resource we have. Bring reinforcements from the eastern territories. And if the people insist on harboring traitors, they will share in their punishment."

One of the officers hesitated. "Your Majesty, increasing civilian casualties could escalate the unrest—"

Ivan cut him off with a glare. "This is not unrest. This is war. And in war, there are no half-measures."

The room fell silent, the weight of the Tsar's words hanging heavily over the assembly.

In the bombed-out shell of a former government building, Sergei paced back and forth, his boots crunching on broken glass. Around him, revolutionaries prepared for the next battle, loading weapons, distributing supplies, and tending to the wounded. Maps covered the walls, dotted with markers indicating loyalist troop movements.

"Elena," Sergei called, his voice urgent. "What's the status on reinforcements?"

Elena, seated at a makeshift desk, looked up from her notes. "A convoy from Perm is on its way. They'll bring more weapons and fighters, but it'll take two days."

Sergei cursed under his breath. "Two days is too long. The loyalists are massing troops to the south. If they attack before reinforcements arrive, we're finished."

Viktor, the older revolutionary, stepped into the room. His face was lined with exhaustion, but his eyes remained sharp. "Then we hold the line. We've fought them before, and we'll do it again. We're not just fighting for ourselves—we're fighting for everyone suffering under the Tsar's rule."

Sergei nodded, his jaw set with determination. "Then let's make them regret coming here."

The loyalist forces approached at dawn, their boots crunching in the snow as they advanced on the city. Tanks rolled forward, their turrets scanning the ruins for signs of movement. Overhead, planes circled, ready to unleash their payloads on revolutionary positions.

From within the city, revolutionaries waited in silence. Sergei crouched behind a barricade, his rifle resting on the edge. Beside him, Elena adjusted the sights on a stolen sniper rifle, her breath visible in the frigid air.

The first shot rang out, shattering the stillness. Elena's bullet struck a loyalist officer, dropping him instantly. Chaos erupted as the revolutionaries opened fire, their makeshift defenses lighting up with the muzzle flashes of their weapons.

The loyalists responded with overwhelming force. Tanks unleashed deafening blasts, reducing entire buildings to rubble. Machine gun fire raked the barricades, forcing the revolutionaries to duck for cover.

"Hold your positions!" Sergei shouted, his voice barely audible over the cacophony. "Don't let them break through!"

Elena fired another shot, taking out a machine gunner. Viktor lobbed a Molotov cocktail at a tank, the flames engulfing its tracks and forcing it to halt. The revolutionaries fought with desperation, their knowledge of the terrain giving them a temporary advantage.

But the loyalists were relentless. As the battle dragged on, their superior numbers and firepower began to tip the scales. Revolutionaries fell one by one, their cries lost in the chaos.

"Sergei, we're being overrun!" Elena shouted, reloading her rifle with shaking hands.

Sergei gritted his teeth. "Fall back to the second line! We can't hold this position!"

The revolutionaries retreated through the narrow streets, setting traps and ambushes to slow the loyalists' advance. Explosions rocked the city as hidden mines detonated, scattering debris and sowing confusion among the pursuing forces.

In the Winter Palace, Tsar Ivan received reports of the battle. He stood by the window, watching as snow continued to fall over the capital, a stark contrast to the violence tearing his nation apart.

"Novogorod will fall by nightfall," Vasiliev reported, his tone even. "The revolutionaries are resilient, but they cannot withstand the loyalists' assault."

Ivan nodded, his expression unreadable. "Good. Let it serve as an example. The people must see that rebellion only leads to death and ruin."

Vasiliev hesitated. "Your Majesty, the more we crack down, the more the revolutionaries seem to rise. Perhaps—"

Ivan's gaze snapped to him, cold and unyielding. "There is no 'perhaps.' There is only victory. Ruthenia's future depends on our strength and our resolve. We will crush this rebellion, no matter the cost."

By nightfall, the city lay in ruins. Fires burned in the distance, casting an eerie glow over the snow-covered streets. Loyalist troops moved through the rubble, rounding up surviving revolutionaries and executing those who resisted.

Sergei, Elena, and Viktor regrouped in a hidden cellar beneath a collapsed building. Their numbers were decimated, their supplies nearly gone.

"We can't keep fighting like this," Viktor said, his voice heavy with defeat. "They're too strong."

"We don't have a choice," Sergei replied, his eyes blazing with determination. "If we give up now, everything we've fought for will mean nothing."

Elena placed a hand on his shoulder. "Then we keep fighting. For Novogorod. For Ruthenia."

As the three of them planned their next move, the distant sound of marching boots reminded them that the war was far from over.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om