Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

The streets of Novogorod were eerily silent as the Ruthenian loyalist forces moved through the city. Smoke still lingered in the air, curling up from the ruins of barricades and buildings that had been reduced to rubble. Snow mixed with ash coated the ground, turning the once-pristine streets into a somber canvas of defeat. Armed soldiers patrolled with purpose, their boots crunching against the frozen ground, their weapons at the ready for any sign of lingering resistance.

In the heart of the city, Commander Antonov stood at the base of a toppled statue, a grim monument to the revolutionaries' failed uprising. His face was impassive as reports were delivered, one after another, confirming the complete collapse of the revolutionary hold on Novogorod.

"All cells have been neutralized, Commander," a junior officer said, saluting. "Casualties are high among their ranks. No significant resistance remains."

Antonov nodded, his voice cold and efficient. "Good. Begin phase two. Detain anyone suspected of aiding the revolutionaries. Root out sympathizers, collaborators, anyone who dared lift a finger against the Tsar."

The officer hesitated, shifting uncomfortably. "And if they resist, sir?"

Antonov's gaze was unwavering. "You know the orders. No mercy."

The officer saluted again and hurried off, leaving Antonov to oversee the final sweep of the city. Around him, loyalist soldiers dragged prisoners from makeshift hideouts, their faces etched with defeat. Some screamed in defiance, while others remained silent, their heads bowed, resigned to their fate.

In Valoria, General Raelthorn Graves stared at a map of Ruthenia, his jaw clenched tightly. Red Xs marked the locations of revolutionary strongholds that had fallen, one by one, to the Ruthenian Army's swift and brutal offensive. Reports of atrocities filtered in alongside the grim updates: mass detentions, summary executions, entire districts leveled in the pursuit of control.

An aide approached cautiously, holding a stack of intercepted Ruthenian communications.

"General, we've decoded another message. The loyalists moved faster than anticipated. By the time our operatives made contact with the revolutionaries, their networks were already collapsing."

Graves slammed his fist against the table, the impact making the map tremble. "We underestimated Ivan's ruthlessness. His forces didn't just suppress the revolution—they annihilated it."

The aide shifted uneasily. "Should we consider a response, sir? Ruthenia's actions have drawn the ire of some of our allies."

"No," Graves said sharply, his tone brooking no argument. "This is not the time for open conflict. Ivan's crackdown has made Ruthenia a fortress. Any attempt to intervene now would be a disaster. For now, we observe, we prepare, and we wait for the next opportunity. But mark my words—there will be a reckoning."

In the smoldering ruins of a collapsed building on the outskirts of Novogorod, Elena, Sergei, and Viktor huddled together, their faces lit by the flickering flame of a single candle. The cellar that had been their sanctuary was now their tomb. Supplies were nearly exhausted, their weapons depleted, and their comrades dead or captured.

Elena stared at the radio in front of her, its battered frame a testament to the countless transmissions it had carried over the weeks of fighting. Her fingers hovered over the dial, as if willing Valoria to respond, to send a lifeline that would never come.

"They're not coming," Viktor said quietly, his voice heavy with resignation. "Even if they wanted to, it's too late. The city is lost."

Elena's jaw tightened. "Valoria is our only hope. They promised support. They said they'd send supplies, weapons—something."

Sergei leaned back against the cold stone wall, his face pale from blood loss. "Promises mean nothing when faced with an army like Ivan's. They waited too long, and now we're paying the price."

Tears welled in Elena's eyes, but she refused to let them fall. "We can't just give up. There are still people out there who believe in the cause."

"And they'll die just like the rest of us if we don't face reality," Viktor said bluntly. "We're out of time, out of resources, and out of luck."

A sudden noise outside the cellar—boots crunching through snow—made all three revolutionaries freeze. Sergei motioned for silence, his hand gripping the handle of his knife. The footsteps grew louder, closer, until they stopped directly above them.

The cellar door burst open, and Ruthenian soldiers flooded in, their rifles trained on the group. Elena raised her hands instinctively, her heart pounding. Sergei and Viktor didn't move, their defiance unbroken even in the face of death.

"Stand down!" one of the soldiers barked, his voice echoing in the confined space.

Sergei's eyes met Elena's. "Don't let them take you alive," he whispered.

But before any of them could act, a soldier struck Sergei with the butt of his rifle, sending him crumpling to the ground. Elena and Viktor were dragged to their feet, their hands bound behind their backs. The soldiers marched them out into the snowy street, where Commander Antonov waited.

He regarded them with a cold, clinical gaze. "So these are the last of Novogorod's brave revolutionaries. Pathetic."

Elena glared at him, her voice steady despite the trembling in her limbs. "You can kill us, but you can't kill the cause."

Antonov's lips twisted into a cruel smile. "The cause? Your cause is ash, just like your city."

Back in the Winter Palace, Tsar Ivan III stood before a gathering of his most loyal advisors and military leaders. The Great Hall was filled with the scent of victory: the faint aroma of cigar smoke mingled with the metallic tang of medals adorning the uniforms of his officers.

Ivan addressed the room with calm authority. "The rebellion in Novogorod is over. Ruthenia stands united once more. But this victory is not just a testament to our strength—it is a warning to all who would oppose us."n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

He paused, letting his words sink in. "Let the world see that Ruthenia is not a nation to be trifled with. Our enemies, both foreign and domestic, will learn that rebellion is not an option. Dissent is not an option. Only loyalty, unity, and order will be tolerated."

Applause filled the room, a thunderous endorsement of the Tsar's iron rule. Ivan allowed himself a small, satisfied smile before continuing. "We will rebuild Novogorod, and it will serve as a symbol of our resolve. But more importantly, we will ensure that no revolution ever takes root in our soil again."

By the time the loyalist forces withdrew from Novogorod, the city was unrecognizable. Buildings lay in ruins, their charred frames silhouetted against the gray sky. The streets were littered with debris and bodies, a stark reminder of the price of rebellion.

Elena, Viktor, and Sergei were never seen again, their fates sealed in the hands of the loyalists. The revolutionaries' dream of a free Ruthenia was extinguished, crushed under the weight of Tsar Ivan's unyielding grip.

But even in defeat, whispers of resistance lingered. In the dark corners of Ruthenia, survivors began to regroup, their resolve hardened by their losses. The Tsar's victory was absolute—for now. But the seeds of dissent, though buried, were far from destroyed.