Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

The room was filled with the quiet hum of anticipation. The walls of the Great Hall were lined with guards, their expressions unreadable as they stood rigid at attention. Rows of seats held high-ranking officials, military leaders, and ministers, their faces somber as they awaited Tsar Ivan III's arrival.

At the center of the hall stood a simple podium bearing the Ruthenian emblem. The radio transmitters and microphones were set up, ready to broadcast the Tsar's address to every corner of the nation. Outside, the capital was eerily silent, the streets patrolled by state police enforcing the newly issued curfew.

The heavy doors at the back of the hall creaked open, and Tsar Ivan III entered, flanked by his advisors. He walked with measured steps to the podium, his military coat buttoned to perfection. His sharp eyes scanned the room before he began, his voice steady and deliberate.

"My fellow Ruthenians," Ivan began, his words echoing through the hall and across the airwaves. "Today, I speak to you not as a ruler giving commands, but as a guardian of our nation, entrusted with its survival."

The room remained silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

"In recent days, we have faced an affront to our sovereignty," he continued. "Foreign operatives have infiltrated our borders, defied our laws, and escaped with one of our prisoners—a man who sought to incite rebellion within our lands. This act of aggression cannot and will not be ignored."

He leaned forward slightly, his hands gripping the edges of the podium. "But this is not the only threat we face. For too long, revolutionaries within our borders have worked to undermine the unity and strength of Ruthenia. These traitors seek to dismantle the foundation of our nation and replace it with chaos and ruin."

His gaze swept over the audience, sharp and unwavering. "Today, I am declaring martial law throughout Ruthenia. This is not a decision I take lightly, but it is a necessary step to ensure the stability and survival of our nation."

He paused, letting the weight of the announcement settle before continuing.

"Under martial law, several measures will take effect immediately. First, all public gatherings are banned unless explicitly authorized by the state. Second, a curfew will be enforced from sunset to sunrise. Anyone found violating this curfew will face arrest."

The officials in the room shifted uncomfortably, but no one dared interrupt.

"Third," Ivan said, his tone hardening, "all foreign press agencies are to cease their operations and leave Ruthenia within 24 hours. These agencies have proven to be tools of subversion, spreading lies and propaganda against the state."

He straightened, his voice growing firmer. "Finally, the state police and military will be granted expanded powers to search, seize, and detain anyone suspected of disloyalty or revolutionary activity. We will root out these threats, no matter where they hide."

He paused again, letting his words resonate. "To those who support these measures, I thank you for your loyalty and your courage. To those who oppose them, know this: Ruthenia's survival is not negotiable. I will not allow our nation to fall to chaos, foreign manipulation, or internal treachery."

His grip on the podium tightened. "The revolutionaries have had their time to act. Now, it is my time to respond. Ruthenia will endure, and we will emerge stronger than ever before."

Ivan stepped back from the podium, signaling the end of his speech. The room erupted into polite but measured applause as the broadcast concluded. The ministers exchanged uneasy glances, but none dared voice their concerns.

In a dimly lit meeting room, Gregori Vasiliev stood before a group of senior state police and military officials. Maps of the country were spread across the table, marked with red circles indicating known revolutionary hotspots.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

"You've heard the Tsar's orders," Vasiliev said, his tone clipped and efficient. "We begin immediate crackdowns. Every revolutionary cell, every sympathizer, every whisper of dissent—bring them in. Detain them for questioning. We cannot afford hesitation."

One of the officers raised a hand. "What about the foreign correspondents? Some of them are well-connected. Expelling them might attract international criticism."

Vasiliev's expression hardened. "The Tsar has spoken. Their connections mean nothing here. If they resist, they will be arrested. We are not playing politics—we are securing Ruthenia."

Another officer hesitated before speaking. "The people might resist these measures. How do we handle public backlash?"

Vasiliev's gaze swept over the room. "The people will understand once they see the results. We are protecting them, whether they realize it or not. Anyone who resists is no longer just a citizen—they are an enemy of the state."

The officers nodded grimly, their expressions a mix of determination and unease.

By the next morning, the effects of martial law were evident. Armed patrols marched through the streets, their presence an imposing reminder of the Tsar's authority. Checkpoints were established at major intersections, and passersby were stopped and questioned at random.

In a small apartment near the city center, a group of revolutionaries huddled around a radio, their faces pale as they listened to the Tsar's speech replayed on a loop. One of them, a wiry man named Sergei, slammed his fist on the table.

"He's gone mad," Sergei hissed. "Martial law? Banning everything? This isn't governance—it's tyranny."

A woman in the group, Elena, shook her head. "Mad or not, he's tightening his grip. We need to be careful. The state police will be looking for people like us."

Sergei's jaw tightened. "Careful won't save us. We need to act."

Another member, an older man named Viktor, leaned back in his chair. "Act how? He's already shut down half our networks. Anyone who speaks out disappears."

The room fell silent, the weight of the situation pressing down on them. Outside, the sound of marching boots grew louder, a chilling reminder that they were never truly safe.

Tsar Ivan III sat alone in his study, reviewing the latest reports. Revolutionary arrests were climbing, the streets were under control, and foreign journalists were being escorted out of the country. By all accounts, the martial law was working.

But Ivan's mind was restless. The memory of Johannes Krieg's escape lingered like a thorn. Valoria's audacity had stoked his resolve, but it also left him with a lingering sense of vulnerability.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. "Enter," he called.

Vasiliev stepped inside, his expression as unreadable as ever. "Your Majesty, the initial reports are promising. Revolutionary activity is already declining."

Ivan nodded, but his expression remained grim. "Good. But this is only the beginning. The people must learn that loyalty is not optional. Ruthenia's enemies—both within and beyond our borders—will see that we are not weak."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Vasiliev said. "We will ensure it."

As Vasiliev left the room, Ivan returned to his papers, the flickering light of the fireplace casting long shadows across his desk. For the Tsar, the path was clear. Ruthenia would endure, even if it meant ruling with an iron fist.