Reincarnated with the Country System

The morning fog hung low over Port Java, softening the steel edges of the Bernardian installations. Between the gray silhouettes of cranes and reinforced watchtowers, the sound of gulls and the distant clang of metal drifted through the air like echoes from an older world.

Elina stood at the edge of the dock, her cloak pulled close, the hood drawn low over her face. But she was not hiding. She was observing.

The sea beyond was a deep obsidian, unnatural in its stillness—like a beast watching with one eye open. Massive ships floated silently along the piers, each one a monument to the future carved into the bones of the past. These were no ordinary vessels: they bore the signature of Bernardian design. Emblems of the Bernard Empire—the eagle framed by orbital rings—gleamed proudly on every steel flank.

Around her stood the chosen few: thirty students from the University of Unified Sciences. Mages, scribes, inventors, historians, one alchemist, and even two reluctant ex-paladins, stripped of title but not of curiosity. All handpicked. All carrying the burden of what they would learn—or fail to learn—in the Empire beyond the sea.

Elina looked back toward the city one last time.

Port Java no longer resembled the city of her childhood tales. Once it had been a lively chaos of sails, spices, laughter, and shouting. Now, it was precise. Bernardian precision. The wharves had been widened with ferrocrete. The watchtowers—once manned by grizzled Britannian veterans—were now garrisoned with Bernardian Military Police. They moved like machines—rifles slung low, red visors scanning every crate, every cart, every face.

Even the sea had changed.

Professor Halver stood at the front of the group, his coat flapping gently in the sea breeze.

"This will be a journey of several days," he said, his voice carrying over the tide. "We will first sail east, along the trade corridor under Bernardian control. Then transfer by rail to the mainland's central academic district. You will see the heart of the Empire—not through myth or rumor, but with your own eyes."

Murmurs passed through the students. Most had never left Britannia's shores. Fewer still had ever been permitted to visit the imperial homeland.

Elina felt a strange weight in her chest. Not fear, exactly. But something heavier than curiosity.

"Elina," Mirell said, adjusting her travel satchel, her dormmate. "do you think they'll let us see the particle lab?"

"If we're lucky," she replied. "The Institute's opening their doors for the first time for us. I think it's a test"

"Test?" Garven chimed in. "I thought this was a study tour, not a test."

Elina gave a half-smile. "You've never been to the Empire, Garven. Everything is a test."

As if on cue, the line began to move. A low chime rang out across the dockside—a Bernardian signal tone, crisp and melodic. The first students stepped forward toward the embarkation gates, where rows of Bernardian officers waited beneath a canopy of reinforced glass and alloy supports.

The port was a spectacle of controlled movement. Bernardian officials operated from elevated booths, tapping on glowing surfaces embedded in their desks. High above, surveillance drones floated in silent patrol, their lenses adjusting with faint mechanical hums. The students from the University of Unified Sciences—stood in orderly lines, flanked by escort banners bearing both the university's sigil and the emblem of the Bernard Empire.

Despite their cloaks and tunics, most students wore modified garb now—hybrid uniforms stitched with both Britannian threads and Bernardian-standard fabrics.

Professor Halver walked alongside the procession, clipboard in hand, murmuring reassurances and last-minute instructions. "Be polite. Be alert. And for the love of all that's rational—don't touch anything that hums."

"Some of you are nervous," he said. "You should be. You are not just crossing water. You are crossing time. Culture. Memory."

Elina moved up in line with Mirell and Garven, the three of them quiet as they approached the security terminal.

The boarding area itself was a bridge between two worlds.

On one side: the cobbled stone of the old dockyard, still embedded with moss and etched sigils from Britannia's seafaring traditions. On the other: the loading platform of the Edelra.

It was a Bernardian transport-class ship, designed for long-distance ocean travel, not war.

At the checkpoint, a Bernardian officer stood behind a waist-high glass panel. He was lean, sharp-featured, his helmet clipped at his side, revealing cropped black hair.

Garven stepped forward first. The officer scanned a data chip that had been sewn into the collar of Garven's cloak.

"Garven Vel Lantris," the officer read aloud. "Department of Astrophysical Philosophy and Cross-Cultural Analysis. Status: Yellow—manual inspection required."

Garven blinked. "What's that mean?"

"Routine," the officer replied coolly. "Step to the right, sir. Leave your baggage on the scanner. You will be cleared in under a minute."

Garven looked mildly panicked but obeyed, stepping aside.

Next came Mirell. Her chip blinked green. "Mirell Thorne. Department of Astrophysical Philosophy and Cross-Cultural Analysis. Status: Green. Welcome aboard."

Then came Elina.

She stepped forward slowly, her boots echoing on the smooth alloy flooring. Her heart beat a little faster. The officer looked up at her, then down at his slate.

His brow lifted slightly—not in surprise, but in recognition.

"Elina Vi Britannia," he announced, his voice just loud enough to catch the attention of nearby personnel. "Department of Astrophysical Philosophy and Cross-Cultural Analysis. Status: Green. Proceed."

He paused, then added, "You are cleared, madam. Welcome aboard."

Elina gave a small nod, not too friendly. She stepped through the scanner—a vertical ring of light that passed over her body with a soft shimmer. It hummed briefly, scanned her satchel, and then pulsed blue.

Cleared.

On the other side, an attendant in a polished black uniform gestured her toward the boarding ramp. "This way, scholar."

As she ascended the ramp, the inside of the Edelra revealed itself in gradual waves.

The interior corridors were wide, insulated, and lined with textured light-panels that mimicked ambient daylight. Unlike any Britannian ship she'd ever boarded, there were no creaks, no shifting of wood, no smell of tar or damp cloth. Instead, the air was filtered, the flooring steady, and each door was labeled with glowing Bernardian characters and a translated script beneath.

Other students trickled in behind her, some whispering in awe, others too overwhelmed to speak. Even the nobles among them—who had grown up in marble halls—looked out of place here, surrounded by silent machines and precision design.

Near the central hall, she passed a display showing their projected journey: a two-day ocean voyage, with scheduled satellite feed updates every three hours. The ship would travel within Bernardian-controlled sea lanes. Ports along the way would transmit reports directly to the university officials and the Ministry of Civil Education.

Nothing about this voyage was casual.

This was not a boat ride.

This was the Empire showing its hand.

Elina reached her assigned cabin. Inside: two bunks, a retractable desk, ambient lighting, a reading terminal with select digital texts already loaded, and a secure locker for personal effects. A card had been left on the desk.

Student: Elina Vi Britannia

Cabin: B-12, Observation Level

Department Head: Halver Wynne

Your behavior reflects your institution.

She sat on the bunk, letting out a breath she hadn't known she was holding.

Through the small circular window, she could still see the port