Reincarnated with the Country System

11:49 Hours – Deep Bunker Access Shaft

The steel stairs groaned under Bernardian boots.

Captain Morgan moved like a blade—quiet, sharp, killing intent in every motion. Iron-Four followed in stacked formation behind him, rifles raised, visors glowing cold blue in the dim light. Two recon drones flitted ahead, scanning the curve of the stairwell. No tripwires. No heat traps.

Just old concrete, dust, and fear.

The silence was only broken by low mechanical whispers over comms.

"Readings confirm a sealed vault below. Twenty-plus life signatures. Confined. Non-mobile."

"Copy that," Morgan muttered. He flicked his wristpad. "Air pressure normalized. No toxic agents. Bunker's still clean. We breach, we bag, we drag."

"Rules of engagement?"

Morgan didn't look back. "Same as before. Civilians live if they're smart. Command dies if they fight."

11:52 Hours – Deep Signal Relay Room – 200 meters beneath Glyveris

While the Bernardians descended, in another corner of the underground complex, four figures worked like madmen beneath a rusted bulkhead—buried beneath layers of reinforced stone, hidden from aerial scans and magical surveillance.

The Mirror Relay wasn't pretty. It was older than anyone in the room, a relic from the Republic's founding war. The size of a freight truck, it ran on pre-arcane signal crystals and burnt-out tech salvaged from before the fall of the Old Continental Union. Even the floor hummed with instability.

Red light bathed the console chamber. Cables twisted like intestines around the floor.

"Signal's building," muttered the technician—Larus, a pale young man with burn scars on one side of his face. He wiped sweat from his brow. "We've got less than two minutes before they find this place. If the capacitor blows—"

"It won't," snapped Ilyra. She stood beside him now, her jacket off, hair damp from the heat. Her voice was raw.

"The code is preloaded?"

"Yeah," Larus said. "All of it. It's not just a call for help. It's a damned war doctrine."

They were about to broadcast the Iron Flame Protocol—the Republic's last-card contingency. Stored deep, encrypted, waiting for this moment.

It wasn't just a message.

It was orders. Pre-approved by the Senate two decades ago.

Activate sleeper cells. Open hidden caches. Trigger autonomous guerilla drones. Tell every bastard still loyal to the Republic that war wasn't over—it was just going underground.

Larus hit the send key.

The old machine howled.

In twelve encrypted bursts, across sub-frequencies no longer even listed on public bands, the Deep Signal shot across the earth—burrowing into the crystal layers beneath Glyveris, bouncing through the ancient mirrored veins that once carried Old-Union war comms.

The Empire couldn't jam it.

Because they didn't even know this network existed.

11:55 Hours – Sub-Level Hallway, Outside Bunker Vault

He glanced at the elevator door—ironclad, seal-marked, pre-collapse tech.

"Plasma cutter?"

"On it," said Corporal Dannis, slapping a tripod-mounted cutter onto the seam. It hissed as light flared and the edge glowed orange.

Morgan opened his comms. "Echo-Lead, Iron-Four. Deep bunker breach in progress. Target acquisition likely in two minutes. Resistance minimal."

"Understood," came the calm reply. "Be aware: rogue transmission detected from subsurface relay node. Scrambling drones to intercept."

"Copy. Any idea what they sent?"

"Not yet. Could be encrypted commands. Could be a distress beacon."

Morgan narrowed his eyes.

"Or it's bait."

11:57 Hours – Inside the Bunker

"You sent it?" Lys asked, his voice gravel now. Blood from a cut on his cheek dripped into his collar.

Ilyra gave a single nod.

"It's done."

"Then we've already won," Fernik said softly.

"No," she replied. "We've just ensured they won't win clean."

They all looked up as the air began to hiss above. Dust fell from the cracks. Lights dimmed, then surged.

"Here they come," muttered Vallen. "The monsters in black."

"Let them in," Ilyra said. "But I want to be the one that speaks."

Lys looked at her. "You sure?"

"I am."

12:00 Hours – Bunker Vault Entry

The door screamed as it peeled open.

Iron-Four stormed in—rifles raised, scanners locked on faces, motion, heartbeat signatures.

No resistance.

Just twelve people—some in robes, some armored, some dressed like scholars. All armed only with pride and exhaustion.

Morgan stepped forward. His voice echoed.

"On the floor. Hands where we can see them."

Nobody moved.

Only Ilyra stepped forward.

"You win," she said.

Her voice was sharp. Not begging. Not angry.

Clear.

"You'll burn our cities. You'll kill our people. You'll cut down our statues. Fine. You win. But you'll never control us. Not really."

Morgan tilted his head. "And what makes you so sure?"

She smiled. It was tired, a little cracked.

"Because you didn't kill the idea of us. Just the body."

Morgan looked around. The others were silent.

He stepped forward and struck her in the face with the butt of his rifle. She fell.

General Lys and Senator Vallen were cuffed next. One of the aides vomited in the corner. Nobody helped him.

Morgan then looked at the wall opposite—the one that housed the old communications relay.

"Was this where it came from?" he asked.

Corporal Dannis nodded. "We missed the broadcast by seconds. This is definitely the source."

"So whatever they sent—it's out there now."

Morgan turned to Ilyra.

"What did you send?"

She just looked at him. Didn't say a word.

"You should answer."

Still nothing.

"You know what I think?" he said softly. "You just signed the death warrants of tens of thousands of farmers. Your own people. Out there. Living in valleys and hills. Quiet places. Places our drones are landing right now."

Her silence stayed solid. She didn't blink.

Morgan stood.

"All right then. Drag them up. Let them see what's left of their city."

12:22 Hours – Glyveris City Surface, Palace Grounds

The once-beautiful plaza in front of the Republic Palace was now a burned crater.

Clockwork limbs lay strewn over shattered stone. Statues decapitated. Trees uprooted. Black smoke curled like tendrils across the skyline.

The prisoners were marched out under heavy guard.

Civilians watched from doorways and rooftops. Eyes wide. Some cried. Most just stared.

Ilyra was the first to step into the open.

The city was burning.

Behind her, Lys staggered, his leg bleeding. Vallen leaned on a soldier's shoulder, too weak to walk on his own.