Reincarnated with the Country System-Chapter 189: The Lion in the Cage

The great capital of Harnas, Dabur, was built like a fortress. High stone walls loomed over the winding streets, their weathered surfaces scarred by past wars. Towers jutted into the sky like spears, their banners whipping in the dry evening wind. The streets, once teeming with merchants, musicians, and drunkards, now lay eerily quiet. The scent of cooked meat and spice, once thick in the air, had thinned. The capital—his capital—was suffocating under the weight of war.

At the heart of the city, the royal palace stood like a monument to forgotten glory. Its columns, carved with images of past kings, seemed to sneer down at the ruler who now sat on the lion-shaped throne.

King Zathor ran a clawed hand down his furred chin. His golden eyes, usually sharp and commanding, were clouded with doubt. The tips of his feline ears twitched at every distant sound—shouts from guards, hurried footsteps of his ministers outside, the dull hum of an anxious city.

He was a beastman, a towering figure of muscle and sinew wrapped in tawny fur, a relic of a world where strength meant survival. His people, his warriors, revered him as an Akar, the lion-born ruler, an unchallenged force of war and will. But even a lion could feel the walls of the cage closing in.

The Bernard Empire—those soulless iron-clad devils—had arrived on his shores.

Latvia had fallen. The arrogant bastard, King Caspian, was probably rotting in a Bernardian cell, or worse, swinging from a rope. Harnas had promised to stand with Latvia, but now—

The Bernard Empire… their weapons, their machines, their ruthless efficiency… they were like nothing Harnas had ever faced. No honor, no banners flying in a glorious charge, no respect for the ways of war. Just cold, calculated destruction.

Zathor exhaled sharply through his nose.

"If I surrender, we live in chains. If I fight, we die as free men."

His voice, deep and jagged like stone against steel, filled the empty chamber. He wasn't speaking to anyone in particular. He just needed to hear the words aloud.

The door creaked open.

Minister Ghazran entered, his feathered crest twitching. The avian demi-human's beak barely parted as he spoke, but his tone was as sharp as a dagger.

"My king, the latest report from Minaret has arrived. The Bernardians have… struck."

Zathor's ears flattened. "Speak."

Ghazran unfurled a parchment with shaking hands. "Minaret's navy has been obliterated. Not by siege. Not by a fleet." His voice wavered. "By metal demons that fly. They breathe fire. They came from the clouds and reduced our ships to embers."

Silence.

Then, a low growl rumbled from Zathor's chest.

"How many survivors?"

"Very few. The city remains, but the people are in terror. The warships that once protected them are now scrap metal sinking into the sea."

Zathor gritted his teeth. His claws sank into the wooden arms of his throne, splintering the ancient carvings.

"Flying demons, you say?"

Ghazran swallowed hard. "Their… warbirds. They move faster than an arrow, faster than a thought. They do not fight like men. They erase their enemies from the world."

Zathor's tail lashed against the stone floor. "So the Empire has begun its feast. And we are next on the platter."

The realization felt like ice in his veins.

"Prepare the Council," Zathor snarled, rising to his full height. "We have much to discuss."

---

The Council

The chamber was thick with tension. Zathor's ministers, generals, and advisors had gathered in a half-circle before him. Candles flickered in iron sconces, casting long shadows over faces twisted with worry.

General Makzun, his chief military commander, stepped forward. His bull-like horns scraped the ceiling, and his deep voice rumbled through the hall.

"We must fight, my king. If we surrender, we lose everything. If we resist, we may still lose—but at least we do so with our dignity intact."

"Dignity does not fill bellies," scoffed Minister Kareen, a fox-like demi-human, her sharp teeth flashing in the dim light. "The Bernardians do not negotiate with beasts. We are nothing to them."

"Then let them choke on us," growled Elder Azhari, his wolfish gaze burning with fury. "I have lived through many wars. We always find a way to endure."

"And what if this is the one time we don't?" Kareen shot back.

Silence.

Zathor's tail flicked, his golden eyes scanning the faces before him. He needed a path. Not reckless bravery. Not blind surrender.

"Makzun," he rumbled, "how many warriors can we muster?"

Makzun hesitated. "Our forces are scattered. We are still licking our wounds from Jimland. If we rally every able-bodied man, we may hold out for some time… but not forever."

"Numbers?"

Makzun exhaled through his nostrils. "Eighty thousand at most. Against an enemy we do not understand."

Zathor ground his teeth. Eighty thousand warriors—proud, battle-hardened men. But what was the use of steel and muscle against flying demons that breathed fire?

His gaze shifted to Kareen. "If we surrender?"

Kareen hesitated. "They will take our land. Our cities will become theirs. Our people will be absorbed into their empire."

Azhari scoffed. "Slaves, then."

"Not exactly." Kareen's expression darkened. "The Bernardians do not take slaves. They take… everything else. The land, the wealth, the culture. They will not put us in chains. They will put us in offices, factories, fields. We will live, but not as Harnasians. We will live as Bernardian subjects. Assimilated."

A heavy silence followed.

Zathor clenched his fists.

"This… is our choice," he growled. "To be erased or to be broken."

Makzun stepped forward. "There is… one more option, my king."

Zathor lifted an ear. "Speak."

The great bull warrior's gaze burned like an ember.

"We take the fight to them. A final war. A war that will shake the heavens."

Azhari grinned, his fangs glinting in the candlelight.

Kareen, however, looked pale. "That is not war," she murmured. "That is annihilation."

Zathor closed his eyes for a brief moment.

Surrender meant losing everything.

War meant losing everything faster.

And yet… a king did not kneel.

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Slowly, he turned to face his council, his voice the growl of a beast cornered but not yet defeated.

"If the Bernardians want our kingdom, let them pay for it in blood."