Reincarnated with the Country System-Chapter 217: The Treaty of Moz

The smell of burnt oil and ozone still lingered in the courtyard, and the sky above Moz hadn't stopped rumbling since the Stormbreaker arrived.

Its massive engines hovered like a goddamn thundercloud, casting the fortress in a cold, bluish gloom. Birds wouldn't even dare to cross under its shadow.

Inside the room now, the temperature had shifted. The Aurelians had prepared the table, fresh parchment, and brass-inked pens—but no one dared to sit until Alberto gave the nod. He didn't. He just stood there, eyes trailing over the room like a butcher choosing which pig to slice first.

Callum stood stiff, arms crossed, jaw clenched so tight his gums were starting to ache. Alberto was only a few years older—maybe four at most—but the man carried himself like he'd lived twice a lifetime. No crown, no overdone regalia, just a long black coat, silver-lined. But Callum had no doubt—this bastard had seen war.

Princess Kiera sat beside her brother, more silent now. Her amber eyes had lost their usual mischief. What they saw instead in Alberto was terrifying—not because he threatened them, but because he didn't have to.

Governor Erik cleared his throat, trying to cut the tension with words.

"Your Majesty, on behalf of the Republic of Aurelia, I welcome you again to Moz. As mediators and allies of Jimland's royal line, we hope this negotiation ends peacefully."

Alberto turned his gaze on Erik—slow and unimpressed.

"You can stop posturing. You're not mediating. You're watching. Sit and watch."

Erik's mouth opened, then shut. The chair under him creaked as he finally obeyed.

A second Aurelian, a young woman in a slate-gray military jacket, her brown hair tied in a high braid, spoke next. Lieutenant Soraya, technical liaison for Aurelia's trade delegation.

"We in Aurelia believe the Bernard Empire's arrival has shifted the balance of the continent. We're open to establishing trade routes and mutual research agreements. You've… impressed us, Emperor."

Alberto gave her a single nod—less approval, more acknowledgment. "We'll talk terms after the treaty."

Finally, he looked at Callum and Kiera again. "Now. Let's not waste the sun."

He dropped a thick black folder on the table with a metallic clunk.

The title, stamped in deep crimson wax, read:

Treaty of Moz

Callum leaned forward, scowling. "You already wrote it?"

"Of course," Alberto said. "I don't gamble with things I already own."

"You arrogant—"

"Read the damn terms," Alberto snapped. "Then throw your tantrum."

Callum flared, but Kiera touched his arm. "Let me," she whispered, pulling the document toward her.

She read aloud:

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> "Clause One: Jimland shall cede seventy percent of its former sovereign territory to the Bernard Empire, which shall assume full political, economic, and military jurisdiction over said regions.

Clause Two: The remaining thirty percent—comprising the forested southern territories and the coastal plains—shall be entrusted to the surviving heirs of the Jimland royal line, namely Prince Callum and Princess Kiera, to govern as Regional Governors under Bernard Imperial supervision.

Clause Three: In compensation, the Bernard Empire shall issue a one-time payment of 200,000 gold coins to the Jimland heirs. This payment is to support reconstruction, development, and self-sufficiency within the governed zone.

Clause Four: The heirs shall recognize Bernard sovereignty over Jimland's former territory and shall not incite rebellion, harbor fugitives, or engage in hostile diplomacy without Imperial approval.

Clause Five: Failure to comply will be seen as an act of treason, punishable by annihilation."

Silence followed.

Callum's hands shook slightly. "You're asking us to sign away most of our homeland… and be your little vassals in the part you let us keep."

Alberto shrugged. "You have no homeland anymore. What I'm offering you is a second life. Most don't get that."

"It's extortion."

"It's mercy."

Callum slammed his fist on the table. "You're not even thirty, are you? You think a few victories make you God?"

Alberto leaned in.

I was gunning down Nazis before you stopped pissing the bed.

"Don't confuse youth with weakness. I am the Emperor. What the fuck have you done?"

Callum froze. The words hit like steel-tipped bullets.

Soraya of Aurelia interjected again, trying to pull things back from the brink. "Your Majesty. If I may—Aurelia seeks a peaceful order. Our people value reason, and what you're offering… is reasonable, by geopolitical standards. We suggest the Jimland heirs consider the benefits."

"Benefits?" Callum snapped. "You mean the 'honor' of being conquered?"

"No," Soraya said flatly. "The honor of surviving it."

Kiera, ever the more tactical of the two, exhaled. "What guarantees do we have? That we won't be stripped of our titles later?"

Alberto turned to her. "I keep useful people close. Be loyal. Rule your thirty percent well. Maybe I'll give you more."

He stepped forward and placed a small device on the table—a polished obsidian cube humming with inner light. "This is a mana-core recorder. Speak your acceptance. It'll be sealed with your voice and mana signature. You'll get your coin within the hour."

Callum hesitated, his pride flaring one last time.

Kiera, surprisingly, took the cube first. "I, Kiera of Jimland, accept the terms of the Treaty of Moz."

The cube pulsed red. Recorded.

Callum stared at her like she'd just slit their father's throat.

"You…"

She cut him off. "You can die bitter, or live long enough to take back what's ours—slowly. Silently. Intelligently."

Alberto raised an eyebrow, mildly impressed.

Callum growled but eventually grabbed the cube.

"I, Callum of Jimland, accept the damn treaty."

The cube pulsed again. The deal was sealed.

Alberto turned to Carl. "Give them the money."

Carl nodded. Several ISSD members brought in wooden boxes completely filled with gold. Golden light flickered in Kiera's eyes—not only hers, but those of most people in the room. Because there was a lot of gold here, enough to easily rebuild the territory they were given.

"Pleasure doing business," Alberto said.

However, Callum's eyes were burning—not with shame, but with rage.

He hated that he'd had to kneel. Hated that his land now bore foreign banners. But deep down, he knew what this meant.

They weren't dead yet.

And sometimes, surviving meant swallowing the poison and smiling through it.