Reincarnated with the Country System

The air in Ghorrak's war tent was thick with tension. The faint glow of torches flickered against the rough fabric walls, casting long shadows that danced like restless spirits. Ghorrak, the Supreme Warlord of the Orcish horde, sat on his bone-carved throne, a goblet made from a human skull clutched in his massive hand. The wine within was dark, almost black, and it swirled as he absentmindedly turned the cup in his grip.

The tent flap rustled, and one of his subordinates entered, bowing low before speaking. The Orc's voice was hesitant as if he feared the wrath of his leader.

"My lord," the subordinate began, his tone cautious, "we have tried to contact Supreme Admiral Borsk. However, we have been unable to reach him. It seems that the incident is true. Our navy has been defeated."

The words hung in the air like a death sentence. Ghorrak's hand froze mid-motion, the skull goblet trembling slightly. His eyes, usually sharp and calculating, widened in disbelief. For a moment, he said nothing, the silence stretching until it became unbearable.

Then, with a roar of fury, Ghorrak hurled the skull goblet to the ground. It shattered into pieces, the dark wine splattering across the dirt floor like blood. The sound echoed through the tent, and the subordinate flinched, taking a step back.

"How is this possible!?" Ghorrak bellowed, his voice shaking the very walls of the tent. He rose from his throne, his massive frame towering over the subordinate. "Our navy was unmatched! How could they fall!?"

Ghorrak's fists clenched so tightly that his knuckles turned white. His mind raced, trying to process the implications. The navy had been their lifeline, their connection to the homeland. Without it, they were stranded in enemy territory, cut off from reinforcements and supplies. The once-favourable position they had held in Britannia was now crumbling beneath their feet.

He turned away, his chest heaving with anger and frustration. The tent felt suffocating, the weight of the news pressing down on him like a physical force. He had always prided himself on his strategic mind and his ability to outthink and outmanoeuvre his enemies. But this—this was a blow he had not anticipated.

Before he could gather his thoughts, another subordinate entered, this one a Snakeman.

"Supreme Warlord," the Snakeman hissed, his voice smooth but tinged with unease, "a message has come from the Britannian army. They have told us to surrender. They offer... terms."

The word hung in the air like a poison. Surrender. It was a word Ghorrak had never entertained, not in all his years of warfare. To him, surrender was the ultimate dishonour, a betrayal of everything he and his people stood for. Yet here it was, staring him in the face.

Ghorrak's jaw tightened, his teeth grinding together. He turned to face the Snakeman, his eyes blazing with fury. "Surrender? On their terms? Do they think we are fools? Do they think we would trust their promises?"

As he wrestled with the decision, a memory surfaced, unbidden. This was an incident from four years ago. When they lived in the forest Caspian came to them to gather troops. To fight against his brother.

[4 years ago] ♦♦♦

The Ranga Mountain forest was a vast, untamed wilderness, stretching as far as the eye could see. Its towering trees, dense undergrowth, and rugged terrain made it a natural fortress for the many tribes that called it home. Among these tribes were the Orcs, a proud and fierce people led by Ghorrak, a chieftain known for his strength, wisdom, and unwavering respect for the ancient treaties that had kept peace between his people and the outside world.

For centuries, the Orcs and other demi-human tribes had lived in the forest, following the laws of their ancestors. They had a treaty with the Kingdom of Latvia, a powerful human nation that bordered their territory. The treaty was simple: the demi-humans would not leave the forest to invade Latvia, and in return, Latvia would not attack them. This agreement had been honoured for generations, and Ghorrak, like his forefathers, took it very seriously.

One day, as the sun dipped below the treetops, casting long shadows over the forest, one of Ghorrak's scouts rushed into the village. The scout, a young Orc named Tharg, was out of breath and his eyes were wide with excitement.

"Leader!" Tharg called out, his voice urgent. "Some people have entered our territory. They're humans, and they're heading this way!"

Ghorrak, who had been sharpening his axe by the fire, stood up abruptly. His massive frame towered over Tharg, and his eyes narrowed with suspicion. "Humans? Here? Are you sure?"

Tharg nodded vigorously. "Yes, leader. They're coming in carriages. It looks like they're from the royal family."

Ghorrak's expression darkened. The royal family of Latvia had no business in the forest. The treaty was clear: no humans were to enter their territory unless invited. This was a breach of their agreement, and Ghorrak was not one to let such a thing slide.

"Gather the warriors," Ghorrak commanded, his voice deep and commanding. "We'll meet these intruders head-on."

Within minutes, a group of Orc warriors, armed and ready, stood behind Ghorrak as they marched toward the edge of the forest. The carriages were easy to spot—they were ornate, clearly belonging to someone of high status. Ghorrak stepped forward, blocking the path of the lead carriage.

"Who are you?" Ghorrak demanded, his voice booming through the trees. "Introduce yourselves! What are you doing in our territory?"

The carriage door opened, and a young man stepped out. He was tall and lean, with sharp features and an air of confidence. His clothes were fine, but not overly extravagant, and he carried himself like someone used to command. Behind him, a small group of servants and guards followed, but they kept their distance.

"I am Caspian Vi Latvia," the young man said, his voice calm and steady. "Son of King Philip and Queen Ruliana. I have come to ask for your help."

Ghorrak's eyes narrowed. "Help? What kind of help?"

Caspian took a step closer, his gaze unwavering. "I am fighting for the throne of Latvia. My brother and I are at war, and I need strong allies. I want your people to join my army."

The Orcs around Ghorrak murmured among themselves, some laughing, others looking sceptical. Ghorrak raised a hand, silencing them. He looked at Caspian with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"You must be joking," Ghorrak said, his voice laced with scorn. "Have you forgotten the treaty between our people? We do not interfere in your wars. You are a member of the royal family, so I will not kill you. But you must leave now, and never return."

Caspian didn't flinch. Instead, he smiled, as if he had expected this reaction. "Orc Chief, I understand your hesitation. But think about what I'm offering. If you join me, I can give your people more than you've ever dreamed of. I will grant you the title of Supreme Warlord, a position of honour and respect. Your people will no longer be seen as barbarians. They will be celebrated as heroes. Your names will be written in the history books, remembered for generations."

Ghorrak crossed his arms, his expression unimpressed. "We don't need your titles or your history books. We have lived in this forest for centuries, and we will continue to do so. Our children will grow up here, just as we did. We don't want your so-called prosperity."

Caspian sighed as if he had hoped for a different answer. "I thought you might say that. Very well. Let me make you a challenge. If you can defeat me in single combat, I will leave and never return. But if I win, you and your people will join my army. What do you say?"

Ghorrak's eyes widened in surprise, and then he let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "You? Fight me? A child like you? Don't make me laugh."

Caspian's smile didn't waver. "Are you afraid, great leader of the Orcs? Afraid to fight a mere human?" Continue your saga on My Virtual Library Empire

The laughter died in Ghorrak's throat, replaced by a low growl. The Orcs around him tensed, their hands tightening on their weapons. Ghorrak stepped forward, his massive frame looming over Caspian.

"Watch your tongue, boy," Ghorrak snarled. "You're playing with fire."

Caspian met his gaze without flinching. "Then prove me wrong. Fight me, and show me that the Orcs are as strong as they say."

Ghorrak's fists clenched at his sides. He looked at his warriors, who were watching him intently. The honour of the Orcs was at stake here. If he refused the challenge, it would make him look weak. And Ghorrak was anything but weak.

"Fine," Ghorrak said, his voice low and dangerous. "But if you die, don't blame me. This is your choice."

Caspian nodded. "Of course."

The two men stepped into a clearing, the Orcs forming a circle around them. Caspian removed his cape and handed it to one of his servants. He rolled up his sleeves, revealing lean but muscular arms. Ghorrak, on the other hand, simply stood there, his massive frame radiating power.

The fight began without warning. Ghorrak lunged forward, his fist swinging in a powerful arc. Caspian dodged, his movements quick and precise. He countered with a punch of his own, but Ghorrak blocked it easily, his thick arms like iron.

The two exchanged blows, each one testing the other's strength and skill. Ghorrak was a powerhouse, his strikes heavy and relentless. But Caspian was fast, his movements fluid and calculated. He danced around Ghorrak, landing quick jabs and kicks, but none of them seemed to faze the Orc chieftain.

The Orcs cheered for their leader, their voices echoing through the forest. But Caspian didn't let the noise distract him. He focused on Ghorrak, looking for an opening.

Finally, he saw it. Ghorrak swung again, but this time, Caspian ducked under the blow and drove his shoulder into Ghorrak's midsection. The Orc stumbled back, caught off guard. Caspian followed up with a series of rapid punches, each one landing with precision.

Ghorrak roared in frustration, his anger fueling his strength. He grabbed Caspian by the arm and flung him across the clearing. Caspian hit the ground hard, but he rolled to his feet, his eyes blazing with determination.

The fight continued, each man pushing himself to the limit. But as the minutes passed, it became clear that Caspian was holding his own against the mighty Orc chieftain. His speed and agility were proving to be a match for Ghorrak's raw power.

Finally, with a well-timed kick, Caspian knocked Ghorrak off balance. The Orc chieftain fell to one knee, breathing heavily. Caspian stood over him, his chest rising and falling with exertion.

"Do you yield?" Caspian asked, his voice steady.

Ghorrak looked up at him, his eyes filled with a mixture of anger and respect. For a moment, it seemed like he might refuse. But then, slowly, he nodded.

"I yield," Ghorrak said, his voice gruff. "You've proven your strength, human. I will honour our agreement."

Ghorrak stood, extending a hand to Caspian. The young prince took it, and the two men shook, sealing their pact.

From that day forward, the Orcs joined Caspian's army, their strength and ferocity becoming a key part of his campaign. And Ghorrak, true to his word, became the Supreme Warlord, a title he wore with pride.

But now, the memory of that day felt like a distant dream. The navy was defeated, their supplies were cut off, and the Britannian army was offering them a way out. Ghorrak clenched his fists, his mind racing.

He had come so far and fought so hard. But now, the path ahead was uncertain. And as he looked out over the battlefield, he couldn't help but wonder if Caspian's promises had been nothing more than empty words.

Finally, Ghorrak spoke, his voice low and heavy with resolve. "We will not surrender. Not today, not ever. We will fight until our last breath. Tell our troops to do as much damage as possible. Tell them to spread out in all directions. That way they won't be able to defeat us quickly."