Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

March 5th, 1939

Tsar Ivan Alexandrovich paced furiously in the Winter Palace's War Room, his face flushed as he awaited the arrival of his military advisers. The news that had filtered through was already bad enough—his fleet, his pride, had been humiliated on the open seas. The might of Ruthenia's navy, which he had poured resources into for years, had been outmatched by Valoria.

The door opened, and General Vasily Rostov, flanked by Admiral Mikhailov and other senior commanders, entered, each wearing expressions of unease. They saluted, but the Tsar's scowl deepened as they took their positions around the table.

"What is this I hear about a 'tactical retreat'?" Ivan barked, his voice thick with anger. "Our navy retreating like cowards before the Valorians?" His fist slammed down onto the table, sending an ink bottle rolling off the edge.

"Your Majesty," Rostov began carefully, "the battle did not go as planned. The Valorian forces—"

"'Did not go as planned'? That's all you have to say?" The Tsar's eyes flared. "I don't care what didn't go as planned! I ordered you to show Valoria our power, to make them understand they were dealing with a superior force. Instead, you have made me a laughingstock!"

Rostov swallowed, but Ivan's gaze swung to Admiral Mikhailov, who looked visibly shaken under the Tsar's intense scrutiny.

"Admiral," Ivan snapped, "explain to me how it is possible that a nation like Valoria could drive our ships to retreat. Was our fleet not strong enough? Did I not provide you with the best warships, the best resources, and all the support you needed?"

"Your Majesty," Mikhailov stammered, beads of sweat forming on his brow, "the Valorian fleet was… well-prepared. Their coordination, their strategy—they executed maneuvers that we had not anticipated."

Ivan's face contorted in anger. "Did not anticipate?" he repeated, his voice growing louder. "Then what use are you, Admiral, if not to anticipate? What was the point of all those drills, the endless preparations?"

Mikhailov's face paled, but he pressed on, aware of his duty to provide the facts. "Their coastal defenses were stronger than expected. They coordinated with aerial support and inflicted significant damage. We sustained heavy losses—"

"How many ships?" Ivan interrupted, his voice dangerously low.

Mikhailov hesitated. "Five ships lost, Your Majesty. Several others severely damaged. The

Imperator

is beyond repair; it will need to be decommissioned if we can even bring it back to port."

Ivan's fists clenched, his knuckles turning white. "The

Imperator

," he muttered, almost to himself. "The pride of our navy." He looked up, his gaze piercing. "And this is what you bring me? Reports of its demise and a complete rout?"

Rostov stepped forward, attempting to redirect the conversation. "Your Majesty, Valoria was clearly better prepared. We underestimated their capabilities and were caught off guard. But with time, we can regroup and prepare a new strategy."

The Tsar's eyes snapped to Rostov, his expression a mixture of disbelief and disdain. "Regroup? You expect me to sit here, licking my wounds, while Valoria celebrates a victory over Ruthenia? I will not be humiliated like this. The entire world is watching!"

The room fell silent as Ivan struggled to control his breathing, his anger radiating off him in waves. He turned back to Mikhailov, his eyes narrowing.

"Do you understand the consequences of this failure, Admiral?" Ivan asked, his voice cold. "Our allies will question our strength, our enemies will see us as weak, and Valoria will grow bolder, believing they can dictate terms to us."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Mikhailov managed, his voice barely above a whisper. "We must… respond carefully."

"Carefully?" Ivan's voice rose again, his patience unraveling. "Respond carefully? No, we respond decisively! We rebuild our fleet; we increase our forces along the coast. And we send Valoria a message that they will not forget."

Rostov nodded, seizing the opportunity to show support. "Your Majesty, our ground forces remain formidable. We could bolster our coastal defenses and begin positioning our assets along the Valorian border, signaling that Ruthenia remains ready for confrontation."

Ivan took a long, steadying breath, his face softening only slightly as he considered Rostov's words. "Yes," he muttered, half to himself. "Yes, we will make it clear that this victory of theirs is only temporary." He looked at Rostov with renewed intensity. "But I want more than just a show of strength. I want Valoria to know that they have made a powerful enemy."

Rostov gave a sharp nod. "Of course, Your Majesty. We will issue a statement warning Valoria that any further provocations will be met with overwhelming force."

Ivan's jaw clenched as he thought about the diplomatic ramifications. "No, don't warn them. They thrive on warnings. Instead, prepare our forces in silence. Let them see the consequences of their actions when it's too late to react."

The room filled with the murmurs of agreement as each officer absorbed the Tsar's words. Ivan's gaze shifted to Mikhailov, his expression dark.

"As for you, Admiral, you will lead the efforts to rebuild the fleet. I will not tolerate another failure. Ruthenia's navy will return stronger, more formidable, and I expect nothing less than perfection from you. Am I understood?"

Mikhailov straightened, swallowing hard. "Understood, Your Majesty. We will not disappoint you again."

Ivan's face remained hard as he surveyed his military staff. "Ensure that you don't. The next time I send our navy against Valoria, I expect nothing less than total victory. That is the only acceptable outcome."

He turned away, gripping the edge of the table as if he could will his anger into submission. "You are dismissed. And make no mistake—I will be monitoring every step you take to rectify this disaster."

The officers saluted, filing out of the room, their faces a mixture of tension and determination. Ivan remained, staring at the map spread out before him, his thoughts swirling with plans for retribution. The humiliation at the hands of Valoria would not stand. He would see to that personally.

As the last officer exited, Ivan clenched his fists, his fury simmering just below the surface. "Valoria will pay for this," he whispered to himself, a vow as dark as the shadow of war looming over Ruthenia. "And I will ensure they regret ever crossing Ruthenia."