Reincarnated with a Country Creation System

June 22nd, 1939 – Volkshalle, Valoria

The towering Volkshalle loomed over the capital of Valoria, its grand dome visible from miles away. The structure exuded authority, an unyielding reminder of Valoria's dominance. Inside, the halls were alive with the muted shuffle of boots and the whispers of guards and staff preparing for the historic meeting.

Tsar Ivan IV of Ruthenia arrived in the early hours, his train pulling into the station under heavy security. He was accompanied by a small entourage of advisers and guards, their faces tense and weary. Ivan himself looked pale, his once-commanding presence dulled by the strain of the war and the humiliation of what he was about to endure.

As the motorcade brought him to Volkshalle, Ivan gazed out of the window at the streets of Valoria's capital. The people lined the roads, silent but watchful, their expressions a mix of pride and curiosity. The city bore no signs of the devastation that had wracked Ruthenia. It was clean, orderly, and brimming with a quiet confidence that unsettled the Tsar.

"Your Majesty," Konstantin Petrov, his ever-faithful prime minister, murmured beside him. "Remember, this is a negotiation. We must secure the best terms we can for Ruthenia's survival."

Ivan grunted in acknowledgment, his jaw clenched tight. Negotiation? No, this was surrender.

The motorcade stopped in front of Volkshalle's grand steps. Rows of Valorian honor guards stood at attention, their sharp uniforms immaculate and their faces stoic. Ivan descended from the car, his fur-lined coat billowing slightly in the breeze. His entourage followed closely behind, their unease evident.

At the top of the steps, a figure awaited them—a tall man in a pristine military coat, his face obscured by a mask of polished black metal. The mask was featureless save for slits for the eyes, from which a piercing gaze seemed to emanate. This was the Supreme Leader of Valoria, the enigmatic figure who had brought Ruthenia to its knees.

Ivan froze for a moment, his breath catching at the sight. The mask was unnerving, a stark reminder of Valoria's secrecy and control. The Tsar had imagined facing a man he could read, someone whose expressions might reveal weakness. Instead, he faced a blank, inscrutable visage.

"Your Majesty," the Supreme Leader spoke, his voice low and firm, amplified slightly by the acoustics of the mask. "Welcome to Volkshalle."

Ivan forced himself to nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. Experience new stories on empire

"Supreme Leader," he replied, his voice clipped.

Alexander gestured toward the massive doors behind him. "Come. We have much to discuss."

The group was led into a vast chamber dominated by a long table of polished oak. The ceiling arched high above, adorned with intricate carvings and murals depicting Valoria's history. At one end of the table, Alexander took his seat, his posture regal yet commanding. Ivan hesitated before sitting opposite him, his advisers flanking him like nervous shadows.

Julieanne, Alexander's Chief of Staff, entered quietly and placed a folder on the table before him. She acknowledged Ivan with a polite nod before stepping back, leaving the two leaders to their confrontation.

"I trust your journey was comfortable," Alexander began, his tone neutral.

"It was tolerable," Ivan replied curtly. He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Let us not waste time with pleasantries. I assume you've summoned me here to finalize Ruthenia's humiliation."

Alexander inclined his head slightly. "I summoned you here to bring an end to this war, which your empire initiated. This is not about humiliation, Tsar Ivan. It is about stability."

Ivan's fist clenched on the armrest of his chair, but he said nothing. Alexander continued, his voice calm yet unwavering.

"The terms, as outlined in our correspondence, remain unchanged. Immediate cessation of hostilities. Reparations for the cost of the war. And the disbandment of your offensive naval forces."

"You're asking me to dismantle Ruthenia's navy," Ivan growled, his voice rising. "You demand that we cripple ourselves, that we bow to your whims. How do you expect us to defend ourselves against other threats?"

Alexander's masked gaze remained fixed on him. "Your navy was defeated because it was outdated and poorly commanded. It is a relic of a bygone era, Tsar Ivan. Disbanding it spares Ruthenia the expense of maintaining a force that no longer serves its purpose. If you wish for peace, you will adapt."

The words struck like a hammer, each syllable calculated to strip away the last vestiges of Ruthenia's pride. Ivan's lips curled into a sneer, but he could not deny the truth in Alexander's cold logic.

"And what guarantees do we have that Valoria will not march on Ruthenia once we disarm?" Ivan demanded.

Alexander leaned forward slightly, his gloved hands resting on the table. "You have my word as Supreme Leader of Valoria that we seek no further conquest. This war was thrust upon us, and we responded with strength. Valoria does not desire to rule over Ruthenia. Stability and security are our goals."

Ivan's advisers whispered among themselves, their voices a faint murmur. Petrov finally leaned in, his voice low. "Your Majesty, this is as favorable as we can expect. Further resistance will only invite more destruction."

The Tsar's glare shifted to his prime minister, then back to the masked figure before him.

"Your demands are harsh," Ivan said, his voice bitter. "But I will not condemn Ruthenia to annihilation."

He straightened in his chair, his tone hardening. "We will accept your terms, Supreme Leader. But know this: Ruthenia may be down, but we are not broken. This is not the end."

Alexander inclined his head, his masked visage as unreadable as ever. "Ruthenia's resilience is commendable. Perhaps, in time, it will serve you well. For now, let us focus on ensuring that your people have the peace they deserve."

The room fell silent as Julieanne stepped forward, placing a set of documents before both leaders. Ivan stared at the papers, his expression unreadable, before picking up the pen offered to him. With each signature, he felt the weight of his empire's defeat pressing down on him.

When the final signature was made, Alexander rose from his seat. "The treaty will be enacted immediately. Ruthenia's forces are to begin their withdrawal within the week. Reparations will be arranged through our emissaries."

Ivan stood as well, his posture rigid. "This may end the war, but it does not end our struggle."

Alexander's gaze lingered on the Tsar. "Struggle shapes nations, Tsar Ivan. It is how they adapt that defines their future."