The Start of A Nightmare

Anna paced her office like a caged animal, her feet thudding against the marble with every turn. She yanked open drawers, pulled books off shelves, flipped folders—anything to give her hands something to do. Her mind raced faster than she could organize.

Trial?

What kind of trial?

What the hell did “#1” mean? Were there more? Of course, there were more. Because God forbid life gave her a single, manageable disaster.

She sat down hard, chair creaking under the weight of both her body and rapidly imploding expectations. Paper after paper, she scanned through the briefings—if they could even be called that, while thinking about the previous notification and countdown.

Manpower. Right. One modern soldier with an M4 could shred through a musket line like paper. A private military contractor group? They’d turn a battlefield into a graveyard by lunchtime. And she had them, as an enemy.

So much for subtlety.

Not that she ever planned to play the "hide your power" game seriously—but still, the system wasn’t giving her any room to even fake humility. No slow build-up. No clever maneuvering. Just boom, welcome back to your old life, here’s your loadout and a doomsday clock. Good luck.

She thought she'd just been reincarnated to play the usual role—clean up her past mess, wear some fancy dresses, maybe slap a few nobles, seduce the prince out of sheer boredom. You know. The usual. The villainess template story.

But nooo.

Instead, she was dropped into her past life with tactical gear, a looming war, and a literal apocalypse trigger coded into her inventory. As if Rhinian politics weren’t already burning down with her father, now she had to deal with otherworldly bullshit on top of it all.

And dragons? Are you kidding? Real-ass dragons. Actual fire-breathing, sky-ripping, hundred-year-extinct war beasts.

She buried her face in her hands and groaned, muffled, “Holy shit. I’m in a shitpost. I reincarnated into a fucking genre mash-up isekai shitpost.”

Anna shook her head. She had more pressing concerns—like figuring out how many troops were actually under her command, or technically, under her father's. The result was… catastrophic, to put it mildly.

A dukedom, in theory, should have fielded around 3,000 men. That was the traditional expectation. But after years of budget cuts, political rot, desertions, and whatever else made a soldier throw down their pike and tell the crown to piss off, that number had crumbled.

What she had now was a skeleton force: 500 men. That was it.

At least she had Anja Grethel—her second-in-command, a marquess’ daughter, older, sharper, terrifyingly efficient. Lieutenant Colonel Grethel wasn’t warm, but she was loyal. Hypercompetent, disciplined, and, frankly, one of the few reasons Anna hadn’t already set something on fire in a panic.

That said, Anja was also critical and snarky as hell. Maybe it was because she had no fear of execution, or maybe she just knew Anna’s father was scandalous enough that no one would dare touch her.

Or maybe—and this seemed likely—she was just too damn tired to sugarcoat anything while teaching Anna the basics of warfare, which, disappointingly, weren’t all that different from reading The Art of War with more yelling and fewer metaphors.

Then, the door slammed open.

"Speak of the devil."

“Good... morning? Madam, I see the sleeping princess has finally decided to grace the realm of the living. Perhaps now, we’ll see a working colonel? Fingers crossed.”

Anja.

She stood in full Rhinian officer regalia—pressed coat, polished boots, a sharpened rapier at her hip, and a flintlock musket slung casually over her shoulder. Her brown hair was tied into a tight bun, her posture perfect, her glare sharper than her sword. A walking contrast to Anna, who was still in a bedgown and vaguely contemplating setting something on fire just to cope.

“Look, I don’t have time to explain,” Anna said, tightening her robe like it was armor. “I need every officer who matters here. Today. Ten o’clock. No excuses. We have four days before everything collapses.”

Anja blinked, her sharp features narrowing. “Ma’am—Anna—are you dying?”

“No. I just need them here. I’ll explain it all at the meeting.”

Anja didn’t move. “Are you sure you’re alright? You’re not… catching whatever your father had?”

Anna stared at her. “I’m not raving, I’m not drunk, and I haven’t started issuing declarations of war to kitchen staff. I’m serious. This is real. If I’m wrong, we waste an afternoon. If I’m right and we do nothing, the dukedom burns.”

“Understood.” She turned to go, boots clicking crisply—then paused at the door. “Permission to ask what flavor of madness we’re dealing with?”

Anna hesitated, then muttered, “Lots of men with weapons that can kill us in one blink.”

Anja arched a brow. “Ah. Full madness it is. Ten o’clock. Understood. I’ll get them here promptly—though I’m not sure they’ll take kindly to being summoned by someone halfway to Oberstein’s lunatic asylum.”

“Right… just go, Anja. I need to think.”

“Will do.”

The door shut behind her with a soft click.

Great. Now she definitely sounded insane. And maybe she was. Because the plot? The plot was utterly batshit.

If she bought an HK416, it would just—appear. Right there. On the table.

[Congratulations! You’ve just gained your starter kit.]
• 4x Tier-1 Personnel
• H&K 416 + EOTech HHS V + Laser Sight
• FAST Helmet + Peltor Comtac + Radio + GPNVG-18
• 5x 30-round Magpul 5.56 Magazines + 180x M855A1 Rounds
• Crye Gen 2 Combat Uniform [Multicam]
• PBI Armor System
• Samsung ATAK-compatible Military Tablet

[Equip Now?]

Anna pressed Yes. That was a mistake.

Reality folded.

The air shimmered with blue light—radiant, unnatural, casting ghostly reflections across the floor. The light swallowed her.

Pins and needles swept up her body—tiny, electric stings dancing across her skin. Her breath caught. The world felt like it was being recompiled from code she couldn’t read.

Then it stopped.

The light vanished like it had never been.

Anna stood in the quiet aftermath, blinking through the HUD that had suddenly flickered into existence in her right eye. Her robe was gone. In its place, battle rattle—Multicam fatigues, full armor, the cold press of ceramic plates.

And the H&K 416 on the table.

"...Oh shit," she whispered. “ I should have watched my mouth.”

There was nothing subtle about the system. First, it threw a notification, then, the apocalypse, now, the system just equipped her with 21st century tactical gear with just a press of a button just because she could, what next? A group of soldiers behind her?

[Summoning High-Value 4x Tier-1 Personnel]

You got to be kidding me…

The shimmer returned. This time behind her.

Four vertical slits of light split the air—clean, clinical, humming with that same unnatural resonance. Shapes formed inside them, silhouettes dragging themselves from elsewhere. Gear-laden. Weapons slung. GPNVG-18 night vision goggles flipped up.

Anna blinked.

These were not her palace guards. These were the kind of men who ate palace guards for breakfast.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything—

—and that’s when Anja opened the door.

Bootsteps. A pause. A quiet inhale.

I really should have watched my mouth.

One of the tall men turned, calm as death, and gently closed the door behind her.

Anja stood frozen. Both hands were shaking as she somehow kept the tray of tea from rattling.

She wasn’t sure what she saw. She had only gone out for tea, for God’s sake.

Four armed giants in tactical gear. Then, in the middle, the Duke’s daughter, dead silent, eyes wide, with clothes and tools she never saw before.

Anja set the tray down like it was an offering to something eldritch. "I... brought jasmine?"

Anja hadn’t moved.

Not even blinked.

Anna gently stepped in front of her, boots clicking against the marble floor. “Okay,” she said slowly, hands raised like she was trying to soothe a frightened animal. “Anja. I need you to breathe.”

“I am breathing,” Anja replied, voice thin, “but I think I left my soul somewhere back in the hallway.”

“Valid,” Anna admitted, glancing over her shoulder.

The four figures stood near the far wall—silent, alert, and quiet. Their multicam tactical gear was matte, bristling with magazines, utility pouches, sidearms, rifles, and glinting knife hilts. Helmets off now, masks pulled down.

Two men. Two women.

The taller woman bore the frame of a siege-breaker: broad-shouldered, sharp-jawed, her dark eyes steady, as if weighing the threat of every person and object in the room. The smaller one, green-haired and quick-eyed, was already tracking windows and doors with the cold precision of someone trained to breach them.

The men were built like oxen but silent—one checking the chamber of his weapon with the same casual care one might give a dagger before a duel. The other had not moved, but somehow, Anna knew he had already memorized the entire manor floor plan.

“Anja,” Anna said gently. “I need you not to faint.”

“I—I’m not fainting,” Anja said, voice thin and trembling. “But I—who are they? What are they?”

“Soldiers.”

“Yes, I can see that,” Anja whispered sharply, still staring, wide-eyed. “But whose soldiers? They don’t wear our uniforms. That one—what is she carrying? That doesn’t even look like a musket.”

“Yes,” Anna said.

“Yes?! That’s your answer?!”

Anna exhaled, slow. “Alright. I didn’t mean to do this. It just happened. I have a system. An interface. In my head. In my eyes. I can see it when I think. Like a—like a magical window. It’s not magic, I think. Maybe it is. But it feels like... something else. A machine.”

Anja turned to her, her expression caught between horror and disbelief. “You have a what in your head?”

“A system.”

“You mean like a divine vision? Like the Saints see?”

“No. Not holy. Not sacred. Just... functional. It shows me... options. Items. People. Soldiers. I can select them. Purchase them. With something it calls points. I used it to summon these four.”

Anja blinked, uncomprehending. “You purchased people?”

“Yes.”

“With points.”

“Yes.”

Anja slowly backed toward the edge of the chair and sat down like her legs could no longer hold her. “I... I think I must be dreaming. Or cursed. Or both.”

Anna moved to kneel beside her, placing a steadying hand on her shoulder. “Anja. I know how it sounds. But this is real. I can control it. I didn’t summon monsters. They’re people—soldiers from another world. They follow me. They’re under my command.”

Anja pressed her hands to her temples. “This isn’t possible. This is insanity. I am insane. Anna, do you hear yourself? You’re speaking like a madwoman—like your father—!”

“I know,” Anna said quietly. “I know. But I’m not mad. I can prove it.”

She turned to the soldiers, voice firm. “Can you tell me your name?”

The tall woman stepped forward without hesitation. “Echo-1. Lisa. Breach and lead.”

Then the green-haired one. “Echo-2. Lyka.”

The next, one of the men: “Echo-3. Bell.”

And the last: “Echo-4. Case.”

Anja stared, mouth parted, eyes wide with dread. “Their voices... And how in God’s name do they speak Rhinian so fluently?” Her gaze flicked to the four soldiers, still silent and still, like statues made of steel and will. “This... this cannot remain hidden. Someone will see them. The staff, the guards, the household—word will spread like fire.”

“I know,” Anna said quietly.

“You don’t understand,” Anja hissed. “The Church burns women for less than this. If the nobles suspect witchcraft—”

“Then I’ll get ahead of them,” Anna snapped. Her voice, steady a moment ago, now bore the edge of iron. “Before they do.”

Anja stepped back, almost recoiling. “Anna, this isn’t some fantasy you can command with a whim.”

Anna’s expression darkened. She stepped forward, gripped Anja by the arms, and shook her once—just enough to ground her.

Anja froze.

“This is real,” Anna said, voice low but unwavering. “And we don’t have the luxury of pretending otherwise. We are four days away from an attack by an enemy that has gear like this. If we act like it’s all madness, we die like it’s madness.”

Anja blinked, stunned and silent.

“So I need every officer in line. Every loyal man. Every able hand,” Anna said, her voice steady but urgent. “Because this isn’t just about me. It’s about all of us.”

She looked around the room, eyes sharp with something deeper than anger—resolve.

“You think I wanted this? That I asked for any of it?” Her hand dropped to her side, fingers curling loosely. “No. But this is what we’ve been dealt. And if we don’t use it—if we don’t fight smarter—we’re done.”

Anja stared at her, stunned. The candlelight flickered between them, casting long shadows on the stone walls.

“Anna… this sounds insane,” Anja said, trying to keep her voice even, but there was a tremble there. “You sound like you’ve gone off the deep end.”

“It is insane,” Anna replied quickly, her tone biting. “That’s exactly why I need you. I need all of you.”

There was a long pause, filled only by the quiet creak of the wooden beams overhead and the distant, muffled voices of the staff beyond the hallway.

Anja exhaled slowly, rubbing her temple. “Alright. Let me get my bearings first,” she muttered. “Then I’ll talk to the others. But damn it, ma’am—with all due respect—this isn’t what I pictured when I joined the army. When my father told me I wouldn’t inherit anything... I didn’t think this would be the backup plan.”

Still visibly rattled, but starting to collect herself, Anja turned and left the room. That left Anna alone with the four additional staff members she had summoned earlier.

Thank God they were human. If they had been machines, she would've had a lot more explaining to do.

There were two that stood out immediately—Bell and Case. The easiest way to tell them apart was that Case wore glasses and Bell didn’t. Bell also looked slightly older, with streaks of white starting to show in his hair. These must have been the support staff she’d requested.

Anna set her helmet down on the nearby table and went back to work.

She motioned for the soldiers to take a seat in the chairs scattered around the room. She already had a plan forming in her mind.

“Tell me,” she asked, looking directly at them. “Can you train soldiers stuck in the 18th century, and probably, fight off a near peer in four days?”