Wijaya sat on the edge of the creaking wooden bed and focused his mind, watching as the blue interface of the [Summon] tab expanded to fill his vision.
The glowing text displayed a set of strict numerical limits that reminded him of the logistical spreadsheets he used to study back at the military academy in Central Java.
[ Summon ]
[ Soldier: 0/1000 ]
[ Weapon: 0/5000 ]
[ Equipment: 0/7500 ]
[ Vehicle: 0/1000 ]
[ Note: Commander may expand the limit through completing objectives ]
[ Note: Equipment and Vehicles may not come with the personnel to operate them ]
He realized that the system acted as a digital armory, capable of pulling military equipments from thin air as long as it was stayed within the boundaries of his current tier which is pre-1936.
To grow his strength, he would need to earn [Tier Points] by completing specific missions, which would eventually unlock advanced technology from later eras.
A stray thought crossed his mind about summoning a modern Main Battle Tank and rolling it straight into the front gates of the Rijswijk Palace to end colonial rule in a single afternoon.
However, he quickly dismissed the idea, knowing that a lone tank without a fuel supply chain or a maintenance crew would eventually become nothing more than a very expensive paperweight.
He looked at the flickering notification at the corner of his eye which displayed his first task:
[ Objective: Summon Weapon (0/1) ]
After scrolling through a list of steel and wood, his eyes settled on a classic that he knew would be reliable in any century—the M1911 semi-automatic pistol.
He focused on the icon, and suddenly, swirling particles of blue light began to coalesce in the palm of his right hand.
The light solidified into the cold, heavy reality of a parkerized steel frame, and he felt the familiar checkered grip press against his skin.
He held the weapon with the practiced ease of a veteran, checking the slide and inspecting the chamber to ensure the feed ramp was smooth and free of defects.
The metallic click of the magazine seating into the mag-well echoed sharply in the quiet room, a sound of the future ringing out in the year 1911.
Once he was satisfied that the safety was engaged, he tucked the heavy pistol into the waistband of his trousers, concealing it beneath the folds of his cotton shirt.
He turned his attention to a small bedside table where a stack of papers lay, including an old Dutch calendar with the days crossed out in faded ink.
To his immense surprise, he found that he could read the elegant, loopy Dutch handwriting as easily as if it were his native tongue.
"January, 1911... since when did I ever learn how to speak or read Dutch?" he muttered, testing the vowels of the foreign language on his tongue.
He chalked it up to a hidden perk of the system, a necessary tool provided to ensure he could actually navigate the politics of this bygone era.
If the date on the calendar was accurate, he realized he had arrived at a pivotal moment in human history with very little time to prepare.
In just three years, the Great War would erupt in Europe, dragging the world's superpowers into a meat-grinder that would distract them from their colonial holdings.
While the Netherlands would technically remain neutral during that conflict, the global chaos would provide the perfect smoke screen for a well-organized uprising.
Wijaya looked back at the system screen, which had updated its prompt to a more ambitious task:
[ Objective: Summon Soldier (0/5) ]
He knew that he couldn't win a revolution as a one-man army, and he needed a core group of loyal officers who understood modern tactics.
He navigated to the [Soldier] sub-menu and saw that he could choose between "Recruit," "Seasoned," and "Veteran" grades of troops.
He decided to spend his initial points on the highest quality possible, selecting five Veteran-grade subordinates to serve as his inner circle.
[ Summon 5 Soldiers? (Yes / No) ]
"Yes," he whispered, standing up and clearing a space in the center of the small, dimly lit room.
The air began to hum with static electricity as five distinct pillars of light erupted from the floorboards, slowly taking the shape of human silhouettes.
When the light faded, five men stood in a perfect line, dressed in simple white shirts and rugged brown tactical trousers that looked out of place in 1911.
"It seems I have to summon their combat gear separately," Wijaya noted, observing that his new men were currently unarmed but stood with the rigid posture of elite operators.
The man in the center of the group, a tall and broad-shouldered individual with a jawline made of granite, took a sharp step forward and saluted.
Even though Wijaya stood at a respectable six feet tall, this soldier towered over him at six-five, probably taller, possessing eyes that seemed to scan the room for threats like an eagle.
"Commander, sir! I am Amar Wiyono, and I have been designated as your right-hand officer for this campaign."
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Captain Amar," Wijaya replied, returning the salute.
The other four men followed suit, introducing themselves one by one in voices that were steady and devoid of any hesitation.
"Lieutenant Adi Wibowo, sir," the first one said, his gaze fixed forward.
"Lieutenant Jono Wicaksono, sir," the second added, nodding curtly.
"Lieutenant Matius, sir," the third man stated.
"Lieutenant Dalman Sutejo, sir," the final soldier finished, completing the introductions of the small squad.
Wijaya looked over his new subordinates, feeling a sense of relief now that he was no longer alone in this strange, antiquated world.
"Welcome to 1911, gentlemen; before we get to work, I need to know if any of you have memories of a life before this moment?"
"Negative, sir," Captain Amar responded, his voice deep and gravelly. "However, we retain all tactical knowledge and technical skills from the twenty-first century."
"We are as capable as any elite soldier from your previous time, and our loyalty to your cause is absolute," Amar added.
"I see... that is more than enough for now," Wijaya said.
He then started to pacing the length of the room as he began to outline his grand strategy.
"In three years, the world will descend into the First World War, and that is when we will strike for our liberation. Our mission is to build a shadow army and spread the seeds of revolution among the native population while the Dutch are distracted by their European-kin."
"We will take this archipelago back from the hands of the colonialists and build a nation that the world will never forget."
"Yes, sir!" the five men shouted in unison.
Wijaya reached into the system again, summoning five more M1911 pistols and several boxes of .45 ACP ammunition to arm his officers.
"Take these, but remember that we must move with the stealth of ghosts; we cannot afford to act recklessly or draw unnecessary attention. Even though I can summon weapons from the future, raw firepower alone does not guarantee a successful revolution."
Matius, the lieutenant with a particularly sharp gaze, took a step forward and said,
"Permission to speak, sir."
"Permission granted, Lieutenant Matius," Wijaya said.
"What is our first objective, Commander? Are we to begin recruitment immediately, or do we establish a secure base outside the city?"
Wijaya looked out the window at the distant harbor, where the masts of ships were silhouetted against the drowning sun.
"First, we need capital," Wijaya replied, a cold glint appearing in his eyes. "We need to secure a source of local currency to buy land and influence without the system leaving a digital trail."
"We are going to find the wealthiest Dutch merchant in this district and remind him that his time of exploitation is coming to an end."
He checked the magazine of his own pistol one last time.
He could felt the weight of destiny settled onto his young shoulders.
The revolution wouldn't be won with speeches in the town square, but with blood, steel, and the calculated application of superior force.