Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 89: Law and Order (part 3)

Ken stepped forward, giving a crisp salute.

"Your Majesty, the full wave of recruits has arrived. Two hundred from Iron Hearth, three hundred and fifty from Eldoria, and another two hundred and ten from Slarny. They're assembled outside the palace gates, awaiting your words… and your command to begin official training."

Arthur stood from his seat in the council chamber, the weight of responsibility settling across his shoulders like a familiar cloak. He walked toward the open balcony overlooking the grand courtyard, where over seven hundred newly recruited men stood in disciplined rows—some in borrowed armor, some still in plain leathers, but all standing straight and tall under the banner of Keldoria.

The sun hung low, casting golden light across their faces as silence fell.

Arthur stepped onto the marble platform. His gaze swept across the sea of faces—farmers, hunters, smiths, and even a few former mercenaries. Not soldiers yet. But the foundation of something greater.

He raised his voice, firm and resolute.

"You stand here today not as tools of conquest… but as protectors of the people."

A murmur passed through the crowd, before continuing.

"Each of you has answered a call—not just from your king, but from your homeland itself. From the shopkeeper who's too afraid to speak. From the mother whose child hasn't returned home. From the old man forced to pay coin to thugs while no one came to help."

Arthur's tone darkened, carrying across the stone plaza like a blade unsheathed.

"This kingdom is changing. We forge steel, we craft machines, we build with magic and fire. But progress means nothing if we cannot protect those who live beneath our banners. Law must not be a privilege for the rich. Justice must not be a whisper behind locked doors."

He looked each row in the eye—measuring them, challenging them.

"You are the first. The shield in the dark. The ones who stand between chaos and order. You will be trained. You will be tested again. And you will rise—not as common guards—but as the foundation of Keldoria's first Officers of the laws"

A flicker of pride stirred in the ranks. The name would soon carry weight.

Arthur placed a hand over his heart.

"I do not ask for blind loyalty. I ask for strength with restraint, judgment with wisdom, and a heart that remembers the people you swore to serve. You are not above the law—you are its living example."

He stepped back, his voice steady and final.

"Training begins tomorrow at dawn. Go now, and prepare. A new Keldoria is rising—and you will be its watchful eyes."

As Arthur descended from the platform, the air still buzzed with the power of his words. The recruits stood tall, their spines straightened not just by command, but by conviction. For most, this moment marked a turning point—the line between the life they once knew and the duty they were about to embrace.

But one man remained rooted to the ground, still staring at the spot where Arthur had stood.

Jareth Elwin. He wasn't imposing. He didn't carry the air of a warrior or the discipline of a soldier. But there was a quiet strength in his eyes—something carved by struggle, not training.

He'd grown up in the outskirts of Iron Hearth, in a forgotten alley where soot from the forges never quite washed off the windowsills. His father had been a hunter—nothing grand, just a man who knew how to track game and keep food on the table. When disease took him one harsh winter, Jareth had stepped into the role without hesitation, barely fifteen and already responsible for his mother and younger sister.

And after more than decades, life taught him early that justice wasn't something guaranteed. It had to be fought for. Preserved. Defended.

So when gangs started creeping into the lower districts—extorting, threatening, vanishing those who resisted—Jareth didn't look away like the others. He started walking the market streets at night. Patrolling alleyways with nothing but a carved oak staff and a sense of duty too stubborn to die.

He was a town watchman in name only—no armor, no salary, no recognition. Just bruises and sleepless nights. And the grateful nods of those who noticed.

So when word spread that the King himself was recruiting officers—not soldiers, not thugs, but officers of the law, trained and trusted protectors of the people—Jareth signed his name before the parchment had even settled on the table.

Now, standing in the heart of Eldoria, under the shadow of a new kingdom rising, he felt something shift deep in his chest.

He reached down and touched the small cloth pouch tied to his belt. Inside it was a folded, slightly crumpled drawing—his sister's handiwork. Stick-figure Jareth, standing tall with a cape, a sword too large for his hand, and a crooked sun above his head. In jagged letters, it read:

'My Hero Big Brother.'

He smiled.

He was going to earn that title.

A voice broke into his thoughts.

"You've got that look," said another recruit—a wiry man from Slaney with a short beard and a half-healed scar across his nose. "Like you're about to charge a wyvern with no armor."

Jareth blinked and chuckled. "Not a wyvern. Just a future worth protecting."

The man nodded slowly. "Well said."

The two fell into step as the rest of the recruits began marching toward the training grounds. In the weeks to come, they would face drills, sweat, bruises, exhaustion, and fear. Some would break. Others would rise.

But Jareth Elwin had already survived far worse.

He wasn't here to be remembered.

He was here to protect those who would otherwise be forgotten.

And as he glanced once more toward the distant castle spires of Eldoria, he whispered under his breath:

"A new Keldoria… huh? Let's build it right this time."

Behind him, the banners of the realm flapped proudly in the wind—crimson and silver—and before him, the path of a guardian truly began.

—

The next morning horns of Eldoria echoed in the early light, a deep, noble sound that stirred the city from its slumber.

Jareth Elwin was already awake before they sounded.

Sleep had been fleeting—he'd spent most of the night alternating between excitement and nervous pacing, replaying the King's speech in his mind, whispering the words "foundation of Keldoria's first Officers of the Law" to himself like a prayer.

This was it.

He tightened the laces of his boots with precise fingers, straightened his tunic, and stepped into the cool morning air with resolve burning in his chest.

He wasn't just a hunter's son from the Iron Hearth slums anymore. He was here for a purpose.

—

The training yard beneath the castle walls was already alive with movement.

Hundreds of recruits stood in neat rows, some stretching, others trying to shake the sleep from their limbs. A few looked hardened, probably former soldiers. Others looked more like him—civilians eager to carve a better life.

Then came the booming voice of the drill instructor.

"FORM RANKS!"

The recruits snapped to attention.

"Today, we begin not with swords or shields," the instructor shouted. "But with your legs! Thirty laps around the outer castle grounds. No walking. No whining. You're officers of the law, not spoiled sons of noble houses."

A few recruits blinked in disbelief. Thirty laps?

Jareth didn't. He nodded.

He had expected this. Respected it.

If they were to stand between chaos and order, then they had to be more than respectable—they had to be unbreakable.

And so he ran.

The sun climbed higher with each lap. Jareth's breaths grew heavy, his legs beginning to ache. The air was filled with the steady rhythm of boots on gravel, the occasional grunt, the determined silence of those who refused to fall behind.

By the twenty-eighth lap, Jareth's lungs burned—but he was still moving.

By the thirtieth, sweat drenched his back, but his spirit burned brighter.

He crossed the finish with the others, breathing hard but smiling to himself. This is what it means to serve.

But just as some of the recruits were preparing to rest, the instructor barked out again.

"Drop the heroics! You've passed the easy part."

A small cart was wheeled in—piled with thick, leather-bound books.

"What you're holding is the foundation of our legal code, compiled from existing royal decrees, city edicts, and new directives drafted under His Majesty's orders. You are not just enforcers of law. You must understand the law. Study it. Recite it. Uphold it."

Murmurs rippled through the exhausted recruits.

A few groaned. One or two even laughed under their breath.

But Jareth?

He took the book with both hands as though it were a sacred artifact.

He flipped it open and saw carefully outlined codes—rulings on property disputes, procedures for arrests, rights of the accused, expectations of conduct, and dozens of hypothetical scenarios with clearly defined rulings.

"Tonight's assignment," the instructor said, "is to memorize the core tenets in Chapters 1 to 4. Tomorrow, there will be a written and oral examination."

Written? Some of the men paled.

Jareth blinked—then grinned.

It was just like Arthur had said: they weren't building guards… they were building something more.

Something smarter.

Something just.

He settled on the grass, flipping pages with hungry eyes. Around him, others sighed, fumbled through pages, or stared blankly. But Jareth?

He whispered again under his breath, the same words from the day before.

"A new Keldoria… let's build it right."

And for the first time, he truly believed—he was part of something bigger than himself.