Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World
Chapter 127 - 127: Law and Order (Part 25)

Inside the dimly lit royal library, the scent of old parchment and aged wood lingered in the air. The afternoon sun filtered through stained-glass windows, casting colorful patterns across the rows of towering shelves. Amidst the silence, Arthur sat alone at one of the long mahogany tables, his posture relaxed but his mind sharp.

A single envelope lay in front of him, the wax seal already broken. His gloved fingers ran across the crisp paper as he unfolded it carefully.

His eyes moved over the words slowly, absorbing every detail.

Your Majesty, Arthur Tesla,

From what I have observed, it seems increasingly unlikely that any of the noble factions from other nations will continue their support for Iron Shield. At the beginning, several noble houses from Elysia discreetly sent spies and small reinforcements, providing logistical aid and intelligence.

However, over the past few weeks, those very spies have been recalled, and all visible support has quietly ceased. I have made several inquiries, but even with my authority within Iron Shield, I have been unable to determine the reason behind this sudden shift.

With respect,

Count Delric

When the investigation on Count Delric's estate began, it wasn't chaos that unfolded—it was precision.

The officers moved swiftly, flanked by royal knights in black-enamel armor bearing the crest of Keldoria. They stormed the manor like they did to other nobles' households which let them bypass guards and overwhelming staff in minutes. Documents were seized, hidden compartments exposed, ledgers uncovered. And amidst the mess, damning evidence came to light—coded correspondence, lists of names, supply chain manifests, and detailed records of Delric's coordination with known Iron Shield operatives.

But what set this raid apart was not what they found.

It was what Arthur Tesla had ordered before they stepped through the door.

Rather than arrest Delric on the spot, Arthur had given a different command.

"If you find anything," he had inform the lead officers, "don't bind him. Don't drag him out like some criminal. Sit him down. Pour him wine. And make it very clear that he has only one path forward."

A one-sided negotiation. The kind you couldn't walk away from.

So when Delric was cornered in his study, surrounded by steel and silence, he didn't reach for a weapon. He didn't try to run.

Instead, the officer calmly handed him a letter sealed with Arthur's personal crest.

Delric read it once.

Then twice.

And by the end of it, he was pale.

No threats were written—none were needed. The implications were clear. Arthur had enough to end him. Publicly. Brutally. But instead of striking him down, Arthur had offered him a different role:

Double agent.

Delric was to serve Arthur from the shadows. Feed him names. Locations. Motives. Learn who else was involved—not just from within Iron Shield, but from the noble houses beyond Elysia's borders. Which foreign powers were still playing this quiet war, and who had yet to fold.

Delric agreed with barely a whisper of protest.

Back in the royal library, Arthur read the final update confirming Delric's compliance. He said nothing at first.

His fingers tightened around the edge of the parchment.

His mind had already leapt ahead.

So… Elysia's nobles had pulled out. Their spies recalled. Their support quietly withdrawn. Why now?

"Was it fear?" he muttered aloud. "No… they already risked too much by involving themselves. They knew the stakes from the beginning."

He stood, walking slowly to the window as candlelight flickered behind him, casting long shadows across the map-strewn table.

"Outnumbered? Maybe. But even then, they could've committed more."

Unless someone told them not to.

Arthur's eyes narrowed.

"Or someone higher up is maneuvering… consolidating power."

He turned and glanced back at the table, where other reports lay half-opened—suspicions about certain merchant families, suspicious activity among Iron Hearth's mid-tier nobility, unusual movements from envoys of foreign courts.

He could have ordered a direct strike on Iron Shield.

He should have—with Delric's intel, the timing was perfect.

But he didn't.

Because Arthur understood something most didn't.

The true war wasn't fought with blades.

It was fought with silence, secrets, and shadows.

Every day that Iron Shield was allowed to survive, it served a greater purpose than anyone realized. It wasn't just a rebellious faction—it was bait.

A lure designed to draw out hidden hands. Foreign whispers. Nobles who wore Arthur's sigil by day but whispered sedition by night. The longer Iron Shield remained active, the deeper the rot revealed itself.

Arthur had used their existence like a surgeon's scalpel—quiet, precise, and without mercy.

It had been just over two weeks since the first coordinated surveillance began. Nearly every noble household in Iron Hearth had been visited—some under the pretense of "routine security assessments," others through unannounced inspections by the Law Enforcement Division. He didn't need to justify it. Not with Iron Shield still breathing.

And now?

Now, the bait had served its purpose.

Reports were coming in. Foreign support had all but evaporated. The nobles who once backed Iron Shield were either exposed, frightened into silence, or marked for future action. The common people, once fearful and unsure, had started demanding results.

They wanted justice.

They wanted action.

They wanted Iron Shield to burn.

Arthur stood, his dark royal coat brushing against the carved edge of the desk.

It's time.

He turned and called for the valet.

Moments later, the library doors opened quietly. A young valet entered and gave a respectful bow.

"Your Majesty. What do you require of me?"

Arthur didn't hesitate. His voice was low, decisive.

"Bring me a messenger bird."

The valet blinked but bowed again. "At once, your majesty."

Within minutes, a gray-feathered hawk—slender, sharp-eyed, and bound in leather straps—was brought in, perched calmly on a gloved arm.

Arthur took the small scroll and dipped his pen in ink. The message he wrote was short. No room for pleasantries or poetry—just clear, sharp command.

The wait is over.

Effective immediately, you are authorized to launch a full-force raid against Iron Shield.

You already know the locations of their hideouts—there is no need for further instruction.

During the operation, confiscate all documents, ledgers, and communications. Burn every safehouse to the ground. Leave nothing behind that can be rebuilt.

As for Kaelen—dead or alive, it makes no difference to me. But bring his corpse back if you killed him in the process to identify.

And make sure you retrieve the corpse of the one responsible for killing the five officers. I also want his head identified.

That is all.

Strike fast. Strike clean.

—Arthur Tesla

He tied the scroll securely to the hawk's leg and moved toward the open window. The cold night wind swept in, brushing past his hair and cloak.

Arthur whispered to the bird, "Fly swift."

With a flick of his arm, the bird took off—soaring into the night sky, wings slicing through the darkness like blades.

He watched until it vanished into the horizon.