Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World
Chapter 128 - 128: Law and Order (Part 26)

The third night after Lieutenant Talon received the sealed letter bearing Arthur Tesla's personal crest, the operation began.

Darkness blanketed Iron Hearth's lower district like a burial shroud. A thick fog curled along the cobblestones, seeping between alleyways and archways like a living thing. The three moons hung behind a veil of clouds, offering a little bit of light, and every torch in the vicinity had been extinguished hours ago.

Not a whisper came from the streets.

No laughter.

No footsteps.

Not even the sound of a stray dog.

Because this part of the district had been emptied.

Lieutenant Talon stood atop a sloped slate rooftop, the city sprawled beneath him in eerie stillness. His navy blue uniform—trimmed with silver and marked with the crest of the Law Enforcement Division—fluttered softly in the cold breeze. His eyes, trained and focused, stared down at the target: a squat, unassuming warehouse nestled between a crumbling butcher's shop and a shuttered apothecary.

To a commoner, it looked abandoned. Forgotten.

Talon knew better.

He turned to the officer beside him—a younger man clad in similar navy blue, a steel baton slung at his side.

"Have the civilians been cleared out?" Talon asked, his voice sharp and low.

"Yes, sir," the officer replied instantly, eyes straight ahead. "Three blocks in all directions evacuated. Checkpoints sealed. No one's getting in or out without your word."

Talon gave a single nod, his gaze never shifting from the warehouse. "Good. Maintain perimeter. No mistakes tonight."

The officer bowed and retreated into the shadows, his steps light on the rooftop.

Talon took a breath and exhaled slowly, letting the cool air sharpen his focus.

He had waited for this moment far too long.

Three nights ago, the king's letter had arrived—sealed in black wax and bearing the unmistakable crest of Arthur Tesla. The moment Talon broke the seal and read the words within, a fire lit behind his eyes.

The time had come.

No more stalling. No more restraint.

He had wanted to strike long ago—to avenge the five officers butchered by Iron Shield in a plain sigh of the market in front of many citizens weeks prior. But the king had commanded patience.

Stall them. Let them expose their roots.

And so Talon had waited. He had watched. He had clenched his jaw in silence as rumors spread and suspects vanished.

But now, the leash was off.

He had wasted no time. Word was sent across the entire city sector. Every officer from Station A was recalled and briefed. Patrols shadowing Iron Shield's known contacts were summoned. Royal knights and mages under Talon's authority were gathered.

By nightfall of the first day, the force had assembled. By the second, drills had begun—formations reviewed, breach points mapped, and mage assignments distributed with precision.

They trained by torchlight until their limbs ached and the map was stained with sweat and ash.

And now—on the third night—the operation was in motion.

Iron Shield would burn.

Talon stood still atop the rooftop, the fog thickening around his boots. He reached into a pouch at his belt and pulled out a single wooden match.

Snap—crack.

He struck it against the steel edge of his bracer.

A flickering flame sparked to life.

He brought it to a red flare cartridge strapped to a leather tube and held his breath.

This is for the fallen.

He lit the cartridge.

A burst of crimson light erupted into the sky, piercing the night like a comet, casting an ominous red hue over the rooftops.

Far to the west, the flare was seen.

…

At the western flank of the operation, thirty-six personnel waited in absolute silence.

Ten knights clad in reinforced plate stood ready, a bit of moonlight glinting off their polished armor. Eleven mages were positioned behind them—hooded, calm, and already weaving silent incantations beneath their breath, their fingers aglow with restrained magic. Fifteen law enforcement officers—armed with batons, weighted nets, and restraint chains—took positions around the perimeter.

This was not just another safe house.

This was the heart.

The den—the last confirmed location of Kaelen, the elusive leader of Iron Shield.

The man in charge, Sir Darron, stood beneath a moss-covered archway near the rear courtyard. He was a veteran and a loyal knight of the crown, his greying hair tucked beneath a steel helm, his hand wrapped around the hilt of a sword that had tasted blood on too many battlefields to count.

"Everyone—get into position!" he barked, voice low but commanding.

The unit moved at once. No hesitation.

The knights advanced quietly, their boots barely making a sound despite the weight of their armor. They took position by the warehouse's rear entrance, two of them already preparing to breach the door. The mages fanned out in a half-circle. They were ready to neutralize whatever enchantments or traps Kaelen might have left behind.

Sir Darron surveyed them all once more with a practiced eye.

Only the knights and mages would enter the building.

The law enforcement officers would remain outside—forming a hard perimeter. No escape. No interference. They had been granted full clearance to use any sanctioned crowd control tools: tear gas bomb, pepper spray, and other weapons in their arsenal to disorient fleeing enemies.

Darron turned to the officer at his left—a younger man in navy blue uniform.

"If any of them try to flee…" Darron said, voice hard and quiet, "you don't ask questions. You don't shout warnings. You put them down. Fast."

The officer gave a firm nod. "Understood, Captain."

Darron looked skyward.

Above, the red flare still burned in the night—like a bloody star hovering over the city.

The signal had been given.

"Move," Darron growled.

The two knights assigned to breach duty stepped forward without hesitation. One drove his blade through the old iron lock with a sharp clang, splintering the wooden frame. The other followed immediately—shoulder lowered—slamming his boot into the door with a resounding crack.

The entrance burst open.

Darkness yawned inside.

And just like that—

The hunt began.