Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World

Jareth let out a slow breath, his eyes sweeping across the crowded market square. "Yeah," he murmured. "For now, let's split up and start putting up the signs we brought from the station. Make sure they're in places the public can't miss."

His teammates gave short nods before scattering into the crowd, signs in hand. Jareth tightened and began walking down a narrow road that branched into a busy intersection. The crossroads buzzed with activity—vendors calling out their wares, children weaving between stalls, and citizens moving briskly through their day.

Stopping at the corner of a weathered building, Jareth glanced around. The spot sat at the convergence of two main paths—perfect visibility from both directions. He studied the area a little longer, checking for anything better, but nothing offered a clearer view.

"This'll do," he muttered under his breath.

He knelt down, unfastened the wooden post strapped to his back, and began hammering it into the soil beside the cobbled path. As he worked, more than a few curious glances came his way. The uniform he wore—a dark navy-blue tunic with reinforced stitching, silver accents on the shoulders, and a small royal insignia over the chest—stood out starkly among the plain, earthen-toned robes of the commoners. It marked him as something new. Something unfamiliar.

He could feel the weight of their stares. Some suspicion. Some curiosity.

When the sign was finally secured, Jareth brushed the dust from his hand and stepped back to check his work. Slowly, the nearby onlookers shifted their gaze to the wooden placard. Painted in bold letters, the message read:

By decree of His Majesty, King Arthur Tesla, a new force has been established—the Law Enforcement Division. Our mission: to protect the people, uphold justice, and restore order to Iron Hearth. Whether noble or commoner, if you are in need of assistance, please report to the police station just outside this market. We are here to serve.

Some among the gathered crowd squinted at the sign, lips moving as they slowly sounded out the words. There are many who couldn't read at all and simply watched in silence, their expressions puzzled. Those who could read exchanged glances—some curious, others wary.

"Law Enforcement Division?" one merchant muttered under his breath. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Police station…?" another echoed, frowning.

The terms were foreign to most of them. In a land where justice had long been the domain of lords, knights, or bribes paid in the dead of night, this idea—a standing force dedicated to serving the people equally—was unfamiliar. Strange. Even unbelievable.

And yet, no one could ignore the first line.

By decree of His Majesty…

That phrasing carried weight. Real weight. In Keldoria, invoking the king's name in falsehood was a crime beyond treason—an act punishable not just by death, but by the erasure of one's entire bloodline. A person who dared forge a royal decree risked the execution of their children, siblings, even cousins. Everyone knew that. Which meant… this had to be real.

They didn't know what "law enforcers" were. They didn't understand what "police stations" did.

But they knew the king was behind it.

And that alone was enough to plant the first seeds of curiosity—and caution—across Iron Hearth.

Jareth then walked over to a produce stand where an older woman was eyeing the sign, squinting under the brim of her faded bonnet. She clutched a basket of root vegetables, her brows knitted in confusion.

"Excuse me," Jareth said, offering a polite nod. "Would you like me to explain what that sign means?"

The woman looked him over—dark navy-blue uniform, polished boots, a leather belt holding a baton, a pouch, and a small silver badge marked with the royal seal. He didn't look like a knight. He didn't carry a sword or wear a noble's cloak. And yet he held himself with authority.

"I reckon I would, lad," she said warily. "What's all this about a… 'law force'? Ain't never heard of such a thing."

Jareth smiled faintly, trying to put her at ease. "It's something new. His Majesty, King Arthur Tesla, has created a group—us—to help protect people like you. Not soldiers. Not tax collectors. We're here to keep the peace. To stop thefts, break up fights, track down dangerous people, and make sure no one abuses their power—whether it's a street thug or a nobleman."

The woman blinked. "You're not from the guard?"

"No, ma'am," Jareth replied. "We don't answer to lords or merchants. We answer to the kingdom's law—and the king's justice. If someone robs you, if someone threatens your family, you can come to us. We'll listen. And we'll act."

A few more market-goers began to gather nearby, drawn by Jareth's steady voice and the strange, almost impossible promise of justice—without bribes, without strings.

"But… is there a catch?" a younger man asked from behind a stall stacked with dried herbs. His brow furrowed with skepticism. "Are you going to start collecting money later, like the others?"

Jareth shook his head calmly. "There's no catch. And no—we won't be collecting a single copper from any of you. You've already paid for us."

The young man blinked, confused. "What do you mean? I've never paid anything for this. I didn't even know this… law force existed until today."

Jareth's lips curled into a small, reassuring smile. "Through your taxes. You've been paying all along. His Majesty King Arthur Tesla created the Law Enforcement Division to serve the people. Our salaries, our gear, our training—it all comes from the kingdom's treasury. Which is funded by the taxes of working folk like you. You're not just citizens anymore—you're shareholders in your own safety."

There was a brief silence. Then murmurs rippled through the crowd. Many of them had paid taxes for years, grumbling about it like everyone did—never truly expecting to see where the money went. Now, standing before them was something new. Something real. A force not protecting castles or noble estates… but them.

Some people looked impressed. A few even looked proud.

But not all were convinced.

A man near the back, older and grizzled, crossed his arms. "Words are easy. We've had plenty of those from the lords before. What makes this different?"

Jareth didn't flinch. "Because it's not just words anymore. We're here. In your streets. Among your people. We don't answer to local nobles—we answer to the law. To the king. And to the citizens of Iron Hearth."

"But… why now?" another asked. "Why us? Why start this here?"

Jareth's eyes hardened with quiet resolve. "Because Iron Hearth matters. His Majesty knows what this region has been through—years of gangs bleeding you dry, merchants bullied into paying 'protection fees,' families living in fear. That ends now."

He gestured to the uniform he wore—dark navy blue with polished brass buttons and the silver badge gleaming against his chest. "This isn't just cloth. It's a promise. That you won't be ignored. That justice doesn't just belong to nobles. That someone will stand between you and those who would harm you."

He stepped aside and pointed down the road to the new police station, freshly constructed near the edge of the market square. "That building is yours. If someone threatens you, come to us. No fees. No titles. No bribes. Just tell us what happened—and we'll act."

The crowd had quieted again, but this time the silence was different. Not suspicious, not hostile—just stunned. Considering.

An older woman near the front looked Jareth in the eyes, her voice low but filled with quiet skepticism. "You don't speak like the ones from the castle."

Jareth took a moment before answering, his voice steady, not defensive. "That's because I'm not one of them," he said softly. "I didn't grow up behind stone walls or silk curtains. I was born here—in Iron Hearth. I played in these streets as a child, watched the same stalls get shaken down. I've seen good people go quiet, and families struggle just to keep their doors open. I know exactly what you've all endured… because I've endured it too."

He paused, scanning the crowd, letting them see the honesty in his eyes.

"That's why I joined this force. That's why I put on this uniform. Because someone had to be first. And now, I stand here not just for myself—but for all of you."

He gestured toward the others placing signs across the square. "And we didn't come alone. His Majesty, King Arthur Tesla, sent us here because he believes Iron Hearth matters. Not just as a mining region. Not just as a province. But because its people matter."

Another pause. A breath.

"I won't ask you to trust me just because I wear a badge. That's something we'll have to earn. So don't take my word for it. Watch us. See what we do. If we're wrong, tell us. If we fall short, make us answer for it. We aren't here to rule over you. We're here to serve."

He turned and pointed down the cobbled road, where the dark navy banner of the Law Enforcement Division fluttered above the newly built outpost.

"And if something goes wrong—if you're robbed, threatened, afraid, or just need to report some matter that you think is wrong—come to Station A. You don't need coin. You don't need status. You just need to ask. We'll be there to help. That's a promise."

Though Jareth had been repeating his invitation to visit Station A a lot, no one seemed to mind. And this time, the silence that followed wasn't born of doubt—it was the quiet of people who were truly listening, weighing his words not with suspicion, but with a growing sense of belief.