Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World

Inside the private council chamber of Elysia, the atmosphere was thick—not with celebration or ceremony, but with the cold weight of impending consequence.

The chamber, a domed sanctum carved from pale moonstone and veined with gold-etched runes, was typically reserved for diplomatic rituals and highborn ceremonies. But today, it held tension instead of tradition.

Golden sunlight streamed through the enchanted glass windows above, casting shifting patterns of celestial light onto a long, crescent-shaped obsidian table. Around it sat six figures, each cloaked in regal robes stitched with ancient sigils and woven mana-thread—symbols of the Great Houses of Elysia.

Their faces were composed, but their eyes were sharp. Watching. Measuring.

At the center, seated at the head of the crescent, was Nolan Valthorne, Lord Chancellor of House Valthorne, and the man often whispered about as the quiet architect of Elysia's foreign influence. A tactician as much as a noble.

He held a silver-scroll case in his gloved hands, its seal freshly broken and still faintly glowing with Iron Shield's mark.

The air was still as he unrolled the letter and read the contents once more, eyes narrowing as he processed the desperation behind each word.

When he finished, he set the parchment on the polished surface before him and looked up.

"They've finally come begging," he said, voice smooth but tinged with disdain.

The other five nobles leaned forward slightly, their interest piqued.

Nolan gestured to the scroll. "Kaelen Virell, leader of the Iron Shield syndicate, has sent an urgent request. He's asking for military assistance—mages, knights, funding, anything we can spare."

Lady Myria of House Solenne arched a brow, her voice crisp and silken. "And why would we do that? His little rebellion in Iron Hearth was always meant to be controlled chaos, not all-out war."

Nolan's expression remained neutral, but his fingers tapped once against the table.

"He claims they've lost more than half of their noble and merchant allies in under three days. King Arthur Tesla has declared open season on Iron Shield. He's granted the Law Enforcement Division full wartime authority. They've begun raiding noble estates under the king's banner—with or without evidence."

A quiet murmur spread across the chamber.

They had already known what the Law Enforcement Division was as they had seen from the report of their spies in Keldoria.

What they hadn't fully known was how can Arthur give that much authority to the Law Enforcement Division.

"That mad king," muttered Lord Renar of House Caelion. "He's using the chaos to seize control of his own aristocracy. He'll sweep the city clean of corruption—and in doing so, consolidate power directly beneath the throne."

Lady Ismere of House Thalor tapped a lacquered nail against her goblet. "And if it works in Iron Hearth… he'll do it in the other cities. The old balance will be broken."

Lord Dareth of House Halden leaned back in his seat. "So Kaelen wants us to prop him up to stop the king's crusade. How generous of him."

Nolan gave a slight smile, thin and unreadable.

"He also warned that Arthur is sending reinforcements—elite knights, A-rank mages. Iron Shield's forces are already being overrun. If they fall completely, we lose more than a gang. We lose the network they built. The backdoors into the kingdom. Political leverage."

He met each noble's gaze, one by one.

"They were never supposed to win," Nolan said, his voice calm but razor-sharp. "They were a distraction. A weapon of disruption and information unit. Meant to stir unrest. Drain resources. Pull Arthur Tesla's attention away from the border."

His eyes narrowed, the glow from the enchanted lanterns reflecting off the obsidian table.

"But now? That weapon is on fire."

Lady Myria of House Solenne, elegant as ever in her pearl-trimmed robes, folded her hands beneath her chin. Her expression was unreadable.

"So the question becomes: do we cut our losses and let Iron Shield burn… or do we throw Kaelen a rope?"

Nolan gave her a slight nod. "Exactly."

He leaned back slightly in his chair, the fingers of one hand tapping thoughtfully on the armrest.

"That is why we're here today, to decide just how far we're willing to let this unravel—or how much we're prepared to spend to stitch it back together."

A silence followed.

Not empty.

Not uncertain.

Just heavy—the kind that sits between nobles when each word carries weight and each pause is a battlefield.

Then, inevitably, Lord Renar scoffed, leaning back with folded arms, his expression one of aristocratic disdain.

"If Kaelen can't even hold Iron Hearth's underworld together for three days without crying for help, I question whether he deserves a rope or a grave."

He shook his head. "The man was useful, yes. But he was always reckless. We gave him the fire, and now he's burned his own house down."

Across the table, Lady Ismere stirred, her voice as delicate and precise as the veil that shadowed her face.

"Reckless, yes," she said softly, "but not without value. If Iron Shield falls, we lose more than just a puppet crime ring."

She folded her hands. "They were our window into Iron Hearth's inner workings. Political unrest, troop movements. Also Kaelen's spy network is more extensive than you give him credit for. He doesn't just control street gangs—he collects whispers."

Nolan nodded slightly, affirming her point.

Ismere continued, her tone smooth but firm. "Without Iron Shield, we'll be forced to deploy new agents. Train new informants. Bribe new merchants and black-market channels. It will take years to rebuild what Kaelen built for us for free."

"And it's not just information," she added, glancing around the table. "The revenue we've funneled through his operations—artifact trade, weapon circulation, potion smuggling—has kept several of our accounts healthy and untraceable."

Lord Dareth let out a thoughtful grunt. "So what you're saying is, we're not propping up a failure—we're maintaining an asset. One that's bleeding, but not yet dead."

Lady Ismere nodded. "Exactly."

Lord Renar frowned but didn't argue further.

Nolan let the silence sit for a moment longer. Then he leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on the table, his gaze sharp.

"Then the question isn't whether Kaelen is worth saving—it's what we demand in return."