Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World

Nolan let the silence stretch, letting the weight of uncertainty hang in the room like a slow-moving fog. Then, with deliberate calm, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, fingers lightly interlocked. His eyes—sharp and calculating—scanned the chamber.

"So then," he said, his voice measured but firm, "the real question isn't whether Kaelen is worth saving."

He paused.

"It's what we demand in return."

A low murmur stirred at the edge of the council table—but before anyone could speak further, Lady Myria raised her hand with a graceful flick, silencing the room. Her tone was serene, but laced with steel.

"Why are we so eager to talk about terms," she said, her voice cutting through the murmurs like a dagger through silk. "Does anyone here actually believe we can help Kaelen in his current state?"

Her gaze swept across the table, unflinching. The room fell still, the other nobles holding their tongues.

"Let's be honest with ourselves," she continued, folding her hands in front of her. "The latest reports are damning. His gang is in shambles. His bannermen are fleeing. Half the nobles he has connection with have already defected to the crown, and now even the Law Enforcement Division has been granted full wartime autonomy."

She let the words linger, each syllable striking with surgical precision.

"They're not hunting him. They're erasing him."

No one spoke.

She leaned back slightly, letting the tension settle over the council like a suffocating shroud.

"And even if we wanted to send aid," she went on, tone cooling, "it would take at least a month for our forces to reach Iron Hearth. That's assuming the roads are clear, that our messengers aren't intercepted, that supply lines hold. And when," she tilted her head, "have we ever had perfect conditions?"

"You make it sound like we've already lost," Lord Renar muttered, though without much conviction.

Myria's lips twitched—not quite a smile.

"No, Lord Renar. I'm saying we never had a winning hand to begin with."

He exhaled through his nose, one hand brushing against the hilt of his ceremonial dagger. "Still… leaving Kaelen to rot doesn't sit right with me."

"That sentiment could get you killed," Myria replied flatly.

Renar grunted, then turned to Nolan. "Even if we can't send an army, there are other ways. Our sleeper agents—some of them are still embedded in the region. They know the streets, the networks, the nobility. A few of them are trained in sabotage and covert extraction."

Nolan raised a brow. "And how many do you believe are still loyal to us, now that Kaelen's losing?"

"Enough to buy him some time," Renar said. "Not to win—but to survive."

Lady Ismere, who had been silent until now, finally spoke—her voice quiet, almost mournful.

"Not enough to change his fate. But perhaps enough… to delay it."

Nolan steepled his fingers again, expression unreadable. "If Kaelen can hold on for just a few more weeks, Arthur's momentum might slow. The public will grow tired of the spectacle. Nobles who've kept quiet will start calculating again. And if the Law Enforcement Division gets reckless, starts kicking down the wrong doors—"

"They'll turn the people against themselves," Renar finished.

"Exactly," Nolan nodded. "That's when we move. Not to save Kaelen—but to fracture Arthur's grip on Iron Hearth."

A beat of silence passed before Lady Myria leaned forward again, eyes narrowed.

"That's a lot of ifs, Nolan," she said, tone sharp. "Too many to stake lives on."

Nolan gave a wry, humorless smile. "Our empire wasn't built on guarantees, Lady Myria. It was built on risks. On seizing opportunity in the chaos."

"Poetic," she said dryly. "But dangerous."

Then, her tone shifted—lower now, more deliberate. "And I still think this entire conversation is reckless. This isn't a border skirmish. This is internal purging by the royal family. If the crown even suspects we're supplying Iron Shield… if they find so much as a coin or blade with Elysian markings…"

She trailed off, letting the weight of her meaning speak for her.

"You know how they deal with treason," she finished coldly. "And the blood won't stop with you, Nolan. The rest of us—our estates, our houses, our families—we'll all burn together."

Her eyes locked onto his. "You may think of yourself as a chessmaster. But if you misplace even a single piece, we all pay the price."

The words hit hard.

No one interrupted her. No one dared.

After a long pause, she added more quietly, "Besides… there's something else."

That caught their attention.

Lady Myria's gaze swept toward the windows, as though checking for shadows that might be listening.

"I've heard whispers from the Inner Court," she said slowly. "His Majesty is preparing a military campaign. A real one."

"Where?" asked Lord Renar, already frowning.

"Keldoria," Myria answered. "By fall, maybe even sooner."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

"If we involve ourselves in Kaelen's mess now—if we get caught—we won't just jeopardize our reputations. We'll be directly obstructing the King's war plans. And if that happens…"

She didn't need to say the rest.

Everyone at the table understood.

Obstructing a royal war campaign was suicide. And not the quiet kind.

Nolan exhaled through his nose, eyes narrowing. He hated being reminded of the leash around his neck.

But she was right. Again.

They were walking a blade's edge—one misstep away from ruin.

Finally, he broke the silence.

"We proceed carefully," he said. "No banners. No legions. Nothing that ties back to Elysia."

He looked around the table, voice steady, clear.

"I'll draft the mission parameters myself. A shadow detachment only—agents, smugglers, spies. And before we move, we submit a sealed report to His Majesty."

"And if his majesty says no?" asked Renar.

Nolan didn't hesitate. "Then we pull back. Kaelen becomes history."

The nobles sat in silence, then slowly began to nod—some reluctantly, others with quiet acceptance.

Lady Myria finally leaned back, her eyes no longer burning.

"Then let's hope," she said, almost softly, "that this time… your gamble pays off."