Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 121: Law and Order (Part 19)

Beneath the dying light of dusk, the market square felt colder than usual. The usual chatter of vendors and foot traffic had dulled, replaced by wary glances and hushed voices. A man sat on an overturned crate near a shuttered stall, shoulders hunched beneath a threadbare cloak. His gaze followed two officers in navy-blue uniforms as they moved quietly along the cobbled path.

"Hey... why are they still out there patrolling?" he muttered, barely above a whisper. "Aren’t they afraid they’ll end up like... like those five?"

His words hung in the air like a bitter wind. His companion—older, quieter, perhaps more tired—didn’t answer immediately. He watched the officers for a moment longer, then let out a long, slow sigh.

"I don’t know," he murmured. "But you have to admit... it’s been three days since that massacre—and they’re still here. Still showing up. No hesitation in their steps. No fear in their eyes. Just... doing their duty."

The first man lowered his gaze. "Yeah. That kind of courage... it’s something else." He rubbed his palms together, rough and dirt-stained. "But I can’t help wondering—what good is courage when you’re just a regular man? No magic. No noble blood. No sword that glows in the dark. Just flesh and bone."

He paused, the tension building in his voice. "They’re just people... like us. And yet they’re the ones standing between us and monsters in human skin."

Across the square, the officers had stopped by an old fruit vendor. One offered a respectful bow. The other knelt down to hand a little girl her lost doll, brushing dust off its worn fabric. Simple acts. Quiet defiance. In a world that had started to give up, they were reminders that someone still cared.

A third man, leaning against a broken pillar nearby, joined the conversation. "Honestly, I don’t get it either," he said, voice laced with a mix of confusion and disbelief. "They haven’t made a single move against Iron Shield. Not since the slaughter. No raids, no arrests. Nothing. So what now? Are they just pretending nothing happened? If they’re not going to fight back, then what’s the point of walking around like everything’s fine?"

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken fears.

They weren’t alone in their doubts. Everyone who had witnessed the brutality—officers torn down by a single mage like they were nothing—had been shaken. Hope was brittle. Confidence in the Law Enforcement Division had fractured. Whispers had begun—of surrender, of abandonment. Just like the old City Watch, years ago, when they turned tail and left the people to fend for themselves.

And yet... some still held on.

Not because they were certain.

But because they wanted to believe.

That this time, it would be different.

That someone in uniform still had a plan.

That justice hadn’t died alongside those five officers.

Then, breathless and wide-eyed, a younger man came sprinting through the square, waving his arms. "Hey! You won’t believe this!" he shouted as he skidded to a stop in front of them. "Just now—I heard from the tailor’s apprentice. The Law Enforcement Division... they’re holding a public hearing. Tomorrow morning!"

The men straightened. Eyes widened.

A hearing?

Was this it?

A statement?

A turning point?

Or the beginning of something worse?

No one said a word for a long moment. The cold wind swept through the square, carrying with it only uncertainty.

But at that moment, one thing was clear.

Tomorrow would bring answers.

Or more questions they weren’t ready to face.

...

The news spread faster than wildfire.

By dawn, the market square had transformed. Stalls remained shuttered, but people gathered anyway—old men leaning on canes, mothers holding their children close, workers in dusty tunics who hadn’t even changed after their shifts. No one wanted to miss it. Not this time.

A temporary platform had been erected in front of Station A.

The officers stood in silent formation along the edge of the platform, navy-blue cloaks fluttering gently in the morning breeze. There weren’t many of them—barely two dozen—but they stood straight as pikes, boots planted firm against the cobblestone. Faces unreadable. Shoulders squared. As if daring fear itself to take a single step closer.

They weren’t here to look strong.

They were here to remind the city that strength still remained.

On the stage, three figures stood beneath the fluttering city banners. The man in the center was instantly recognizable—Lieutenant Talon, commander of Station A. The crowd knew his face well as he was the Lieutenant of the Station A they are all standing at the moment.

But today, he wasn’t alone.

To his left stood Lieutenant Renn of Station B—cold, sharp, and composed. Her eyes scanned the crowd like a blade waiting to be drawn.

And to his right, Lieutenant Duran of Station C—stocky, armored, with arms folded and a scowl that never seemed to leave his face.

Talon stepped forward.

"We know why you’re here," he said, his voice slicing through the murmurs like a blade. "You want answers. You want to know what we’re doing—if we’re doing anything at all."

He scanned the crowd, his eyes hard with conviction. There was no fear in them. Only fire. Guilt. And something close to grief.

"Three days ago, five of our own were killed," he said, voice tightening. "Their names were Jareth, Renford, Rourke, Thom... and Mikel."

He paused.

"I won’t let them become nameless casualties. I won’t let them be forgotten. They died loudly. Proudly. Protecting this city with everything they had."

His eyes flicked across the sea of faces—merchants, farmers, mothers clutching children. Ordinary people. Just like them.

"They weren’t nobles. They weren’t mages. They didn’t wield any aura stars. They were non-rankers. Just regular men who signed up, trained hard, and earned the right to wear that uniform."

He took a breath, steadying his voice.

"They didn’t fight because they thought they could win. They fought because someone had to stand between chaos and the innocent. They knew the enemy was stronger. But they faced that mage anyway. They stood their ground—not because they had power, but because they had courage."

He looked down for a moment, then back up, his voice lower now. Firmer.

"Some of you might scoff at their sacrifice. You might think they were weak. That dying to a single mage makes them failures."

A silence fell over the crowd.

"But let me ask you this," Talon said, voice sharp. "How many of you would’ve done the same? How many would face a battle you knew you couldn’t win—just to protect strangers?"

No one answered. No one could.

Talon straightened.

"They didn’t run. They didn’t break. They honored their duty to the very end. So if nothing else—whether you respected them or not—give them this moment."

He raised one gloved hand.

"A moment of silence. For the ones who gave their lives so the rest of us could keep ours."

And despite the size of the crowd—hundreds packed into the square—not a single voice rose. No coughs. No footsteps. Just stillness.

In that silence, the weight of truth settled on every heart.

Whatever else they were, those five men had stood their ground when no one else could.

And for that, they were heroes.

As the final seconds of silence passed, Talon lowered his hand.

The sound that followed wasn’t applause. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t triumphant.

It was quiet affirmation—nods, bowed heads, eyes misted with emotion. Even among the skeptics, there was no mockery. No one dared.

They were beginning to understand.

Talon let the silence stretch a moment longer. Then he drew a breath and continued, voice steady.

"We’ve mourned our dead. But mourning is not the end."

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