Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 119: Law and Order (Part 17)

A hush fell over the market square.

The moment of victory evaporated like mist under sunlight, replaced by a sickening silence.

"Mikel!" Jareth shouted, eyes wide as his comrade crumpled to the ground. Blood trickled down from the side of Mikel’s head, and the clang of his baton echoed faintly as it hit the cobblestone.

The officers froze for half a second, instincts screaming between defense and checking on their fallen friend.

From across the crowd, a figure stepped forward—calm, composed, and deliberate. He wasn’t running, he wasn’t hiding. He was walking straight into the center of the chaos like he owned it.

Jareth’s eyes locked on him. Tall, lean, wrapped in a travel-worn brown cloak with short-cropped hair and a confidence that didn’t belong to any street thug. But his face... unfamiliar. No record. No poster. No known gang leader Jareth had ever seen.

"Who the hell are you?" Jareth called out, standing firm even as his knuckles tightened around the baton.

The man didn’t answer. He simply rolled his shoulders, eyes like cold steel scanning each officer without urgency—as if he were assessing prey.

Then, he smirked.

"Didn’t expect me, did you?" the man said. "Too bad. You should’ve left things alone."

Jareth’s instincts flared—this man wasn’t just backup muscle. As a former hunter, Jareth could always tell when someone was truly dangerous—and this one radiated threat like a drawn blade.

"Get Mikel out of the way," Jareth ordered Renford without taking his eyes off the stranger.

Jareth’s grip tightened on his baton as he stepped forward, his voice low but steady. "Who are you?"

The man didn’t answer immediately. He tilted his head slightly, as if amused by the question. Then he gave a slow, mocking smile.

"Well, even if you knew my name, it wouldn’t matter. You’re going to die here anyway."

He took a few steps closer, his boots crunching over the scattered debris of the ruined stall. "But if you’re so desperate for a name to shout before the end, then fine—Tannus. Vice Commander of the Iron Shield."

The name meant little to Jareth in that moment. But something in the way he said it, the weight behind the words, sent a chill crawling down his spine.

"So this is retaliation," Jareth said coldly. "Because we arrested your men?"

Tannus gave a slow nod, stretching his arms as if warming up for a game. "You’re not as dumb as you look. Yes, this is retaliation. But more importantly—it’s a message."

He raised a hand slightly, and dust swirled at his fingertips.

Renford suddenly shouted, "Mikel’s dead! That son of a bitch killed him!"

The words struck like a hammer. For a moment, everything else fell away—the noise of the crowd, the dust swirling through the square, even the heartbeat pounding in Jareth’s ears. Mikel, their comrade, the one who always cracked a dry joke in the mornings, who kept his cool even during yesterday’s arrests... gone.

Jareth’s jaw clenched, eyes locking on Tannus with a fire that burned past reason. His grip tightened around the baton in his hand, knuckles whitening.

"Send the signal," he growled, the words low and sharp, filled with rage barely contained. "We’ll hold him off."

Renford didn’t hesitate. His hands moved on instinct, reaching for the flare tube strapped to his belt. He aimed high and fired. A burst of red light shot into the sky, arcing high above Iron Hearth like a bloody comet. It hissed as it rose, casting a crimson glow over the square before fading out, leaving only smoke and dread in its wake.

That signal meant only one thing: Officer down in the line of duty. Every lawman within the district would be trained to respond without question.

But backup would take time.

And time was something they no longer had.

Jareth and the remaining officers charged in unison, trying to overwhelm Tannus before he could cast. Batons whirled and feet pounded against the stone.

But Tannus was no ordinary thug.

He was a ranked mage—C-Ranks—and an earth magic user.

As the officers closed in, Tannus didn’t retreat. He stood firm, one hand rising as arcane energy began to pulse from his palm.

"Earthen pulse, rise and rend—stone obey the strength I send!"

The chant echoed low and sharp, laced with mana. A glowing magic circle flared to life beneath his feet and along his arm. Then—he slammed his palm to the ground.

The cobblestones beneath their feet cracked with a thunderous crunch as jagged stone spikes erupted upward, forcing the team to scatter mid-strike. Rourke barely twisted in time to avoid being skewered, his coat nicked and flaring behind him. Renford dove into a barrel roll, scrambling back up with dust in his lungs and blood on his elbow.

Tannus moved through the chaos like a shadow with weight.

With another fluid gesture, he muttered, "Crush the spine, shift the air—strike from stone, laid bare!" A second magic circle lit beneath him. A slab of earth burst from the ground with blinding speed, slamming into Thom’s side and flinging him backward like a ragdoll. His body crashed through a crate, unmoving.

Jareth surged forward, baton aimed with deadly precision toward the back of Tannus’s neck.

But the mage was faster.

"Wall and ward, stand before! Shield the caster, earthen core!"

A wall of earth surged between them, intercepting the blow with a brutal clang. Jareth’s baton struck stone, not flesh, jarring his wrist. He leapt back, barely avoiding a retaliatory strike as the ground shifted again under Tannus’s command.

The vice commander stepped through the rising dust, untouched. Calm. The earth obeyed his every word.

Rourke tried flanking from the left, baton swinging low toward Tannus’s knees.

"Spire and spike, rise and bite!"

Tannus stomped the ground.

A stone pillar exploded upward beneath Rourke’s chin with a sickening crack. The officer was launched into the air before crashing down hard, unconscious.

Only Jareth and Renford remained now, breath heaving, uniforms torn, blood speckling their brows.

They fought as one—Jareth weaving between falling chunks of stone, while Renford darted in and managed to land a glancing strike across Tannus’s ribs.

The mage flinched.

Then smiled.

"You’re not bad," he said, brushing a smear of blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. "But this was never a fair fight."

He threw off his cloak and raised both fists.

"Stone beneath, break and fall—shatter all who hear the call!"

A a small shockwave rippled outward as his fists crashed into the ground.

Shards of earth. Cries of pain. A storm of dust and bone.

And then—silence.

When the smoke cleared, only one man remained standing in the center of the ruined market street.

Tannus.

Unscathed. Cloak fluttering. Eyes cold.

At his feet lay the broken bodies of the five officers from Station A—bloodied, unmoving.

A massacre under daylight.

A message not whispered—but screamed in blood.

From the safety of shaded awnings and behind upturned carts, dozens of eyes had been watching—hidden at first, then frozen in growing horror.

When the fighting erupted, people had retreated with startled gasps, pulling their children close, ducking behind stalls, peering through gaps in cloth and crates. Some thought it was just another street brawl. But when they saw the five navy-clad officers charging together—disciplined, unified, fearless—they held their breath.

These weren’t city watchmen.

They were something more.

Hope had sparked in the hearts of many, especially those who had seen yesterday’s arrests. Those officers had stood tall, captured Iron Shield thugs, and left unscathed. Perhaps this time would be the same.

But it wasn’t.

One by one, the officers went down—not due to weakness, but overwhelmed by a force far beyond their reach.

Magic.

Real, raw, terrifying magic.

And standing in the wreckage like a dark storm was Tannus, cloak fluttering, his presence as chilling as the winter wind.

A woman clutching her son whispered, "That... that man isn’t normal. He’s not just a gang member..."

"Was that magic?" another vendor croaked, his voice cracking from disbelief. ƒreewebηoveℓ.com

"Are they... are they all dead?" someone asked, voice thin with shock.

A shaky voice answered, "They killed the new officers... all of them."

And for the first time since the Law Enforcement Division had arrived, the embers of hope that had begun to burn in Iron Hearth were doused in blood.

People began backing away slowly, not in a panic—but in mourning. Mourning what they had just begun to believe in. A world where someone might actually protect them.

One man near the edge of the square clenched his jaw and whispered, "If the king’s men couldn’t stop them... who will?"

But not all were filled with despair.

A few looked toward the signal flare’s fading smoke trail in the sky, still burning faintly above the rooftops.

Someone would come.

Someone had to.

And the people who had once merely watched—now remembered. Remembered the oaths spoken just yesterday. Remembered that these officers did not kneel to lords or gangs.

And for the first time in Iron Hearth, it was not fear that kept them silent.

It was grief.

And simmering anger.

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