Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 88: Law and Order(Part 2)

"Master Blackwell," Arthur said, his voice calm yet purposeful as he approached the forge workshop nestled behind the Iron Hearth foundry. "How is the manufacturing of the flintlocks and muskets progressing?"

The grizzled master smith looked up from his workbench, his thick gloves still stained with oil and soot. He gave a short bow before wiping his forehead with a cloth and replying.

"It's going smoothly—at least, as smooth as it can," Blackwell said, his voice gravelly from years around burning steel. "We've completed twenty flintlock pistols and ten muskets so far. But as you know, these weapons aren't like forging swords or axes."

Arthur nodded, his gaze moving to the prototype firearms resting on the nearby rack—each one painstakingly assembled from iron, hardwood, and intricate components. He understood all too well. Firearms weren't a matter of hammer and anvil alone; they required precision, experimentation, and testing.

Blackwell continued, "The problem isn't just making them. It's making sure each one works. Flintlocks are temperamental things. One misaligned spring, one poorly cut flint, and it won't fire at all—or worse, it'll blow up in the user's hand."

Arthur remained silent, absorbing every word.

Blackwell let out a sigh. "Each musket takes hours to check. We test the lock mechanism, inspect the barrel for defects, check powder ignition… Even after we assemble them, we have to take them out to the test range and fire them ourselves. We can't risk a misfire on the battlefield. Not when these weapons are still so new to everyone."

Arthur's expression grew more thoughtful.

He had sketched these designs from memory—rough outlines from textbooks, diagrams, and history documentaries. But this wasn't Earth, and there were no industrial-grade lathes or machine shops here. Every spring, every screw, every smoothbore barrel had to be forged by hand, measured with trial and error.

"Thankfully, we have an ample supply of black powder stored," Blackwell added. "Your refiners have done a fine job, and the stockpile is stable. That's one less worry off our backs."

Arthur gave a short nod. That had been one of the first things he ensured—securing the explosive backbone of this entire revolution. It wasn't glamorous work, nor something the bards would sing about, but it was essential. Without black powder, his ambitions for modern warfare in Keldoria would be nothing more than sketches in a journal.

He turned to Master Blackwell, his tone sharp but even. "I don't want quantity yet," Arthur finally said. "I want consistency. I want every flintlock and musket tested, verified, and battle-ready. I'd rather have ten perfect weapons than a hundred misfires. Even if it takes a month longer."

He gestured to the weapon racks lined up against the forge wall. "We're not just building tools—we're reshaping the battlefield."

Blackwell gave a firm nod. "Understood, Your Majesty. I've already trained a few of the smiths to follow the measurements you've provided to the letter. But increasing output without compromising quality has been slow. If you're able to assign more hands, that will go a long way."

"You'll have them," Arthur replied without hesitation. "I'll send more craftsmen from the capital—those I trust to follow protocol, not cut corners."

Blackwell bowed slightly. "That would be a great help. Thank you for sending us more workers."

Arthur gave a curt smile. "No need to thank me. That's my responsibility."

He stepped forward and reached for one of the newly completed flintlocks, lifting it in both hands. The weight settled into his palms—he tested the balance, checked the angle of the stock, and ran his thumb down the barrel with care. It felt sturdy. Heavy enough to endure recoil, light enough for mobility. It was far from perfect, but it was a start.

Before he could speak, the door creaked open.

Ken stepped in, his expression serious.

"I've gathered enough information about the Iron Shield," Ken reported, his tone firm yet measured.

Arthur's gaze sharpened, but he gave no immediate response—only a slight nod, signaling Ken to continue once the time was right.

…

Arthur ended up staying in Iron Hearth for five full days before his departure.

The blast furnace, after a long phase of trial, refinement, and high-pressure testing, had finally passed all inspections by the third day. Arthur personally oversaw the evaluations, ensuring the integrity of the structure and the reliability of each output cycle. Steel flowed like molten promise, and for the first time, Iron Hearth had something close to modern industrial capability.

But Arthur wasn't one to leave simply because a blueprint had succeeded.

He remained two days longer—walking the district streets, listening to blacksmiths, vendors, and even apprentices. He spoke to newly assembled foremen and junior administrators, detailing how the recruitment campaign for the Watch should be conducted: not based solely on brute strength, but a test of discipline, reasoning, and moral standing. A man who could swing a blade wasn't the same as one who knew when not to.

He issued guidelines on assessing candidates, recommended background checks through local guild testimonies, and stressed the need to avoid recruiting thugs under a new banner—a mistake many kingdoms made in haste.

Arthur also waited, hopeful that concrete intelligence about the Iron Shield would come in before he left.

But after five days… nothing reliable surfaced.

Only rumors. Whispers. Conflicting stories and half-truths. Ken's scouts were efficient, but the Iron Shield's operations were better concealed than expected—perhaps even protected.

So, Arthur departed.

It's been six days since then.

Accounting for the journey, Arthur had only returned to Eldoria yesterday, and even now his mind still lingered on Iron Hearth—the progress, the people… and the threat that still simmered in its shadow.

Now, back in the capital, it was time to act on what little they knew—and dig deeper than ever before.

…

Ken straightened, unfolding the final parchment and placing it gently on the table before Arthur.

"There's a reason the Iron Shield has been so difficult to trace, Your Majesty," he began, his voice firm but edged with caution. "Their operations are layered. Their enforcers rotate constantly—no one face stays in the spotlight too long. Recruits disappear and get replaced every few weeks. They don't wear insignias. They don't talk to outsiders. But once we followed the money—tracking coin exchanges, supply shipments, bribes, and unusual trade patterns—we started to see it. A pattern too structured for common thuggery."

Arthur leaned forward slightly, his voice low, cold with calculation. "Who's behind it?"

Ken didn't hesitate.

"Count Delric Vachiel. We don't really have a concrete evidence but all signs point to him as the one quietly backing the Iron Shield."

Arthur's brows furrowed. A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes. "Delric… from Redstone?"

Ken gave a solemn nod. "Yes. Iron Hearth falls within his extended jurisdiction. It's a relic from the reign of your grandfather—when old mining charters and emergency military decrees gave his house partial oversight of the Iron Belt. Though your reforms have stripped most nobles of their regional strangleholds, Delric held on—subtly. He used legal ambiguity to maintain informal control."

Arthur's eyes narrowed, tension building in his shoulders.

Ken pressed on. "He's no fool. Delric's been playing the long game. He's forged quiet alliances with lesser noble houses from the eastern provinces. He's funded trade ventures along the northern coast. Some reports even hint at discreet dealings with aristocrats from Elysia and Chronos. It's likely that while you've been modernizing the kingdom, he's been consolidating his own sphere of power in the shadows."

Arthur stood, walking toward the tall windows of his chamber.

"So Iron Hearth was never truly ours," he muttered, voice bitter. "We claimed it by law, but Delric never let go."

Ken's voice turned grim. "That's why the Iron Shield feels untouchable. They aren't just bandits or extortionists. They're an extension of Delric's reach. An invisible hand to do what he cannot, while keeping his name clean."

Arthur was silent for a moment. Then he asked, quietly, "And the local authorities?"

"Most of them are compromised," Ken admitted. "Some owe the Vachiel family debts. Others were appointed by stewards loyal to him. A few who resisted were either reassigned or… removed."

Arthur turned from the window, his expression steeled.

"Then we'll dismantle him. Brick by brick. Influence by influence."

Ken bowed his head slightly. "What are your orders, Your Majesty?"

Arthur didn't hesitate. "First, draft a royal summons. I want Count Delric Vachiel in Eldoria within the fortnight. We don't have enough evidence to accuse him formally—not yet—but I'll remind him that his position is not untouchable. A warning, subtle but clear."

"Understood."

Arthur continued, "Also, how is the recruitment progressing in Iron Hearth? Have we received any updates from the messengers?"

Ken retrieved another scroll and nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty. The latest message via messenger bird confirms 200 recruits who meet your outlined criteria. Most are former guards, retired soldiers, and blacksmith apprentices with strong discipline and physical fitness."

Arthur's expression lightened slightly. "Good. Add that to the 350 from Eldoria and 210 from Slarny, and we have a solid core."

"That gives us over 760 for the initial phase," Ken confirmed.

Arthur nodded. "That will be enough—for now. We'll begin with only three regions. Iron Hearth, Eldoria, and Slarny. Until the system proves sustainable, we won't expand further."

His tone grew more serious. "I haven't authorized wider law enforcement yet due to the kingdom's financial constraints. Uniformed patrols, housing, wages—it all costs gold we don't have the luxury to spend freely. But if we let corruption and fear continue to rot our cities… there won't be a kingdom left to modernize."

Ken lowered his gaze in respect. "Then we'll make these three regions the model. A prototype for the future."

Arthur nodded,

"Let's begin shaping the kind of order this kingdom deserves."