The empire had roads now, schools now, newspapers now. But behind the shining progress, in the alleys, chaos still prevailed. Merchants moaned about pilfered goods, farmers complained of highwaymen, and village brawls frequently escalated into bloody vendettas. For centuries, "justice" had been whatever the local noble chose in his whims. Occasionally it was just; oftener it was a bribe masquerading as words.
Sharath sat at the long council table, fingers steepled, eyes sharp. "We have given them knowledge, but knowledge without order will crumble into noise," he said. "It's time."
Madhu raised a brow. "You mean to chain chaos with uniforms?"
He smirked. "Exactly."
🐧NeuroBoop piped in, "Congratulations, you've just invented paperwork, bribes, and traffic whistles. Empire-building speedrun any%."
Sharath paid it no mind. He rose, voice echoing: "We will build a force of order and justice—not answerable to nobles, not bribed by silver. Officers who work for the empire and its people, not themselves."
The news caused waves throughout the empire. Some applauded, picturing security. Others murmured in dread—what if these "officers" were merely another means for the crown to suppress rebellion?
The Recruitment
The first recruitment call went out: veterans who had campaigned for the crown prince's ill-fated wars were welcomed to join. battle-hardened men and women flowed into the capital, their armor battered, their eyes heavy. Some came limping, others bore scars as badges.
Hundreds convened in the courtyard of the old drill grounds. Sharath personally inspected them, marching down the line.
"You fought and bled for crowns that deserted you," he told them, voice slicing through the quiet. "Now I give you something better: a purpose. Not for nobles or princes. For the people. To defend, not plunder."
There were a few bitter laughs among the veterans. "And what is so different this time, Emperor?" one shouted.
Sharath didn't blink. He unsheathed his sword, plunged it into the earth, and declared: "Because I do not ask you to kneel. I ask you to stand."
The subsequent silence was thick, but slowly, head after head bowed—neither in submission, nor in obeisance.
The Training
There followed months of backbreaking training. The veterans, who were accustomed to the turmoil of war, had a hard time with the discipline of police work. Soldiers were trained to fight—but not to broker a disagreement between two stubborn traders fighting over a dropped basket of apples.
Sharath brought in academics to instruct law, clergymen to instruct ethics, and even Madhu herself to give a lecture on restraint.
One day, Madhu stood before the new recruits, fingers interlaced behind her back. "You are no longer soldiers," she told them. "Your enemy is not a man on the other side of the field. Your enemy is ignorance, injustice, and fear. If you strike first, you lose. If you listen first, you win."
A weathered veteran held up his hand. "And what if the man draws a knife?"
Madhu grinned. "Then strike him second, but harder."
The recruits roared with laughter, tension broken.
🐧NeuroBoop whispered in Sharath's head, "Careful. You're creating philosophers with cudgels."
Sharath replied silently: "Better philosophers with cudgels than brutes with swords."
First Patrols
After six months, the first batch was ready. Their armor gleamed—not the heavy plate of soldiers, but lighter gear, practical for streets. On their chests: a new crest, the imperial star entwined with scales of justice.
The day they marched into the city, it was filled with people in wonder. Merchants cheered, thieves cursed under their breath, and children gawked. For the first time, the empire witnessed guardians marching not for nobles, but for them.
The first patrol was stiff. A drunk rushed into the street, taunting curses at a cart driver. Fists would have flown once. Now, two officers stepped between them, listened, and fined the drunkard a day's pay rather than allowing blood to be spilled.
The crowd murmured. Some complained. Others nodded slowly. Order, it appeared, may not be a dream.
Law in Practice
But the true test came in the market square.
A rich trader accused a baker of short-changing him. The crowd at once divided, animosity growing. Soon, stones began to fly.
The officers came on the scene. Rather than drawing swords, they stood in a wall and commanded silence. One of them read from a scroll—the empire's first codification of law, written by Sharath himself. It set down fines, mediations, and punishments for theft, fraud, and assault.
The crowd fell silent, stunned. Law was no longer whatever a noble wished on the spur of the moment—it was written, plain, and applied equally to everyone.
The baker was fined a single coin for mistake. The merchant was fined twice that for trying to cause chaos. Both departed muttering, but alive. The crowd uttered its assent.
Sharath, observing from the balcony, permitted himself a reed-thin smile. "It starts."
🐧NeuroBoop grumbled: "Well done, you've just murdered bribery. The nobles will despise you more than bandits ever could."
Resistance
And loathed they did.
A few former nobles protested, seething that their personal bodyguards were now accountable to law. "How could you fine a man of my standing for knocking about a servant?" one fumed.
Sharath confronted him in council, serene but firm. "Because the servant bleeds just like you. And because in this empire, the law bows to no one—not even you."
The noble departed shaking with rage. His estates, a fortnight later, inexplicably observed a rise in police patrols.
Madhu's Shadow Work
While Sharath commanded in public, Madhu maneuvered in the shadows. She tracked corrupt officers, rooting out bribes before they spread. She whispered counsel into governors' ears, teaching them how to trust law instead of force.
One night, Sharath found her in the archives, poring over scrolls of old tribal justice. "You're rewriting history," he said softly.
Madhu didn't look up. "No," she corrected. "I'm weaving it. If people think law is new, they'll resist. If they think it's the echo of what their ancestors once had, they'll embrace it."
Sharath smiled faintly. She was right, as always.
The Public's Shift
Months went by. Gradually, people accommodated. Conflicts previously resolved through bloodshed now ended with fines or mediations. People slept better at night knowing bandits would be pursued not by soldiers too occupied with wars, but by officers pledged to defend.
There were failures still. Some officers lapsed into brutality. Others cracked under stress. But Madhu and Sharath set examples—bribery punished, corruption weeded out, incompetence retrained.
The citizens started to utter a new phrase with guarded hope: "Call the law."
The Demonstration
To cement the change, Sharath organized a public demonstration.
In the big square, in front of nobles and peasants alike, he summoned two men—a seasoned officer and a young soldier. He presented a posed dispute: a merchant defrauded a farmer.
Instead of chaos, the officers questioned, took notes, handed out fines. No swords drawn. No bribes paid. Just order.
Sharath stepped forward, voice carrying. "This is not my law. It is your law. Guard it. Obey it. Demand it. For an empire without law is only tyranny in disguise."
The square thundered with applause.
Madhu leaned close, smirking. "You do love your theatrics."
Sharath grinned back. "Only when they work."
🐧NeuroBoop quipped: "Careful, emperor. You're starting to sound like a lawyer. Next you'll invent taxes on window curtains."
And thus was born the first real police force of the empire—tough, imperfect, but alive. Old soldiers who had once shed blood for crowns now patrolled the streets for commoners. The law became more than caprice. The order became more than terror.
The empire, step by step, was learning not only to dream, but to rule itself.
And Sharath knew: this, not any sword, was what would hold his empire together.