Segment 1: Orders from the Crown
The ink had barely dried on the parchment, but the weight behind it echoed across the stone courtyard like the sound of a drawn blade.
Ethan set down the quill.
Royal Patrol Authorization Writ – Signed by Hand of the Sovereign
"Let these officers, duly sworn and properly armed, take to the streets, roads, and reaches of the Realm in the name of peace, law, and the Crown. Let their duty ride faster than fear, and let their presence remind all that Arcadia stands."
With that, the Arcadia Royal Troopers were no longer a theory.
They were a force.
The wind swept briskly through Bayhalden Ward, rustling the new patrol banners hung from rooftops and along the freshly cobbled square. Spectators had gathered quietly on either side of the hall, watching as rows of uniformed personnel took formation beneath the newly raised flag of the Royal Troopers: a silver lion's head atop a crossed sword and scroll, crowned in gold thread.
Each trooper wore the official field uniform—dark blue with slate-gray trim and a silver pin over the heart. Their belts carried holstered system-issued weapons: arc-sigils bound to kinetic restraint batons and pulse-grade sidearms, authorized only for troopers with verified system identity.
At the head of the column stood a man Ethan had chosen carefully.
Captain Marcus Drayen, formerly an Inspector with the Greater Manchester Police, had served with honor in both urban and rural divisions before his summoning to Arcadia. His presence was commanding but grounded, his posture more that of a veteran instructor than a ceremonial figure.
He saluted Ethan crisply.
"Sovereign," he said, voice strong, "Royal Troopers of Platoon Alpha await your order."
Ethan stepped forward onto the platform and spoke not with pomp, but with clarity.
"You are not soldiers," he began. "You are servants. You are not here to dominate. You are here to defend. Each badge you wear is a bond to the people of this Realm."
He turned to address the crowd.
"And today, we begin a new chapter in Arcadian history. A chapter written not with conquest, but with conduct."
He raised his hand, signaling the system.
Activate: Royal Trooper Collar Number System
— 3-Digit Serial for Sergeants and above
— 4-Digit Serial for Constables and Cadets
— Linked to Station Code, Oath Registry, and Patrol Division
Initial Deployment: Bayhalden Ward / Central Crownstead
Platoon: Alpha
Designation: HQ-ART-Alpha
Collar numbers flared to life in silver across each uniform: not glowing, but etched—permanent.
Captain Drayen stepped to the front.
"Troopers, front and ready!"
The platoon responded in practiced rhythm.
Ethan gave the final command:
"Royal Troopers—ride."
And with that, the first Arcadian patrol force stepped forward.
Into the streets.
Into the record.
Into history.
Segment 2: First Outbound Patrol
The sun hovered low behind the towers of the White Palace as the Royal Troopers moved eastward, their formation neat but fluid—mounted on system-issued transport beasts and foot patrol units in staggered columns. The rhythm of their movement echoed off the cobblestones of Outreach Ward, where civilians stepped aside respectfully, offering nods and quiet waves as they passed.
Captain Drayen rode at the front, his uniform immaculate, eyes forward. Beside him strode a pair of senior troopers and a clerk from the dispatch unit, relaying route checks via crystal relay.
Behind them marched Trooper Elric Vann, among the youngest in the deployment—barely twenty, newly sworn, his collar number still stiff on his uniform: ST1-ART-TRO-4963. He adjusted his belt awkwardly, then took a quiet breath.
"Serve the public before the Crown," he murmured.
Kaelin, riding nearby as part of the liaison oversight group, glanced back.
Elric kept speaking—not to anyone, but to the road ahead.
"Protect the innocent… restrain the unjust…"
His voice was quiet, but clear, drawn from memory.
Kaelin didn't interrupt.
He let the oath settle into the silence.
Sometimes it needed to be said again.
Even if just for yourself.
As they passed through the edge of the ward, the road shifted from clean stone to packed dirt. The city's tight infrastructure gave way to overgrown fencing, broken wooden signs, and low-set farm cottages on either side.
Here stood the Outer Gate of Alderhelm—a checkpoint of stone and timber staffed by the Civic Guard, a local auxiliary unit unaffiliated with the Royal Troopers but still under the wider Arcadian civilian framework.
The guard captain, wearing a simpler dark-green tunic and brass pin, stepped forward as the lead troopers slowed.
"Name and unit?" he asked out of habit, even as the royal colors came into view.
Captain Drayen saluted with reserved authority. "Captain Marcus Drayen, Arcadia Royal Troopers, Alpha Patrol—Bayhalden Command. We're eastbound on royal route watch."
The Civic Guard captain nodded. "You're the first full deployment we've seen. Not just scouts and trial details."
Drayen's gaze didn't waver. "We won't be the last."
The checkpoint bar was raised.
The patrol crossed through.
Beyond the gate, the world changed.
No market stalls. No dispatched carriages. Just treelined trails, uneven earth, the rustle of wind through pines. No systems chiming. No steady Realmstone pulse beneath their boots.
Only the road.
"This is where the badge stops being a symbol," Captain Drayen said aloud. "And starts being seen."
Kaelin looked around at the treetops and quiet homesteads nestled in the woods. "And where our jurisdiction must meet their trust."
Far behind them, the white towers of the capital were nearly out of view.
But ahead—duty waited in unfamiliar forms.
And so, the watch rode onward.
Segment 3: Bandit Confrontation
The dirt road narrowed as the patrol rounded a bend beneath a dense canopy of trees. Birds scattered ahead of them, and the air shifted—subtly at first, then with undeniable tension. The riders slowed.
Ahead, two merchant wagons stood idling—one askew in the mud, the other halted entirely. Several rough-looking figures in piecemeal armor loomed near the lead cart, weapons drawn, faces concealed by cloth and patchwork helmets. Their blockade—a hastily dropped tree trunk reinforced with rope and iron nails—stretched across the road like a challenge.
Captain Drayen held up a clenched fist.
The patrol stopped.
Kaelin whispered to a junior trooper, "Eyes on the left ridge. They're not alone."
Drayen dismounted and approached slowly, one hand raised in visible peace, the other hovering near the baton at his belt.
"I am Captain Drayen of the Arcadia Royal Troopers," he called. "You are interfering with the trade route of a noble-allied territory. Stand down, and you will not be harmed."
The largest brigand—a stocky man with a scar down one cheek and a mismatched cuirass—stepped forward, axe slung low.
"We take tolls here," the man said. "For protection. That's our deal."
"Arcadia does not deal with extortionists," Drayen replied evenly. "This road falls under the Crown's patrol jurisdiction. You're in violation of multiple Realm Laws, including obstruction and unlawful force against civilians."
The man laughed.
Then waved his hand.
More figures emerged from the woods—six, then nine total. The merchants ducked behind their wagons, one clutching a wounded arm.
Drayen sighed once.
"Royal Troopers—deploy."
With practiced precision, the front squad of troopers formed a shielded half-circle. Two more flanked wide left and right, following a maneuver drawn from Earth-based urban dispersal drills.
"Non-lethal unless lethal is forced," Drayen called.
The first brigand charged.
Trooper Elric Vann stumbled—but recovered, deflecting the blade with his reinforced shield. Another trooper, Sergeant Maelin, dropped low and swept the attacker's legs, pinning him beneath the butt of her baton and locking the man's wrist with binding cable.
A second bandit tried to flank the right side—only to be met by a squad deploying pulse batons and short-range ward sigils, trained to disrupt kinetic momentum without serious harm.
Still, resistance flared hot. A blade caught Trooper Hask near the shoulder, slicing through his outer vest. He collapsed to one knee with a cry.
"Medic!" Kaelin called out, raising his crystal relay.
Summon Protocol: Emergency Response – Royal Medic Tier I
Target Zone: East Patrol Sector – Live Combat Assist
Confirm?
Ethan's system authorization pre-cleared from headquarters flickered across the interface.
CONFIRMED
A glowing sigil flared near the treeline—and three Royal Medics emerged from light, clad in white-trimmed blue, carrying field satchels and arcane diagnostic crystals.
They rushed to Hask as the final brigands fell under restraint. No one dead. Several stunned. All disarmed.
Captain Drayen surveyed the aftermath.
"All targets secured," Sergeant Maelin reported. "Three unconscious, six bound. No fatalities. Merchant cargo recovered intact."
Drayen turned to the medics.
"Will Trooper Hask walk?"
The lead medic nodded. "Torn muscle, not arterial. He'll recover. With treatment."
Kaelin exhaled slowly.
"This was their first engagement," he said to Drayen.
"It won't be their last," the captain replied. "But we'll be ready."
They looked down the road where the patrol would continue—past the blockade, past the silence of battle—and toward the line between safety and wildness.
One they now held.
Segment 4: Beyond the Crestline
The sun broke clean over the Crestline Ridge, casting long shadows down the wooded road as the patrol regrouped. The scent of damp earth mingled with steel, sweat, and summoned ozone. Behind them, the path was cleared—the blockade removed, the merchants tended, the wounded stabilized.
Ahead, the road narrowed into unfamiliar country.
Captain Drayen held up his hand. The patrol slowed.
Beyond this ridge lay the Outer Territories, lands loosely affiliated with the Crown, yet not formally under its civil watch. Scattered villages. Forgotten trade posts. Places where allegiance was often whispered rather than sworn.
"This is where patrol ends on a map," Kaelin muttered, consulting his route scroll, "and begins in practice."
Drayen looked to him. "We hold until the seal reaches even here."
The squad pushed forward past the tree line.
Birdsong vanished. The light dimmed under heavy canopy. And there—just past the bend—stood a lonely signpost, its wood cracked, its lettering half-faded.
GREYFEN HAMLET
Population Unlisted – Trade Station: Disbanded
Two buildings flanked the road—a shuttered waystation and an abandoned forge. But further in, subtle signs of life returned: a garden plot, smoke from a low chimney, laundry drying on a sagging rope line.
They were being watched.
From behind door cracks. From forest shadows. From the corners of forgotten thresholds.
Then, a child emerged. Small. Barefoot. Holding a wooden pail.
Behind him, a woman—tall, lean, cautious—stepped into view with a shawl over her head and her hands visible.
"Are you…" she asked gently, "…the Crown's men?"
Kaelin nodded.
"We are."
Within an hour, the troopers dismounted and entered the hamlet cautiously. Drayen dispatched two to check the perimeter while Kaelin and Sergeant Maelin gathered what names they could.
The woman introduced herself as Lira Vannith, elder of the scattered settlement.
"We've had trouble," she said, nodding to the direction the bandits had come from. "Merchants stopped visiting. A few tried to form a watch, but…"
She gestured to a burned building. "They made examples."
Drayen knelt beside the remains of a smithy. "You weren't forgotten."
"You were waiting," Kaelin said.
"For us to cross the crest."
Before the squad left, Kaelin handed Lira a small scroll.
PRELIMINARY ROYAL PROTECTION NOTICE
Hamlet: Greyfen
Status: Under Watch of Bayhalden Division
Reporting Station: HQ-ART-Alpha
Contact: Royal Dispatch Relay (ARC-ID# 102-A)
She held it like a relic.
One of the children touched the silver seal and whispered, "We're part of the Realm now?"
Kaelin smiled.
"You always were."
As the troopers mounted to return west, Ethan's voice arrived via relay crystal—calm, measured, proud.
"First patrol complete. Confirmed safe contact with unaligned settlement. No deaths. No desertions. The Realm thanks you."
Captain Drayen tucked the relay crystal back into his pouch, then turned to the patrol.
"Arcadia doesn't grow by sword," he said.
"It grows by ride."
And so, the Royal Troopers turned homeward.
With the road—and the Realm—wider behind them.
Segment 5: Returned to Vigil
Crownstead shimmered beneath a late afternoon haze as the patrol crested the final ridge. The city—tight within its 1.12 square-mile span—seemed both distant and familiar. The white towers of the Palace. The slate roofs of Bayhalden Ward. The new banners snapping in wind over Sentinel Hall and the three officially designated patrol stations.
And at the center of it all, the seal of Arcadia—still unbroken.
Kaelin dismounted first as they reached the inner checkpoint. He handed his completed log scroll to a waiting clerk, who took it with reverent care.
"Any breaches?" the clerk asked.
"No breaches," Kaelin said. "Only beginnings."
Captain Drayen assembled the patrol once more outside Crownstead Public Safety Headquarters. The plaza, now used to the return of troopers, had gathered a small crowd—traders, students from the Academy, even a few scribes from Wellsend Ward.
"We have reports," Drayen said to the squad, "we have records. But more than that—we have precedent."
He looked to Trooper Hask, his arm bandaged but firm. "You stood when you were struck."
To Maelin. "You moved when others froze."
And then to Elric Vann, still holding the now-worn oath card Kaelin had given him days ago.
"You remembered why we ride."
Later that evening, a short ceremony was held in the Sentinel Hall rotunda.
Captain Drayen stood beside Ethan, who presented each returning trooper with a ceremonial clasp inscribed with their collar number. Not for dress. Not for display.
But for record.
A new addition to the Officer Registry was authorized:
Patrol Certification – Royal Troopers: Alpha Platoon
Deployment Status: Verified
Route: Crownstead to Greyfen Hamlet
Outcome: Secured
Notation: First successful full-field patrol in Realm history.
Kaelin stepped away from the formation briefly and stood beneath the raised Vigil banner. He looked out across the city—from the rooftops of Hillwatch to the distant glow of Easthold.
Tomorrow, another patrol would ride.
But tonight, they had returned.
Not as soldiers.
Not even as heroes.
But as guards of the peace.
And the Realm slept beneath their watch.