A Call Beyond Littlefoot
The letter came sealed in deep red wax, stamped with the Ministry of Justice's tri-scale insignia—one scale for law, one for truth, one for ethics. The message was brief but heavy:
> Instruction Notice: Marquis Jacob of Law, you are hereby ordered to the Eastern Region to conduct a full ethics investigation into regional judicial bodies, report all corruptions and irregularities, and assist in the restructuring of their legal systems.
Joseline read it beside him, lips tightening.
> "They're testing how far your influence stretches," she murmured. "The East is rigid, corrupt, and proud. They've always been untouched."
David clapped him on the back with a grin, his blade strapped lazily to his back.
> "Just don't start a war before I get there."
Jacob, quiet as ever, simply nodded.
> "Justice has no walls."
---
Into the East
The Eastern Region was a land of ancient academies, misty river valleys, and courts that had not changed their procedures since the Second Dynasty.
Officials in jade robes sneered politely, trying to undermine Jacob with tradition, confusion, and red tape.
But the moment he stepped into the court archive, he transformed the chaos. Files were reordered. Hearings were reopened. Whistleblowers appeared, inspired by rumors of the Marquis of Law who read every document and judged no title sacred.
Jacob began his investigation.
And then the murders began.
---
The Cult in Crimson Silence
Three judges died mysteriously. A clerk vanished. A young woman was found raving about "eyes in the ink."
The deeper Jacob looked, the more he unearthed signs of an ancient order—one the East whispered of in terrified riddles.
The Crimson Silence.
A cult buried so deeply in the Eastern elite that some believed it a myth. Others feared it was the true government.
One night, Jacob walked alone through the magistrate's garden.
He sensed it before he saw it—six men in red-threaded black cloaks, their eyes veiled, blades dripping with a sickly dark resin.
Their leader stepped forward, hissing:
> "You should have stayed in your little county, Lawman."
Jacob didn't speak. He only drew his blade.
A moment passed. The moon caught his steel.
Then—he moved.
Not like a bureaucrat. Not like a swordsman.
But like a storm, trained in a style no academy recognized. Swift, exact, and unrelenting.
He disarmed the first two in a single spin. Parried the third. His sword hummed, glowing faintly. The fifth man fell, eyes wide in disbelief before collapsing.
The leader hissed again—but before he could strike, Jacob's sword was at his throat.
> "You bleed," Jacob said softly, "like any other coward hiding behind shadows."
They fled, leaving behind strange marks and a shattered ritual dagger.
---
A New Reputation
News spread. Not just of Jacob's reforms, but his unmatched swordplay—whispers of a technique older than the Empire itself. Of a man who chased law across regions and shadows.
The Eastern courts, ashamed and awed, knelt reluctantly to his reforms. The worst were imprisoned. A new generation was promoted.
On his last day in the East, a child handed him a folded piece of parchment. Inside were four words, written in crude ink:
> "We believe in law."
Jacob folded it into his coat, just above his heart.
Jacob had only been out of the Eastern Region for six weeks when the invitations came.
At first, he assumed it was resistance. After all, the East was known for its fiercely independent counties, each ruled by proud lords and ancient families. But the wax seals and the language in the letters told a different story—not defiance, but hope.
The Eastern Seven—the major counties of Ironfen, Bristlehall, Vareen, Northshroud, Dalenfort, Hearthmere, and Kesselrun—had convened in the ancient city of Vel Aran, where they formally requested the presence of Marquis Jacob of Law.
The reason?
> "We have watched what you've done in the South. How you turned forgotten counties into a foundation of the Empire," said Lady Myra of Bristlehall, the eldest among them. "We need that here."
> "Our legal systems are fractured," Lord Renn from Ironfen added. "Our people grow bitter with each other, and worse—with us. We need unity. We need law that people can believe in."
Jacob listened carefully.
> "I can offer judicial structure," he said with careful humility, "but I am no scholar of education or finance, no architect of welfare or grain policy."
> "Then bring those who are," said Lord Kessel. "Name the ones you trust. We will offer them honor and seat."
---
Summoning a Council of Minds
Jacob sent out letters—not as a marquis, but as a man aware of his limits.
He wrote to:
Joseline Ace, requesting her help to identify administrative experts from the Ministry's network;
A headmaster from Littlefoot's learning academy, to propose a plan for standardizing education law;
An engineer from Solmar, to begin drafting a shared public works blueprint;
A healer from the southern herbalist guild, to advise on rural medical access;
And, of course, David, who arrived three days later and immediately declared,
> "Who let you come out here without me? You're barely half as charming when I'm not around."
---
The Eastern Pact
At the great hall of Vel Aran, before the stone thrones of the Seven Counties, Jacob stood with his advisors. Together, they proposed what would become the Eastern Pact of Unified Rule.
Where the Southern Charter had emphasized judicial stability, the Eastern Pact would balance law, welfare, education, public works, and inter-county accountability.
A union that was not simply legal—but civic.
It took six weeks of argument, compromise, and heated debate. But on the 42nd day, each Eastern Lord pressed their seal to the golden scroll.
A second State within the Empire was born—The Eastern Concord, with its own charter, courts, and council of commissioners.
---
A New Role for Jacob
Though Jacob would retain his title as Marquis of Law, the Ministry of Justice issued a formal letter granting him Interregional Authority, allowing him to oversee and facilitate the formation of allied states and regional charters under Imperial Law—anywhere within the Empire.
But Jacob, ever grounded, left the final gathering with only one concern.
> "We must never forget," he told his council, "that all this—titles, scrolls, decrees—only matters if the common citizen feels safer, heard, and seen."