Building a Modern Nation in a Fantasy World-Chapter 53: The Interview

By the time the sun hovered just above the horizon, the square was packed to the brim. The cold had given way to the steady warmth of the rising sun, yet the tension in the air remained thick and heavy.

At about 8:20 a.m., the recruiters finally arrived. Ten of them in total, dressed in dark blue cloaks adorned with the royal crest of Keldoria. They moved with purpose, setting up their tables and checking thick ledgers, their expressions sharp and unreadable.

The crowd stirred. People straightened their backs, adjusted their clothes, and stood taller—everyone trying to look their best despite the exhaustion of standing for hours.

Elric stole a glance behind him. His heart sank at the sheer number of people still gathering. "Must be at least three hundred by now… maybe more," he muttered under his breath.

"Looks like we weren’t the only early risers," Bram whispered with a nervous chuckle.

Soon, the line began to move—slowly but surely, inch by inch—as the recruiters worked in pairs to assess each hopeful applicant. The process was meticulous, more thorough than Elric had expected. One recruiter asked questions while the other scribbled notes into a massive ledger.

The hours crawled by, the sun now high in the sky, casting long shadows across the square. The closer Elric got, the tighter the knot in his stomach grew. His palms were clammy, and every step forward felt heavier than the last.

Finally, it was his turn.

Two recruiters greeted him—a stern woman with sharp eyes and a man with graying hair, both radiating an air of authority.

"State your name," the woman said curtly.

"Elric. Elric Thorn." His voice was steady, though his heart hammered in his chest.

The man nodded and began scribbling. The woman continued. "Past occupation?"

"Tanner," Elric answered. "Worked for nearly fifteen years."

"Income?"

Elric hesitated. "About 2-4 silver coins a month."

The woman’s expression didn’t change as she fired off the next round of questions. "Family members? List their names, ages, and whether they work or not. If they do, state their occupation."

Elric blinked, momentarily stunned. "All of them?"

"All of them. Including your siblings."

Swallowing hard, he complied. "My wife, Maria. Thirty-six, work part time as servant for a wealthier merchant. Two children Laina, ten years old and Jaren, three years old. My sister, Lysa, she’s thirty-two, works as a weaver at the market…"

The questions kept coming, each one digging deeper. They asked about his friends, his workmates from the tannery—"Names and occupations?"—even though Elric couldn’t understand why such details mattered.

Then came the questions about his health.

"Any injuries, illnesses, or chronic conditions?"

"None that I know of," Elric answered, his voice growing tight.

Every answer was carefully written down, every detail recorded with precision. Elric could feel the weight of their scrutiny with every scribble of the quill.

When the questioning finally ended, the recruiters leaned in toward each other, speaking in hushed tones, occasionally glancing at Elric as they discussed their evaluation. Time stretched unbearably long as the two seemed to deliberate every aspect of his life.

Elric stood there, shifting his weight anxiously, the silence pressing down on him harder than any tannery workload ever had.

Finally, the woman turned back to him, her expression unchanged.

"You’ve passed the first stage of evaluation," she said, her voice clipped and professional. "Proceed to the next stage. Follow the signs ahead, and wait for further instructions."

Elric blinked, the words taking a moment to sink in. "I… passed?"

"Yes," the man confirmed with a nod. "Move along. The next test awaits."

A rush of relief surged through Elric’s chest, though it was quickly overshadowed by a new wave of uncertainty. He turned toward Bram, but he was still talking to the recruiter.

Taking a deep breath, Elric moved forward.

Elric followed the directions through a narrow stone corridor that opened into a large courtyard. About fifty others were already there, scattered in small groups, faces drawn tight with exhaustion and nerves.

He waited for a while and scanned the crowd instinctively, searching for Bram—but there was no sign of him. "Maybe he didn’t make it through…" Elric thought, the realization weighing on him more than he expected.

As more applicants trickled in, the group swelled. By the time the last of the candidates arrived, there were roughly one hundred and fifty people gathered.

Before anyone could speak, three figures emerged from a side entrance. All attention snapped toward them.

The recruiters were clad in dark blue robes stitched with silver thread, and each wore an insignia of the royal stag pinned over their heart. Their presence commanded immediate silence.

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The middle recruiter—a tall woman with steel-gray hair and sharp eyes—stepped forward. Her voice rang out clearly, cutting through the heavy air.

"Congratulations on passing the first interview. But be warned—this is the second and final interview." She let the words settle before continuing. "Those who pass will be hired. The rest… will be dismissed immediately."

A tense silence followed. Elric could feel the weight of every heartbeat around him, as if the entire group was holding its breath.

"This test is simple," another recruiter said, a burly man with a voice like rolling thunder. "We will assess your physical strength and endurance. You’ll lift, carry, and demonstrate your ability to handle hard labor. Only those who meet the standard will move forward."

The trials began swiftly. One by one, the applicants were called forward to lift heavy sacks of grain, carry iron weights across the courtyard, and perform grueling endurance tasks under sharp-eyed scrutiny.

When Elric’s turn came, his heart thudded painfully in his chest. But he steeled himself. Years of tanning had hardened his body more than most would expect. The stench, the hauling of soaked hides, and the relentless labor had forged him into something stronger than he looked.

"Begin," one of the recruiters ordered.

Elric gripped the heavy sack in front of him and hoisted it upward. His muscles strained, but he held firm. He carried the weight across the designated path and returned without stumbling.

Then came the iron weights—twice as heavy as the sacks. His arms screamed in protest, but Elric bit down and pushed through, every step fueled by the thought of leaving the tanner’s pits behind forever.

When it was over, sweat soaked through his shirt, and every muscle burned. But he stood tall, refusing to show weakness.

The recruiters whispered amongst themselves, nodding occasionally.

"You pass," one finally announced.

Relief washed over him like a wave.

Soon after, those who succeeded—barely eighty people out of the original hundred and fifty—were escorted toward the towering silhouette of Eldoria Palace.

The grandeur of the palace loomed above them, its marble walls gleaming under the sunlight. The air grew thick with awe as the group was led through gilded gates and into a grand hall.

Inside, they stood before an ornately carved table where palace officials waited. The recruiter stepped forward once more.

"You are now required to sign a magic contract. This will bind your silence and loyalty to King Arthur’s service. Breaking this vow will crush your heart and die on the spot."

Elric swallowed hard but didn’t hesitate. The parchment shimmered faintly with an otherworldly glow. As he placed his hand upon it and spoke his name, a soft pulse of magic sealed the contract. It was done.

Once everyone had signed, they were led deeper into the palace. The corridors were lined with polished stone and intricate tapestries, every inch radiating power and authority.

Finally, they entered a vast chamber where King Arthur himself awaited them.

The room fell deathly silent. Without hesitation, every person in the room dropped to one knee, heads bowed low in reverence.

Elric’s heart pounded as he knelt, the enormity of the moment crashing down on him.

"You may all rise," Arthur’s voice echoed through the grand hall—calm, powerful, and undeniable. His presence alone demanded attention, every word carrying the weight of authority.

"From this moment forward, you serve the crown. Your duty will be to assist in weapon production and essential labor for the kingdom’s defense."

He paused, letting the gravity of his words settle over the group.

"You are now part of the Keldoria Department of Defense and Technology— KDDT."

Arthur’s gaze swept across the room, sharp and unwavering.

"Let this be clear: speaking of your work outside these walls is forbidden. Not even your family may know of your duties. Breaking this silence will cost you your life."

The air grew heavier, the weight of the contract they had signed pressing down on every soul present.

"In return for your service, your compensation will be generous— ten to twelve silver coins per month, depending on performance."

A murmur of surprise rippled through the crowd—such a wage was more than most could dream of.

Arthur’s voice cut through the noise like a blade. "Half of you will be assigned to the production of black powder. The rest will assist the blacksmiths, engineers and other officials in producing the weapons I have personally designed."

His eyes narrowed, "Do I make myself clear?"

A chorus of voices answered in unison. "Yes, Your Majesty!"

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Not part of the story,

I will be using Black Powder instead of Gun powder so many won’t be confuse with smokeless powder which is also called that gun powder:)