In the pouring rain, a thick wall was formed, which blocked the connection between people, and even if they were less than a meter apart, they could not touch the hearts of their companions.

Beneath the Arc de Triomphe Wellington, the smallest police station in London, is often ridiculed for being too small, but today it is home to the largest police force in the Metropolitan Police.

More than 300 police officers were temporarily recruited from various parts of the neighborhood and gathered here.

The stuccoed road was lined with barricades, and under the arches were several carriages, weapons borrowed by Officer Tony from the Tower of London Armory at Arthur's behest, with rusty iron shields on one side.

The mud formed by the mixing of the surface of the shield with the rain suggests that these antiques must have been stored for some years, perhaps in the 16th century, or in the 17th century, the Middle Ages, or the Renaissance, and no one knows their true age, and perhaps only the ravens who raised them in the Tower of London and bred them from generation to generation know their origins.

Arthur, with the assistance of several police officers, stepped on the roof of the carriage and leaped onto the platform that had been erected from wooden boxes early in the morning.

Behind him is the towering, nearly 50-meter-high Arc de Triomphe of Wellington, on which the statue of the Duke of Wellington towers like a giant under the sky, like a dark and gloomy sky, bringing a sense of oppression.

The rain washed over and over again on the bronze statue, and the waterfall poured on Arthur's shoulders, but it could not shake his body in the slightest, not because he could withstand the strength of the rain, but because he found that the eyes of many officers below had wavered.

He knew they were reluctant to do the job, and perhaps it would be better to let them go back to patrol in the pouring rain than to let them do it.

But in this emergency, someone has to step up, and Scotland Yard must be ready for the first law and order crackdown since its inception.

Arthur's gaze swept over the eyes of everyone present, his eyes slightly reddened, and he didn't know if it was because of Agareth or because of the rain.

The figure of the Red Devil fluttered behind him, and Arthur's penetrating voice pierced through the rain curtain, vibrating the eardrums of every officer present, whether they were willing or unwilling, the deafening, soul-shaking sound poured directly into their ears.

"My colleagues, every decent police officer at Scotland Yard. I am glad to see you here, brave the heavy rain, brave the muddy roads, the difficult tasks, the long distances, you have been drawn here from various police districts.

With your usual courage and responsibility, you have proved once again why the Metropolitan Police is worthy of the public's trust, the recognition of the Cabinet and Parliament, and every shilling you have ever received.

I, Arthur Hastings, stand here today, as you can see, with a pair of white gloves, a swallow-tailed uniform, no police knife or flintlock pistol, but only a staff of civilization.

I am not ordering you as the Superintendent of the East London Region of Scotland Yard, but as a veteran patrolman who has been on the front line for a year, I would like to talk to you about our past, present and future, the problems we have encountered or will soon encounter! ”

With a roar from Arthur, his clenched fist slammed into the air, his powerful arms piercing through the rain with a thud that seemed to shatter the air.

A thunderclap was heard, lightning pierced the gloomy sky of London, and everything was plunged into darkness, and the only thing that could be seen in the eyes of more than 300 Scotland Yard officers was the statue of the Duke of Wellington illuminated by lightning and the sparkling red eyes that were covered in the black shadow of the statue.

Arthur's figure seems to overlap with the Duke of Wellington, and it seems that the statue standing under the Arc de Triomphe at this time is not Arthur Hastings, Superintendent of Scotland Yard, but Arthur Wellesley, the Duke of Wellington, who is galloping on the battlefield of Waterloo.

A few retired superintendents from the army who followed Arthur only felt goosebumps all over their bodies, and they couldn't help but subconsciously burst out with a foul language, not an insult, but an expression of feelings.

“Holy Shit！”

The officers present all took a deep breath, their panicked hearts slowly calmed down, and each of their eyes fell on Arthur, even when praying in the church, they had never paid as much attention as they did now.

Although the rain was heavy and the water was pouring down, they could no longer hear the noise, all they could hear was the beating of their own hearts and the thunderous voice of Arthur.

"We are not thugs, nor accomplices, but a former shoemaker, blacksmith, carpenter, groom, hut maker, assembler, builder, baker, unemployed worker and landless peasant!

We come from all over the world, from all over the world, and we are English, Scottish, Welsh, and Irish, but at the end of the day we are all members of the British public and the people!

The words in the "Police Instruction" are not fucking farting, the phrase 'the police are the public, and the public is the police' is neither to draw a pie for you, nor to make the public let down their guard against us!

It's because, before putting on this tuxedo, we were really fucking ordinary people who were no different from the public marching today!

The relationship between the public and the police was established as early as the Winchester Act of 1285, when the sheriff was selected from the public and the citizens of the parish were of good character and good behavior in turn, and this tradition continues to this day!

That's why I see so many strong, kind, upright young men standing here!

Today, we are going to suppress a demonstration by a group of workers, and I am not shy about talking about the purpose of our actions, and I understand the resistance that exists in your hearts to a greater or lesser extent.

I know you have doubts about today's actions, but I must also repeat here the efforts that the government is making to improve the living conditions of workers.

In 1802, our immediate boss, Sir Robert Peel, father of Home Secretary Sir Robert Peel, asked Parliament to pass an Apprentice Health and Morals Act, the first factory law in the history of Britain and the world to protect workers' rights!

It stipulates that apprentices should not work more than 12 hours a day, improve the sanitary and ventilation conditions of the factory, and require that each apprentice receive at least one of the reading, writing, or arithmetic education during the working day and business hours.

In 1815, Sir Robert Peel Sr. proposed an amendment to extend the scope of controlled factories to the hardest hit areas of abusive child labor such as cotton, wool and flax, which strictly stipulated that child laborers under the age of 18 should not work more than ten and a half hours a day, and ordered factory owners to provide one and a half hours of reading, writing and arithmetic education for child laborers in the first four years of working in the factory.

In 1819, textile mills were forbidden to employ children under the age of 9, and all factories under the age of 16 were not allowed to work more than 12 hours a day, and factories had to arrange a half-hour breakfast time and a one-hour dinner time.

Yes, you may say that these laws are not really working because they are not properly regulated and therefore not strongly enforced.

That's right! That's why workers took to the streets to protest.

I don't mean to defend the government, I just want to make it clear that the British Cabinet is still functioning and that it is still changing the law.

Because everyone understands that our police at Scotland Yard are not allowed to have political positions, and the purpose of our existence is only to help the society create a good environment for normal communication, not only to let the workers have a voice, but also not to let the workers break through our defenses and lead to the dispatch of the military and police after the situation gets out of control!

The workers were not sent back to destroy freedom, nor to protect this soulless sculpture behind me, because everyone understood that this triumphal arch had another nickname, it was called the 'Arch of the Constitution'!

Scotland Yard was founded on the basis that we worked so far and for so many hours every day, in order to preserve the constitutional tradition and social order that had been passed down since the bloodless 'Glorious Revolution' of 1688!

If we allow the situation to continue to expand, we may witness bloodshed after bloodshed, and we will take responsibility for rejecting the repetition of history!

We can't allow the next Peterloo massacre, the St. Georgefield massacre, the Gordon riots, or the fucking Catholic queen riots!

Our mission is, is, and will continue to be to protect the property and lives of the public!

Many members of the public think, and even many of us ourselves, that Scotland Yard is just an organization that has been around for more than a year, that our law enforcement is nowhere to be found, and that our style is brutal and ruthless!

They think that we are nothing more than a violent machine that exists to deal with the public, to squeeze the living space of petty traders, workers, prostitutes and a group of poor people!

They call us 'Blue Devils', 'Lobster Claws', 'Peel's Accomplices', 'The French Gendarmerie of England', 'The Murderous Praetorian Guard of the Government'!

Most of the headlines on the news about us Scotland Yard officers are 'brutal', 'tyrannical', 'ferocious' and 'thug'!

But here today, right here, we are going to make it clear to the public and to the whole of Great Britain that they are wrong, they are outrageously wrong!! ”

Another thunderbolt, as lightning streaked across the sky, rain dripped down the jaws of more than three hundred officers, the sky was still gloomy, but at least there was some light in their eyes.

They stood in a straight line of fifteen, and in the aisle left in the middle of the line, Officer Tony was handing out the old-looking shields to them one by one.

The weight of the shield was so heavy that it weighed down on their shoulders, but the shield in their hands was heavy, and the stone in their hearts was lighter.

Several of the Scottish Yard superintendents looked at the approaching crowd of demonstrators in the distance, perhaps because the lightning had ignited the pent-up enthusiasm in their hearts, or perhaps they thought that the barricades placed in front of them were a provocation to them.

The people who have lost their minds have been smashing the windows of roadside shops and besieging nearby police.

The sound of thumping glass, cries of horror and rage shattered the already fragile and delicately balanced environment.

A policeman was pushed to the ground, and in an instant, four or five workers surrounded him and punched and kicked him, and the enraged policemen, after enduring it for a while, finally couldn't help but start pulling out the civilized staff on their waists to fight back.

After a while, the demonstrators and police were seen bleeding from their heads, the blood reflecting the workers' single clothes and the policemen's blue tuxedos, as well as the gray water on the ground, which could not be distinguished from clean and dirty.

Several superintendents spat at the ground, and one after another drew their civilization staffs, intending to use them as command staffs.

They glanced at the Scotland Yard officers, who had been equipped with shields and formed a phalanx, and several superintendents grinned.

"Fuck, it feels more exciting than fighting. Superintendent Hastings is also quite morale-boosting. ”

"After all, they're all called Arthur, so they have to have a little bit of the charm of the Duke of Wellington, right?"

"The shield with the command scepter is a bit like the Middle Ages."

"Less nonsense, going on?"

Several superintendents glanced at each other, then turned around in unison, and saluted Arthur in the heavy rain: "The London Metropolitan Police Force, the police forces of all districts and branches, all have been reorganized, commander, please give orders!" ”

Arthur glanced at the crowd in the distance, took a deep breath, his neck bursting with bruises, and his voice penetrated every eardrum and glass present.

"Listen to me! The major districts lined up, in a zigzag formation, running forward, impacting the demonstrator team, and compressing the demonstrator crowd! Anyone who commits violent acts will be arrested and free to use weapons such as civilized rods and shields! ”

As soon as Arthur gave the order, the whistles of several superintendents of the London Metropolitan Police Force immediately replaced the thunder as the sharpest and harshest sound in the field.

"Follow the whistle and run forward in small steps!"

Beep, beep, beep......

Under the command of the superintendents, the police phalanx moved forward slightly awkwardly, holding iron shields and rubbing shoulders against shoulders, not at first adaptable, but after a brief adjustment, they soon took a fragmented, neat stride.

At first, the whistle was slow, but as we got closer to the crowd, the superintendent's whistle suddenly became loud and urgent.

Beep beep beep !!

"Impact !!"

Accompanied by the shouts of the superintendents, the police phalanx was like a waving brick crashing into the demonstrators, and the unorganized and unprepared workers were stumbled by them, and the front team wanted to retreat, but the rear team did not understand what was happening.

It's like a sandwich, they're all huddled together.

But a panicked shout of 'the police are out' soon sparked panic and confusion in the demonstrations.

With the rods of civilization whipped on their heads like whips, some workers wanted to flee, and some workers wanted to resist.

In Arthur's eyes, he saw only a man in a short-sleeved shirt who had been beaten and bleeding from the side of his face, pointing his finger at him from a distance.

Just as Arthur saw him, so did Agares, who was riding on the head of the statue of Wellington.

The Red Devil furrowed his brow, and he snapped his fingers with a wicked grin, and the man's voice suddenly amplified in Arthur's ears.

Arthur was stunned, no one knew what he had heard, they only saw Arthur's hand groping for something in his pocket.

His throat was dry and itchy, and he wanted to smoke something, but he fumbled for a while before he suddenly remembered that he had given Tony what he had placed there.

Those who watched him around him might have thought he was startled by the rumbling thunder and lightning, while the citizens of London who stood by the windows of the road and watched thought he was amazed by the bloody and violent scene.

After losing his mind, the young superintendent of Scotland Yard was seen not saying anything, but standing there alone, just under the statue of Wellington, like a shadow that no one cared about.

Arthur raised his hand and wiped his rain-stained face, he didn't make any expression, and he didn't know what to make.

He just couldn't forget the desperate roar of the man with the bloody face before he fell to the ground.

It's like a condemnation from the soul, and it's like a scream from hell.

- Fuck you, you've betrayed the working class!

Agareth gently flipped through the parchment pages in his hand and slowly pushed his glasses.

The devil smiled and whispered, "Arthur...... Maybe you're right, that's your destiny to be king. Struggle or pain, all this, are you not to blame? ”

(End of chapter)