Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution

Chapter 70: Chapter 70: The Prince’s Fragile Side (The Lonely Seventh)

Royal Academy Infirmary – Late Afternoon. After the Final Duel.

Outside, the air was still vibrant with the dying echoes of the Summer Festival. One could hear the distant cheers of students, the rhythmic thumping of music, and the occasional burst of celebratory mana-fireworks. But inside the Royal Infirmary, the world was cast in a heavy, suffocating silence. The long white curtains hung limp, occasionally fluttering like ghosts in the cool afternoon breeze that wafted through the open windows.

Prince Caelus sat on the edge of a pristine white infirmary bed, his posture slumped in a way that would have horrified his etiquette tutors.

He had already shed the golden plate armor that had been his pride—it now lay in a mangled, dented heap in the corner, a metallic testament to his failure. Now, he wore only a white silk shirt, the sleeves of his right arm rolled up to the elbow.

His wrist was a sickening tapestry of bruised purples and angry reds—the violent aftermath of the magnetic recoil from Raphael’s shield. Every pulse of blood through his veins sent a sharp, stinging reminder of the moment his sword had been ripped away like a toy.

But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony of his lacerated pride.

Caelus hung his head low, his meticulously styled blonde hair falling forward to mask his face. He didn’t want to be seen. He didn’t want to be pitied. He had ordered his royal guards and the palace physicians out of the room with a snarl of authority he didn’t truly feel. He wanted to be alone to rot in the shame of losing to a ”Logistics Freshman.”

KREEK.

The heavy oak door of the infirmary creaked open slowly.

Caelus didn’t bother looking up. His voice was a raspy growl. ”I told you to get out! I don’t need your tonics! I don’t need your bandages! Leave me to my own damn company!”

”Not even for a cup of tea?” a soft, melodic voice asked.

Caelus flinched. He knew that voice. He raised his head sharply, his eyes wide.

Raveena Sudrath stood at the entrance, framed by the soft orange glow of the setting sun. She carried a silver tray laden with fresh bandages, a jar of herbal salve, and a single, steaming cup of tea.

”Y-You...” Caelus stammered, quickly turning his face away. He aggressively wiped the corner of his eye with the back of his hand—it was a gesture born of pure, unadulterated frustration, not tears, he told himself. ”What are you doing here? Did you come to laugh? Did you come to tell me I got what I deserved?”

Raveena didn’t offer a witty retort. She moved into the room with the quiet grace of a shadow, pulling up a wooden chair to sit directly opposite the Prince. She set the tray down on the bedside table with a soft chink.

Without asking for permission, she reached out and took Caelus’s bruised right hand.

”Does it hurt?” Raveena asked softly.

Caelus tried to pull his hand away, his royal ego screaming at him to maintain his distance, but the warmth of Raveena’s touch was too grounding to ignore. Her fingers were cool and steady, a stark contrast to the fire burning beneath his skin.

”No,” Caelus lied, his voice barely a whisper. ”I am a Prince. This is merely... a scratch. A minor inconvenience.”

”Liar,” Raveena countered gently. She opened the jar of herbal salve, the sharp, refreshing scent of mint and eucalyptus filling the air. ”The muscles are strained to the point of tearing. You’re lucky the magnetic pull didn’t shatter the bone. Raphael’s devices don’t account for human fragility.”

Caelus hissed as the cold salve touched his inflamed skin. He watched Raveena as she began to meticulously apply the medicine, her movements patient and focused. Her eyelashes were long and dark, and her expression was one of genuine care. There was no mockery in her eyes, no triumph over his defeat. There was only a calm, clinical empathy.

”Why are you being kind to me?” Caelus asked suddenly, his voice cracking with emotion. ”I’ve spent weeks making your brother’s life a living hell. I’ve been arrogant. I’ve been cruel. And in the end... I lost. I’m a failure.”

Raveena finished wrapping the first layer of gauze around his wrist. She looked up, her gaze meeting his turbulent blue eyes.

”Because I have an older brother who used to go into a blind rage whenever he lost a game of chess or a sparring match,” Raveena replied. ”I know the look of someone who isn’t evil, but simply... deeply frustrated.”

Caelus felt the walls he had built around his heart begin to crumble, brick by brick. He let out a hollow, bitter laugh.

”Frustrated? Yes. I suppose that is a polite word for it.”

Caelus looked up at the high ceiling, his gaze distant and hollow.

”Do you know my full name, Raveena? My true title?”

”Caelus Sol-Regis.”

”Caelus Sol-Regis the Seventh,” Caelus corrected her, his tone dripping with self-loathing. ”The seventh child.”

He raised his uninjured hand, counting his fingers as if they were a list of his inadequacies.

”My eldest brother, Leonardo, is the perfect Crown Prince. A master politician who can charm a stone into speaking. My second brother, Marcus, is a War General who rivals your brother Riven in sheer ferocity. My third brother, Cedric, is a genius mage whose elegance is written in the very stars of the kingdom.”

He let his hand fall back onto the bed with a heavy thud.

”And then there is me. Caelus. The youngest son. The ’Spare.’ The backup part in a machine that is already functioning perfectly.”

The Prince’s expression shifted into a look of profound, pathetic emptiness.

”My father, the King, often forgets my name at state dinners. He’ll look toward my end of the table and simply ask the servants: ’Where is the youngest?’ He doesn’t see a person. He sees a redundant variable.”

Raveena listened in silence, the weight of his words settling in her chest. She began to understand.

Why was Caelus so arrogant? Why did he crave attention with such desperation? Why did he relentlessly bully Raphael, who was becoming the most popular student in the Academy?

It was because he was terrified of being forgotten. He created chaos because a scream is harder to ignore than a whisper. He wanted to be the center of the storm because it was the only way he felt alive.

”That’s why I hated your brother,” Caelus continued, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. ”He’s a youngest son too, isn’t he? But look at him... His General brother came to the school just to protect him. His Diplomat brother gives him unlimited funds and guidance. And his beautiful sister...” Caelus looked at Raveena, his gaze intensifying. ”...she came and humbled herself before me just to save him from a beating.”

”He has everything I’ve ever wanted: A family that actually gives a damn.”

Caelus looked down again, his shoulders shaking slightly.

”And now, I’ve lost to him in front of the entire school. Tomorrow, my father will hear the news, and he’ll simply laugh. He’ll tell my brothers: ’You see? The seventh is as useless as we thought.’”

A heavy silence enveloped the room.

Raveena felt her heart ache for him. Behind the golden armor and the insufferable attitude was just a lonely, deeply insecure boy who had been starving for validation his entire life.

Raveena let out a long breath. She couldn’t let him stay in this pit of self-despair. Her protective, maternal instincts—a legacy from Duchess Aurelia—were triggered.

”Your Highness,” Raveena called out.

Caelus didn’t answer.

Raveena reached out, her hand gently cupping Caelus’s cheek. She applied just enough pressure to force him to look at her.

”Listen to me.”

”You didn’t lose to Raphael because you are weak. You lost because you were fighting for a show, for validation from people who don’t matter. Raphael was fighting to protect his dignity and his family’s honor. Purpose always outweighs ego in a fight.”

Raveena offered a thin, firm smile. Her eyes were sharp with resolve.

”You say you are just a spare? Then stop acting like a spare. Stop looking for attention by stepping on others. It only makes you look smaller.”

”Carve your own path. If Leonardo is the politician and Marcus is the warrior... then find what you are. Be something they can never be.”

”Like what?” Caelus asked, his voice thick with desperation. ”A gardener? A jester?”

”How about a Prince that his people actually love?” Raveena suggested. ”Or... a partner for Raphael? You are both stubborn, and you are both clever in your own ways. Imagine what the Academy would look like if you stopped clashing and started building.”

Caelus went still. Partner with Raphael? The idea was repulsive, yet... strangely intriguing. No one had ever suggested he could be an equal to someone, rather than a master or a subordinate.

Raveena released her hand from his face and pushed the cup of tea toward him.

”Drink. It’s Chamomile. It will settle your nerves and help the medicine work.”

Caelus took the cup. He sipped the warm liquid, the floral aroma soothing the tightness in his chest. He watched Raveena through the rising steam.

This girl... she was the only person in his entire life who had ever dared to lecture him, who had seen his deepest vulnerabilities, and yet had not looked down on him. She had looked at the monster he was trying to be and saw the child he actually was.

The obsession that had started as a shallow physical attraction—”She’s beautiful”—was now mutating into something far more profound and dangerous.

Emotional Dependency.

”Raveena,” Caelus said softly.

”Yes?”

”Don’t leave.”

”I have to return to the dormitory, Your Highness. It’s getting late, and the festival is winding down.”

”I mean...” Caelus’s gaze turned sharp, a flicker of his toxic, royal aura returning. ”Don’t go to someone else’s side. Remain the person who lectures me. Remain the person who sees me.”

”If I am ever injured again... you are the only one who is allowed to treat me. No one else.”

Raveena offered a strained, awkward smile. Well, the possessiveness is starting, she thought to herself. But she couldn’t ignore the desperate hope in his eyes.

”As long as you don’t go looking for more ridiculous trouble... my door will always be open for a ’consultation’,” Raveena replied diplomatically.

Caelus smiled. It was a genuine smile this time, though it was slightly unsettling because of the sheer intensity behind it.

”Very well. That is a promise.”

The infirmary door was suddenly kicked open. Raphael Sudrath marched in, still wearing his tactical gear and carrying his winner’s trophy.

”Sister? You’ve been gone forever. Vance is looking for you for the—”

Raphael stopped mid-sentence. He looked at Caelus and Raveena sitting in close proximity. He saw his sister’s hand lingering near the Prince, and he saw Caelus’s bandaged hand.

Raphael’s ”Brother-Protector” instincts flared up instantly.

Wait, this atmosphere... something is definitely not right here.

”Come on, Sis, we’re leaving,” Raphael said, reaching out and grabbing Raveena’s hand to pull her away. He shot a cold, suspicious glare at Caelus. ”Sorry to interrupt, Your Highness, but my sister isn’t your personal nurse. We have a victory party to attend.”

Caelus didn’t get angry. He didn’t even snap back. Instead, he leaned back in his bed, taking a relaxed sip of his tea with a faint smirk on his lips.

”Take her for now, Sudrath. But remember... I lost the bet, didn’t I? Starting tomorrow, I will no longer bother her with my ’bureaucracy.’ I am a man of my word.”

Caelus watched Raveena’s back as she was dragged out of the room by her brother.

”I won’t bother her. I won’t use commands. I will make it so that she is the one who comes to me by her own choice.”

That night, Prince Caelus slept soundly for the first time in years. He had found a new purpose in life:

It wasn’t to become King.

It was to become a man worthy of possessing Raveena Sudrath—by any means necessary.