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

Chapter 85: Chapter 85: The Prince’s Visit (Asylum in the Far North)

Main Gate of Iron Hearth Castle – Northreach. 09:00 AM.

The Citadel of Northreach had undergone a metamorphosis that defied the conventional laws of architectural evolution. The old, weathered timber gates that once guarded a dusty mining town were now a memory of a distant, cruder past. In their place stood a monolithic ten-meter-high structure forged from a specialized Titanium-Steel alloy, its surface seamless and pulsating with a faint, rhythmic azure light. This was the result of Rianor’s latest integration—a defensive perimeter woven with high-frequency Mana-sensors capable of detecting a single foreign soul within a five-mile radius.

Perched atop the newly reinforced sentinel towers, automated Magitech Howitzers pivoted with mechanical grace, their long muzzles scanning the vast, white horizon of the snow-covered plains. The air here didn’t just feel cold; it felt electrified, heavy with the silent hum of power and the scent of ozone.

Garrick, the Gate Commander who had stood by House Sudrath since the desperate days of the debt crisis, was currently savoring a mug of steaming black coffee. His gaze was fixed on a monitor display when the high-pitched chirp of the foreign-object alarm cut through the morning silence.

”Object approaching from the western trail. Single horse-drawn carriage. No official heraldry detected,” a guard’s voice crackled through the crystal-embedded walkie-talkie.

Garrick’s brow furrowed. The western trail was a treacherous, winding path used almost exclusively by smugglers or those desperate to avoid the prying eyes of the Royal Patrols on the main highway. He set his mug down, straightened his silver-plated breastplate, and descended to the gate’s demarcation line.

Out of the swirling morning mist, a carriage emerged, and it was a sight of absolute misery. The left wheel groaned with a rhythmic, pained limp, the dark wood of the chassis was caked in layers of frozen mud, and the two horses pulling it looked as though they were on the precipice of total biological collapse. Their coats were matted with frost, and their breath came in thick, ragged clouds of steam. Had it not been for the sheer quality of the steeds—clearly a high-pedigree military breed—Garrick would have mistaken it for a peasant’s vegetable cart that had lost its way.

The carriage shuddered to a halt exactly ten meters before the heavy barrier. A middle-aged man climbed down from the driver’s seat. His royal servant’s attire was tattered and stained by the road, and his face was masked by a thick layer of dust. Yet, despite his disheveled appearance, he stood with a spine as straight as a spear and a chin that refused to drop. His eyes, sharp and alert, betrayed the fact that he was no mere coachman.

It was Ramirez.

”Halt!” Garrick bellowed, gesturing for his squad to level their Magitech spears. The tips of the weapons hummed, glowing with a soft amber light. ”Identify yourselves and state your business in Northreach! This is restricted territory!”

Ramirez took a measured step forward. His hands were empty of weapons; instead, he held a small gold medallion embossed with a rising sun—the personal sigil of the Aethelgardian direct royal bloodline.

”I am Ramirez, senior personal aide to the Seventh Prince,” his voice was hoarse, gravelly from the cold, yet it resonated with an undeniable authority. ”We humbly request an immediate audience with Duke Lucian Sudrath. This is a matter of life and death involving a member of the Crown.”

The guards exchanged bewildered glances. A Prince? In Northreach? Without an escort or a formal diplomatic herald? The absurdity of the claim felt like a trap, yet the sigil was authentic.

Just as the tension reached a breaking point, a melodic, calm voice drifted from the inner courtyard.

”Ramirez? Is that truly you?”

Raveena Sudrath was walking back from her daily meditation in the Magic Tower. She wore a heavy cloak of sky-blue wool that perfectly matched the depth of her eyes. At sixteen, Raveena had blossomed from the curious girl who played with mana-shards into a refined, powerful mage. Her movements were graceful, yet she carried a sharp, intellectual edge that made her presence felt even before she spoke.

She approached the gate, her eyes widening as she took in the sight of the haggard Ramirez.

”Raveena... I mean, Lady Raveena,” Ramirez bowed deeply, his head lowering in a gesture of profound respect. ”Gods be praised that you are the one to greet us.”

”What has happened? Why are you in this state? And where is...” Raveena’s sentence hung in the air as the damaged carriage door creaked open with a pained, metallic groan.

A young man stepped out into the biting wind. He was wrapped in a traveling cloak that was torn at the hem and frayed at the collar. The face that had once been the picture of royal arrogance and impeccable grooming was now deathly pale, marked by dark hollows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and unrelenting fear. His blonde hair was a matted mess, and he was trembling—not just from the Northern chill, but from a deep, internal tremor of the soul.

Prince Caelus.

Raveena stood frozen. The Prince who had been her brother’s rival, the boy who had served as Raphael’s Vice President in the academy, the one who always insisted on perfection... he stood before her now like a stray kitten caught in a monsoon.

”Caelus?” she whispered, her voice laced with disbelief.

Caelus looked up. As his eyes met Raveena’s, the last of his royal defenses crumbled. He didn’t try to sneer. He didn’t attempt a witty, tsundere retort. He simply stared at her with a hollow, desperate gaze that was a silent scream for help.

”Raveena... I... I had nowhere else to go,” Caelus’s voice broke. He took a stumbling step forward, his knees buckling. If Ramirez hadn’t been quick enough to catch him, the Seventh Prince of Aethelgard would have collapsed face-first into the cold Northreach snow.

A surge of sympathy washed over Raveena. She remembered their tea in the rose garden, his confession about being the ’forgotten’ son, the ’spare’ part of the dynasty. Her maternal instincts, inherited from Duchess Aurelia, flared to life. Protocol be damned.

”Garrick! Open the gates! Now!” Raveena commanded, her voice ringing with the authority of the House Sudrath bloodline.

”But Lady, the Duke must be informed first—”

”I will take full responsibility! Bring them into the underground medical wing immediately! They are suffering from exhaustion and mana-depletion! Move!”

The Throne Room – Iron Hearth Castle. 30 Minutes Later.

The atmosphere inside the main hall had shifted into a high-pressure energy field. Duke Lucian Sudrath sat upon his high-backed throne, his fingers steepled beneath his chin, his expression an unreadable mask of granite. Beside him stood Sir Riven Sudrath, who looked significantly less than pleased.

Riven was clad in his full black-plate combat armor, the massive, rune-etched battleaxe leaning against the wall behind him. His aura as the ”Northern Lion” filled the room, making even the shadows seem to shrink away. He had been interrupted while trying to put Kael to sleep, and the fact that his domestic peace had been shattered by capital politics had put him into a ”Massacre General” state of mind.

The heavy oak doors swung open. Ramirez entered first, guiding a trembling Caelus who was now wrapped in a thick wool blanket and had been forced to drink one of Elena’s potent stamina elixirs.

They stopped ten paces before the Duke. Ramirez immediately dropped to one knee, while Caelus struggled to remain upright, his breath hitching.

”Duke Lucian Sudrath,” Ramirez’s voice echoed through the vaulted ceiling. ”We owe our lives to your family’s hospitality. However, we come not as diplomatic guests. We come to petition for political asylum.”

Lucian remained motionless, his wise eyes dissecting Caelus. ”A Seventh Prince of the blood flees the Capital without the King’s leave, bypasses the territories of other Great Dukes in secret, and appears at my doorstep looking like a common mendicant. Do you understand the implications for House Sudrath, Ramirez? This could be interpreted as the kidnapping of a royal or an act of high treason against the Crown.”

”My father...” Caelus finally spoke, his voice thin and shaky. ”The King has formally instructed my betrothal to a daughter of House Solari. They seek to unite the capital’s pure magic bloodlines to... to ’balance’ the rising influence of the Sudrath family.”

Riven let out a sharp, guttural snort that sounded like a predator’s growl. ”So the King wants to use you as a pawn to encircle us from within? And you fled here because you didn’t want to be a political groom?”

Caelus turned his gaze toward Riven. His old fear resurfaced for a fleeting second, but it was replaced by a new, hardened resolve. ”It is more than that, Sir Riven. House Solari... they are planning a ’purification’ of the Royal Academy. they despise the scholarship students Raphael has recruited. They view your technology as heresy, a stain on the ’divine’ nature of Mana. If I had remained, I would have been forced to sign the arrest warrants for Raphael’s closest allies. I would have been the hand that crushed everything we built.”

At the mention of his younger brother, Riven’s murderous aura subsided, replaced by a cold, calculating interest.

”I refused,” Caelus continued, his eyes burning with a sudden fire. ”I would rather be branded a pariah prince, a ghost of the North, than destroy the only place where I felt I actually mattered.”

Lucian stood up from his throne. The heavy thud of his boots on the marble floor resonated through the hall. He walked toward Caelus, stopping directly in front of him. Lucian towered over the Prince, exerting a pressure that was more elegant, yet far more intimidating, than Riven’s brute force.

”Why Northreach, Prince?” Lucian asked, his voice a low, chilling vibration. ”Why not flee to the West or the maritime cities of the South?”

Caelus swallowed hard. He glanced toward the doorway, where Raveena stood watching with an anxious expression alongside Rumina.

”Because here... is the only place left in the world where a man is judged not by who his father is, but by what he is capable of doing,” Caelus answered firmly. ”And because... despite everything... I believe in the integrity of this family.”

A long, agonizing silence descended. Caelus felt as though he were standing on trial before the Gods.

”Riven,” Lucian called out without turning.

”Yes, Father?”

”Prepare the guest pavilion in the hidden wing. Station ten of our elite knights to guard it. Let not a single sparrow from the capital know that a Prince sleeps within our walls. Treat his presence as a Level Black security secret.”

Riven’s eyebrows shot up. ”Father? We are truly harboring him? This will trigger the King’s absolute fury.”

Lucian turned to his eldest son, a thin, enigmatic smile playing on his lips. ”The King is currently drowning in his own intrigues. If he loses his favorite pawn, that is his failure, not mine. Here in Northreach, we do not surrender those who seek our protection. Furthermore...” Lucian glanced at Raveena. ”...we do not turn away those who seem so precious to my daughter.”

Raveena’s face instantly flared a brilliant crimson. ”Father! It is not like that!”

Caelus looked equally flustered, but a small, flickering light of hope appeared in his tired eyes.

”Ramirez,” Lucian called.

”Yes, Your Grace?”

”Ensure you bathe. You look like a war refugee, and Northreach maintains a high standard of hygiene,” Lucian said, his tone softening into a rare moment of dry humor.

”Thank you, Duke. My loyalty to the Prince is now also a debt of blood to House Sudrath,” Ramirez replied with sincere, profound gratitude.

As they were guided out of the hall, Riven stepped into Caelus’s path. He leaned down, whispering directly into the Prince’s ear in a voice that only the boy could hear.

”Do not think that because you are under our roof, you can relax, brat. Tomorrow morning, you will meet me on the training field. I have many ways to ensure you never dare to hurt my sister... or attempt to run from your responsibilities again. Welcome to the North. Try not to die.”

Caelus shivered. The welcome in Northreach was indeed warm, but it was the warmth of a fire that was ready to consume anyone who was not careful.

From the shadows of a massive pillar, Roland—who had just arrived from the border—watched the scene with a smirk. He had predicted this move. The ’Caelus Variable’ had entered his game board. Now, he had one more trump card to play against the pressures of the capital.

”Welcome to the circus, Prince,” Roland murmured under his breath.

Outside, the snow began to fall again, silently covering the tracks of Caelus’s broken carriage. A great secret was now locked within the walls of Iron Hearth, a secret that would serve as the fuse for the political explosion to come.