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

Chapter 86: Chapter 86: Riven vs Caelus – The Lion’s Test

Rear Training Grounds – Iron Hearth Castle. 06:30 AM.

A spectral mist, thin and bone-chilling, clung to the frozen earth of Northreach, swirling around the rows of practice mannequins that bore the jagged scars of Magitech ballistics. The morning air was a sharp blade against the skin, yet in the center of the desolate field, a man stood bare-chested, his skin radiating a faint steam as the heat of his massive body met the sub-zero atmosphere.

General Riven Sudrath was not engaged in his usual morning routine of pulverizing boulders or swinging his ten-ton axe. Instead, he was occupied with a mission far more treacherous, one that required a level of patience he had never been trained for: soothing Young Master Kaelven Sudrath Junior, who was currently waging a vocal war against the world due to the onset of teething.

The sight was a grotesque study in contrasts. Riven, a man whose roar could shatter the morale of a battalion and who had personally dismantled ancient monsters with his bare hands, was currently wearing a vibrant, sky-blue baby carrier strapped across his broad, scarred chest. The carrier—a prototype from Rumina’s latest textile line—looked absurdly small against Riven’s Herculean frame. The infant, possessing the same tufts of black hair and fierce eyes as his father, was currently pulling at a jagged scar on Riven’s shoulder with his tiny, gums-aching grip. The General could only let out a long, weary sigh of resignation, his ”Northern Lion” persona momentarily defeated by a four-month-old.

Hesitant, rhythmic footsteps echoed from the stone corridor. Prince Caelus appeared, flanked by the ever-stoic Ramirez. The Prince looked remarkably refreshed after his first full night of sleep in a week, his skin no longer gray from exhaustion. He wore borrowed training clothes—a simple linen shirt and trousers that felt heavy compared to his usual royal silks. However, the moment his eyes locked onto Riven’s silhouette, his knees underwent a sudden, involuntary tremor.

The memories of the Royal Academy—of Riven looming over him while casually chewing on street snacks while threatening his very existence—played in his mind like a recurring nightmare.

”Halt right there, brat,” Riven’s voice was a low, vibrating rumble that seemed to emanate from the earth itself. He didn’t even turn around. ”Do not come a single inch closer. The scent of that expensive capital perfume you’re wearing might wake my son. And I promise you, if he wakes up and starts crying again, I will ensure you run ten consecutive laps around the entire Northreach perimeter without a single breath of rest.”

Caelus froze mid-step, his foot hovering over a patch of frost. Ramirez offered a silent, respectful bow. ”Good morning, Sir Riven. Prince Caelus has arrived as per your request from last evening.”

Riven turned slowly, the movement fluid and predatory. His face was a mask of rugged ferocity, shadowed by a thin layer of unshaven stubble. His aura was suffocating—a concentrated pressure honed in a thousand blood-soaked trenches. Even with a sleeping infant strapped to his chest, Riven radiated the energy of an apex predator that could snap a man’s neck before the thought of resistance even formed.

”So...” Riven stepped forward, the crunch of his boots on the frozen grass sounding like a death knell to Caelus’s ears. ”The Seventh Prince, the boy who took great pleasure in harassing my youngest brother, now comes crawling to my gates for sanctuary. The irony is so thick I could cut it with a blunt knife.”

Caelus swallowed hard, his throat feeling as though it were lined with sandpaper. ”Sir Riven... regarding the incidents at the Academy... I am truly... I am deeply sorry. I did not realize—”

”Do not waste your breath apologizing to me. Save those words for Raphael when he returns for the winter break,” Riven interrupted, his voice dropping into a chilling monotone. ”What I want to know is, why shouldn’t I toss you over the city walls this very second? Why should House Sudrath risk a full-scale diplomatic conflict with the King just to protect a spare prince?”

Caelus clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. He knew this was his threshold. If he failed to provide a valid reason, he would truly become the discarded pariah of history.

”Because I am no longer a puppet for House Solari,” Caelus answered, his voice gaining a desperate stability. ”The King has brokered a union between myself and Clara Solari. You know of her, don’t you? She is not merely arrogant; she is the manifestation of the faction that wishes to see the North burned to the ground. She despises your technology, she views your treatment of commoners as a sickness, and she views your family as upstarts that need to be culled. If I married her, I would have been forced to lead the very legions that would shut down Raphael’s school and dismantle Rianor’s laboratories.”

Riven narrowed his eyes, his gaze piercing through Caelus’s resolve. ”Clara Solari, eh? I’ve heard the name. The girl who believes Mana is a divine right and that those without it are merely cattle for the harvest.”

”Exactly,” Caelus said, taking a bold step forward, forcing himself to withstand Riven’s crushing aura. ”I refused to be their instrument. I fled not because I am afraid of a wedding, but because I would rather die as a traitor to the crown than be the hand that destroys what Raphael and Raveena have spent their lives building. I saw how that school changed the eyes of the poor children in the capital. That is worth more than any throne or title.”

A long, heavy silence enveloped the training grounds. Riven stared at Caelus for what felt like an eternity, his expression unreadable. Little Kaelven stirred slightly in the carrier, prompting Riven to instinctively pat the baby’s back with a movement so tender and rhythmic it was completely at odds with his lethal gaze.

”A surprisingly decent answer for a spoiled prince,” Riven muttered. Then, with a sudden and dexterous movement, he unclipped the fasteners of the baby carrier with one hand. ”Here. Take this.”

Caelus blinked, his mind struggling to process the command. ”I... beg your pardon?”

”Hold my son,” Riven ordered.

Before Caelus could offer a protest, Riven had transferred the warm, sleeping bundle of Kaelven into Caelus’s arms. The Prince panicked. He held the baby as if he were cradling an active Magitech explosive that was three seconds away from detonation. His arms were rigid, his face turned a ghostly white, and he looked as though he were afraid to breathe.

”Sir Riven! I... I have never... I do not know how to manage a human infant!” Caelus hissed in a frantic whisper.

”Keep your voice down! Do you want him to wake up?” Riven growled, though his volume remained low. ”If you wish to prove that you are no longer a pampered royal plaything, start with something real. If you cannot find the strength and focus to protect a single human life in your arms, how can you expect to defend the people of Northreach in the future? Responsibility is not a speech, boy. It’s a weight. Now, don’t let his head tilt.”

Ramirez stood in the shadows of the veranda, biting his lip to prevent a roar of laughter at the sight of the polished Prince of Aethelgard breaking into a cold sweat while trying to balance the head of a Sudrath baby.

”Riven! Stop bullying our guest so early in the morning!”

A sharp, authoritative voice cut through the tension. Duchess Aurelia Sudrath approached with an elegant, unhurried gait. Despite her age, Aurelia maintained the aura of a ’Queen Mother’ that was undisputed in the North. She wore a simple yet finely tailored morning gown. Behind her, Raveena followed, her face flushed a deep crimson from the sheer embarrassment of witnessing her brother’s antics.

”Mother,” Riven nodded, his terrifying aura instantly deflating in the presence of his matriarch.

Aurelia reached Caelus and, with the practiced grace of a grandmother, plucked Kaelven from the Prince’s trembling arms. ”My apologies, Prince Caelus. Riven believes every problem in existence can be solved through military drill or psychological intimidation. He forgets that guests require tea, not trauma.”

”T-Thank you, Duchess,” Caelus bowed deeply, his relief so profound he felt as though he might melt into the grass.

Aurelia scrutinized Caelus from his matted hair to his borrowed boots. Her gaze was one that would be familiar to any mother from Earth—the look of a woman evaluating her daughter’s potential suitor.

”Raveena has informed me of the situation,” Aurelia said, a knowing smile playing on her lips. ”About your cooperation in the Student Council, your refusal to betray Raphael’s friends... and your decision to flee for the sake of your principles. It is a rare thing to see a royal choose a hard truth over a comfortable lie.”

Raveena looked down, fiddling with the hem of her cloak, her face burning. ”Mother, please don’t start this...”

Aurelia chuckled. As a woman who possessed memories of a modern world, she knew that in this era, a sixteen-year-old like Raveena was technically of marriageable age. However, her soul remained tethered to the standards of her previous life.

”Listen to me, Caelus,” Aurelia said, her voice dropping into a serious, maternal tone. ”In this world, the King might want you wed to that Solari girl tomorrow. But I do not tolerate forced unions. Raveena is still far too young for the altar. She has years of magic and science yet to master.”

Caelus remained silent, not daring to interrupt the Duchess.

”However,” Aurelia winked, a mischievous glint in her eye, ”if it is just for... what was the term? Ah, ’Dating.’ Yes, if it is just for getting to know one another and perhaps sharing a few walks while you guard our borders, I shall not object. But remember this: In this family, if you ever break Raveena’s heart, Riven is the least of your concerns. Your greatest problem will be me.”

Caelus swallowed hard. Aurelia’s threat sounded ten times more terrifying than Riven’s because it was delivered with a sweet, maternal smile.

Suddenly, Rianor emerged from the side laboratory, carrying a long, reinforced metallic case. ”Oh? What is all this commotion? Caelus! Good, you’re awake. I have something for you.”

Rianor clicked the case open, revealing a longsword with a blade etched in intricate, glowing Mana-circuitry. The hilt featured a dual-slot for high-capacity energy crystals. ”This is the Mana-Blade Mark IV. The edge can vibrate at a frequency that allows it to slice through standard steel plate like it’s warm butter, provided you funnel your Mana into the hilt. You possess a massive Mana pool, Caelus. This weapon was built for someone with your capacity.”

Caelus stared at the futuristic weapon with a look of hesitation. He reached out and touched the cold, vibrating metal of the blade, but then he slowly shook his head.

”Thank you, Sir Rianor. This technology is... it is breathtaking. I have seen what your Magitech can do on the frontiers,” Caelus said with a solemn tone. ”But for now, I must decline.”

Rianor arched an eyebrow in genuine surprise. ”Why? This is leagues ahead of that dull, ceremonial royal blade at your hip.”

”I fled the capital to preserve a traditional ideal of knighthood, not to become someone else,” Caelus replied, looking down at his old sword, which was still covered in the dust of his journey. ”I want to prove that a true knight can prevail without relying solely on a machine—at least until I feel I have earned the right to wield your technology. I wish to be trained physically by Sir Riven first. I want to build my foundation in the mud of the North.”

Riven, who had been silent, let out a sharp snort. A small, rare smirk appeared at the corner of his mouth—a smirk he only reserved for opponents he genuinely respected.

”Declining a Rianor-original? You’ve got balls, brat,” Riven said, retrieving his own wooden practice blade. ”Fine. If it’s physical torture you crave, we start now. Fifty laps around the field. Ramirez, you too. Don’t think you can slack off just because you’re getting old.”

Ramirez offered a thin, practiced smile and a bow. ”With pleasure, Sir Riven.”

Raveena watched Caelus as he began his first lap, his breathing already becoming labored in the thin air. A small spark of admiration began to flicker in her heart. The arrogant, golden prince she had known was being systematically eroded by hardship, leaving behind a man who was desperately trying to find his own soul.

However, in the middle of the training session, Roland Sudrath appeared from behind the pillars of the main hall. His face was devoid of its usual diplomatic smirk. He carried a small, crumpled strip of paper that had just emerged from his secret cryptograph machine.

”Riven, Father has summoned you to the study immediately,” Roland said, his low voice cutting through the morning air like a frost. ”My intelligence network in the capital just sent a high-priority flash. House Solari hasn’t just sent a protest letter. They have hired the ’Black Raven’ mercenary group to retrieve the Prince by force. And they have already crossed the border into the Sterling territories.”

(The Sterling territories were a newly annexed region, formerly under the control of the disgraced Valerian family.)

Riven stopped moving. His aura shifted back into its cold, razor-sharp state. The ”Baby Daddy” persona vanished, replaced by the ”Butcher General.”

”Mercenaries on my soil?” Riven gripped the hilt of his sword, his knuckles popping. ”It seems House Solari has forgotten who guards the northern gateway of this continent.”

Caelus stopped running, staring at Roland with a look of mounting dread. His first battle as a fugitive had arrived much sooner than he had anticipated.

”Welcome to Northreach, Prince,” Roland murmured, igniting the report with a Magitech lighter. ”The real game of chess has just begun.”