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

Chapter 117: Chapter 117: The Old Lion’s Nadir

​The world abruptly descended into a cacophony of industrial violence. For the Sudrath forces, the vanishing of the pale violet luminescence that had previously blanketed the battlefield was not merely the cessation of a visual magical effect; it was the extinguishing of their second life. The Resonance Collapse Field, Raveena’s masterpiece of science and sorcery, had just fractured under the weight of her physiological collapse. Amidst the blinding, savage blizzard, the rhythmic thrum of the enemy’s steam pistons—which had been coughing and groaning in mechanical agony—suddenly roared back to life with a higher, more predatory octave. It was the sound of iron seeking vengeance.

​The Northern Bastion

​Grimm knelt upon the freezing concrete floor, his trembling arms cradling the small, limp form of Raveena. She looked hauntingly fragile. The blood that had flowed from her nose and ears was beginning to crystallize upon her navy robes, creating a macabre texture of frozen crimson jewels. Raveena’s chest rose and fell with a shallow, desperate rhythm, as if every breath were a final, losing battle against the encroaching void.

​”My Lady... Lady Raveena...” Grimm whispered. His voice was cracked, a fragile sliver of sound swallowed by the howling wind that tore through the bastion’s ventilation gaps.

​The old valet stared at his hands, which were now slick with the lifeblood of the girl he served. To the world, Raveena was a genius mage, the hope of the Sudrath line, or the highest-ranked graduate of the Magitech academy. But to Grimm, she was still that reddish, tiny infant he used to rock to sleep when Duke Lucian was too consumed by the affairs of state. He remembered how terrifyingly light she had felt then, and how warm her laughter had been. Now, in his arms, she felt both heavy with the weight of her sacrifice and cold with the touch of death.

​With tears that froze into icy tracks upon his weathered cheeks, Grimm crawled toward the manual telegraph table. His rigid fingers tapped the metal lever with a cadence heavy with regret.

[FROM: NORTHERN BASTION – GRIMM]

[TO: OBSERVATION TOWER – HEKTOR]

[MESSAGE: RESONANCE LOST. THE ABSOLUTE FAULT LIES WITH THIS OLD SERVANT.

I HAVE FAILED TO PROTECT THE LIGHT OF THE SUDRATH FAMILY.

I BEG FOR FORGIVENESS.]

​Grimm then turned toward a young man cowering behind a technical console, his face the color of bleached parchment.

​”Ben!” Grimm roared.

​Operator Ben, the young technician tasked with logging energy outputs while Grimm led the artillery, flinched violently. ”Y-yes, Master Grimm?”

​”Assume command of the Grimm’s Roar batteries. Do not let a single invader breach these walls. If you are to die, ensure your death is the most expensive thing on this battlefield!” Grimm stood up, hoisting Raveena’s body onto his back with the last remnants of his aging strength. ”I must take her to the Sector B Bunker. If she remains here, the sub-zero temperatures will claim her before her mana-scars can even begin to close.”

​Ben could only offer a stiff, terrified nod as he watched Grimm stride out into the heart of the blizzard, carrying the future of the Sudrath family upon his back.

​The Maritime Observation Building

​Hektor received the message. His eyes, usually as cold as the clinical data he processed, flickered with a momentary tremor. He did not reply to Grimm’s self-flagellation. In Hektor’s world, emotion was a variable without a coefficient, an irrelevance. However, he understood with terrifying clarity what Raveena’s absence meant for their defensive calculus. Without the Resonance Collapse Field, the Iron Empire would unleash their ”Breaker Units”—steam-powered monsters that had been held back only by the high-frequency interference.

​Hektor immediately patched a telegraph line to the Armored Command SUV at the front lines.

[FROM: HEKTOR]

[MESSAGE: GRIMM REPORT CONFIRMED.

LADY RAVEENA UNCONSCIOUS.

RESONANCE TOTAL FAILURE.

FIELD EXPOSED.

ENEMY MOBILITY MAXIMUM.

INACTION WILL RESULT IN DEFENSE COLLAPSE NEXT WAVE.]

​The Front Line – Main Shoreline Perimeter

​Inside the Armored SUV, which was rocking violently from the impact of distant kinetic shells, Lucian Sudrath sat in the dim, flickering amber light of the cabin. Hektor’s report hit him harder than any Railgun projectile ever could.

​Raveena. His youngest. His little star.

​Lucian’s hands gripped the edge of the tactical map table so hard that his joints turned a ghastly white. Rage, terror, and a sense of profound frustration coalesced in his chest. He wasn’t angry at Hektor. He wasn’t angry at Grimm. He was enraged at the powerlessness of their situation, at the fact that he was forced to watch his children burn their lives away to protect his ambition.

​”I KNOW, HEKTOR! I ALREADY KNOW!” Lucian roared.

​BRAKK!

​Lucian slammed his fist into the reinforced steel wall of his SUV with such terrifying force that the metal buckled inward, leaving a deep dent. His breathing was a series of ragged, predatory gasps. He closed his eyes for a heartbeat, visualizing Raveena’s face, then his wife’s face back at the castle, and finally Riven, who was still out there being forced to trade blood for meters of mud.

​”A lion does not die within a box of steel,” Lucian murmured, his voice dropping into a register of cold, absolute finality.

​He snatched his longsword and the heavy-caliber Magitech pistol that lay beside his seat. He kicked the SUV’s door open, allowing the screaming blizzard to rush in and flash-freeze the cabin in a matter of seconds. Lucian stepped out, his boots sinking into the snow that had long ago been transformed into a disgusting, brownish sludge of blood and machine oil.

​The Core Shoreline Battlefield

​Lucian’s presence on the field was like a physical shockwave. The soldiers who had been cowering behind concrete barricades suddenly saw a tall, imposing figure with a Duke’s cloak fluttering like a war banner amidst the white fog.

​”THE DUKE! THE DUKE IS ON THE FIELD!” a sergeant screamed.

​The morale, which had plummeted into the abyss after the loss of Raveena’s magic, suddenly surged exponentially. If their Duke, the ”Old Lion,” was willing to soil his hands in the same blood-mud as them, then there was no logical reason for a single soul to retreat.

​”SOLDIERS! BEHOLD YOUR LEADER!” Thorne roared, swinging his Magitech Spear MK-II, cleaving through the chest of an encroaching enemy infantryman. Thorne fought like a man possessed, his movements a perfect synthesis of classical knightly grace and modern military efficiency.

​Beside him, Riven Sudrath stood like a wounded titan. His armor was shattered in multiple places, revealing bandages that were already soaked through with fresh blood from his collarbone wound. But the moment he saw his father walking past the infantry lines, Riven let out a war cry that seemed to challenge the very storm.

​”FATHER! OVER HERE!” Riven slammed his massive shield into a cyborg’s head, reducing it to a mess of iron and sparks.

​”Hold the line, Riven! Thorne! Do not let a single one of those damned machines cross the water’s edge!” Lucian bellowed, firing his Magitech pistol. Pale blue energy slugs punched through enemy armor plating with a lethal, clinical accuracy.

​However, the Iron Empire did not remain stagnant. From behind the roiling sea fog, the sound of gargantuan metal grinding against metal resonated. Rudigor had committed his ”Breaker Units.”

​These were no longer standard cyborgs. They were autonomous steam-constructs shaped like four-meter-tall iron gorillas. Headless, they possessed only a singular, glowing red optical sensor in the center of their chests, and massive, oversized arms that functioned as concrete-pulverizing hammers. Five units made landfall, and their rhythmic gait made the very earth of Northveil tremble.

​”GARRICK! BREAKER UNITS AT TWO O’CLOCK!” Riven screamed through the radio.

​Far on the right flank, Garrick’s Titan MK-1 tank looked like a nightmare. The paint had been stripped away by explosions, leaving only bare, smoking metal. His lock-on sensors were completely dead, blinded by the blizzard and mana-residue.

​”To hell with the target-lock!” Garrick screamed inside the sweltering cockpit. ”We’re doing this the old-fashioned way! Bury the projectiles in their faces!”

​Garrick yanked the rocket deployment lever. Without automated guidance, the rockets spiraled out erratically, tearing through the blizzard with long tails of flame. Several hit the snow, but one managed to strike a Breaker Unit’s shoulder, detonating in a massive fireball of superheated steam. The machine stumbled, but it did not fall.

​”They’re too thick, Captain!” Garrick’s crew reported, panic edging into their voices.

​”Fire again! Use the main cannon! Do not stop until the barrel melts off the turret!”

​Meanwhile, on the narrow trail leading to the Sector B Bunker, Grimm continued to march. His aging legs felt as though they would shatter with every step. His breathing was a heavy labor, every inhalation of icy air a physical sting in his lungs.

​He tightened his grip on Raveena’s legs. ”Hold on, My Lady... just a bit further. Uncle Grimm will get you to the warmth.”

​Grimm’s memories drifted back over a dozen years. It had been a winter then as well, and a tiny Raveena had been crying, terrified of the sound of thunder. Grimm had been the one to bring her warm milk and read her stories about ancient wizards, even though Lucian had thought Raveena should be focusing on courtly etiquette.

​”Uncle Grimm, can I make my own sun inside the house with magic?” a young Raveena had asked back then.

​”You’ve already done it, My Lady,” Grimm whispered, his voice catching in his throat as he suppressed a sob. ”You just extinguished the enemy’s sun with your light. Now, let this old man finish his task.”

​He reached the reinforced doors of the Sector B Bunker. Raphael Sudrath was already waiting there with an emergency medical team. When the door groaned open, Raphael was stunned to see his sister unconscious on the back of the elderly valet.

​”Sister Raveena!” Raphael rushed forward. ”Take her to the emergency operating table! Fast!”

​Grimm handed Raveena over to the medics, and then he collapsed into a seated position on the bunker floor, his breathing a series of ragged wheezes.

​The Shoreline

​Lucian Sudrath stood at the absolute front of the line. A Breaker Unit swung its massive hammer-arm toward him. With a fluidity that defied his years, Lucian lowered his center of gravity, sliding through the muddy slush beneath the arc of the lethal blow.

​The longsword in his hand erupted in a brilliant glow as he forced his remaining mana into the blade.

​He fixed his gaze on the hydraulic joint of the machine’s knee.

​”Overload,” he whispered.

​In a singular, clinical strike, the mana-infused blade bit into the joint gap. The wild energy seeped into the high-pressure hydraulic system, triggering a catastrophic chain reaction. The knee joint exploded, spraying superheated machine oil into the frigid air.

​The gorilla-shaped Breaker Unit stumbled, then collapsed with a crash that shook the entire battlefield.

​Lucian stood atop the wreckage of the machine, his cloak tattered and his face smeared with black soot and blood. He stared toward the sea, where the lights of The Emperor were beginning to pierce through the blizzard.

​”WE ARE STILL STANDING!” Lucian roared to his troops, his voice a beacon in the storm. ”AS LONG AS A SUDRATH BREATHES, NORTHVEIL SHALL NEVER SURRENDER!”

​The cheer of the Sudrath forces tore through the blizzard. They were still pinned down, they were still wounded, and the enemy was still coming. But here, the Old Lion had proven that while technology could fail and magic could fade, the human will was a source of energy that would never, ever be depleted.

​They held. For one more night, they held.