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

Chapter 123: Chapter 123: CHALLENGE OF THE ANCIENT DRAGON GENERAL

​The silence that blanketed the Throne Hall of the Eternal Flame following Rumina’s demonstration did not last long. The gentle violet warmth of the pure mana crystal, which had momentarily mesmerized the senses of the dragon elders, was abruptly smothered by a dense, oppressive crimson aura. From the ranks of the elders, a figure clad in scale armor far thicker and more weathered than the others stepped forward. Each of his footfalls created a heavy thud against the obsidian floor, vibrating through the hall as if a mountain itself had taken human form and begun to walk.

​This was Zoldrak, an Ancient Dragon General who had survived thousands of winters and hundreds of blood-soaked battlefields. His pale yellow eyes, slitted and cold, locked onto Roland with a gaze of profound condescension—not necessarily born of hatred, but from a deep-seated skepticism toward short-lived creatures.

​”Prosperity is a warm blanket, Human. You have shown that House Sudrath has a thick enough blanket to offer,” Zoldrak’s voice was heavy, like the sound of grinding boulders. ”However, in an era where the skies are beginning to crumble under the threats of greedy sorcerers and bloodthirsty knights from the west, prosperity is nothing more than a heap of treasure waiting to be plundered. Draconia does not need merchants who are merely skilled at washing crystals. We need allies whose blood will not freeze when an enemy’s blade is at their throat.”

​Prince Ignis curled his lip into a sneer, sensing a shift in the tide. ”Precisely, General. What use is pure energy if the hand that holds it trembles with fear?”

​Ignis then pointed toward Roland’s line of guards with an exaggerated gesture of mockery. ”Look at these strange objects they carry. Cold iron sticks, devoid of runic engravings, without a single sharp edge. You call these weapons? They are an insult to the sublime art of war. Has this human come here bearing toys to challenge the might of dragons?”

​Roland remained motionless, but his eyes sharpened, turning as cold as the steel Ignis mocked. He knew this moment was inevitable. Dragons were a race built upon the foundation of physical power and absolute dominance. If Sudrath could not prove that their ”toys” were capable of lethality, this alliance would never be more than a fragile trade agreement, easily discarded when the wind changed.

​”Our weapons do not possess thousands of years of history, Prince,” Roland replied, his voice controlled and biting. ”But they were engineered for a singular purpose: efficiency. We do not seek honor in the aesthetics of a beautiful duel. We seek absolute victory.”

​”Absolute victory?” Zoldrak let out a short, guttural laugh that sounded more like a predator’s growl. ”Then prove it. I challenge you, or whichever of these lowly guards you trust most, to a duel to the death before the Emperor. If the human wins, then your race is a worthy ally. If the human dies, these crystals remain here as compensation for our wasted time, and the rest of you may leave... or die at the gates.”

​Seraphina looked as though she was about to protest, her face pale with concern, but Roland raised a hand slightly, stopping her in her tracks. She could only lean in and whisper urgently, ”Roland... do not underestimate a dragon’s martial prowess. They are born of fire and steel.”

​Roland did not look at Seraphina. Instead, he looked at one of the men standing behind him—a man who had been as still as a statue throughout the entire proceedings. ”Dom. Did you hear what they said about your ’toys’?”

​Dom, the Ghost Squad’s lead marksman who was usually as silent as a grave, stepped forward. He adjusted his sensor goggles, scanning the vast hall with a clinical detachment before locking them back into place. His face was flat, almost entirely devoid of emotion. For him, this wasn’t about the abstract concept of honor; it was a matter of ballistics and energy output.

​”I heard, Sir Roland,” Dom replied succinctly. He pulled the charging handle on his Gauss Rifle—a sharp, precise mechanical click that sounded jarringly alien in a hall saturated with ancient magical aura.

​Zoldrak signaled with a grunt. From behind the shadows of the dragon pillars emerged a young dragon warrior with a terrifying physical presence. His scales were a dark, burnished copper, and his muscles seemed to bulge beneath the gaps in his heavy plate armor. This was Karkus, once the star pupil of Draconia’s elite combat academies. He gripped a gargantuan axe that still bore the faint, glowing residue of draconic fire mana.

​”Use your toy, Human,” Karkus jeered, spitting onto the obsidian floor. ”I will ensure that your head and that piece of iron are crushed in a single blow.”

​The central area of the Altar of Ancestral Breath was cleared. Emperor Tharazion sat in silence, his golden eyes observing Dom’s every movement with a deep, unsettling curiosity. The duel had been sanctioned. No protective spells. No mercy.

​The fight began without a countdown. Karkus lunged with a speed that defied his massive size. The ground beneath his feet shattered as he propelled himself forward, his axe raised high, wreathed in thick, suffocating dragon fire.

​Dom did not retreat. He performed a maneuver that left the watching dragons perplexed. He dropped to one knee, steadying his frame and aiming the barrel of his Gauss Rifle directly at Karkus’s chest as the dragon was mid-air.

​WHIIIIZZZZZ!

​The sound was not an explosion of gunpowder. It was the scream of air being torn apart by electromagnetic acceleration. A solid, mana-infused projectile streaked forward at hypersonic speeds.

​Karkus, driven by a predator’s instinct, tilted his axe in mid-air to parry the invisible strike. CLANG! A violent explosion of blue and orange sparks erupted. The dragon was hammered backward through the air, landing heavily on the obsidian floor. His eyes bulged in shock as he looked at his ancestral axe—a weapon supposed to be indestructible by human means—which now had a small but deep hole drilled clean through the center of the blade.

​”What... what is this magic?” Karkus growled, his voice trembling. His arms were numb; the sheer kinetic force of the impact had nearly shattered his wrists.

​”It is the weapon you called a toy,” Dom’s voice was cold, echoing from behind his HUD helmet.

​An infuriated Karkus unleashed a Dragon Breath. A massive torrent of white-hot flames swallowed the area where Dom stood. The room instantly transformed into a searing oven. Ignis laughed, assuming the human had already been reduced to ash. However, as the smoke thinned, Dom was seen rolling to the side with surgical efficiency. His Nylon-Magitech armor pulsed with a soft blue light, absorbing the majority of the radiant heat through its integrated cooling circuits.

​Dom did not give Karkus a moment to recover his breath. He fired in rapid succession.

​TAP! TAP! TAP!

​Each Gauss shot did not target the head or the armored chest, but rather the wing joints and knees of the dragon. Dom was utilizing the Dragon Mana Anatomy he had studied through his thermal sensor goggles. He saw the most active mana circuits in Karkus’s body and systematically targeted them.

​Karkus roared in agony as the third projectile pierced the thin scales behind his knee. Dark red fluid seeped onto the floor. The dragon fell to one knee, yet his pride refused to allow him to surrender. He let out a roar that triggered a powerful sonic vibration, designed to scramble Dom’s equilibrium.

​Dom felt his ears ring violently, but his Vibro-Comm automatically generated a counter-frequency to neutralize the sonic effect. In Dom’s eyes, viewed through his Mana-Visor HUD, Karkus was no longer a legendary dragon warrior; he was merely a target with a pulsating heat signature located beneath his collarbone—the exact point where the dragon’s heart pumped mana throughout the body.

​”You will die!” Karkus screamed, attempting to rise one last time, his axe swinging in a wide horizontal arc that created a wave of fire capable of cleaving stone pillars.

​Dom leaped backward, his legs reinforced by a simple mechanical exoskeleton providing additional thrust. While still airborne, he switched his firing mode to Overclock. The capacitors on his Gauss Rifle hummed at a high pitch, emitting a blinding blue light.

​”Honor will not stop the weapon you underestimated,” Dom said flatly.

​At the exact moment Karkus was exposed by his failed swing, Dom pulled the trigger for the final time. This shot carried the entire mana reserve from the battery on Dom’s back.

​The projectile streaked forward, leaving a trail of ionized air in its wake. Karkus tried to cover his chest with his arms, but the bullet tore through the scales of his forearm, punched through his copper armor, and lodged itself directly into his mana heart.

​An internal energy explosion occurred within Karkus’s body. The dragon froze. The light in his eyes faded slowly, like a dying ember. The fire on his axe vanished. With a thud that shook the entire hall, the giant body collapsed, lifeless.

​The silence that followed this time was different. It wasn’t the silence of respect; it was the silence of profound horror. The dragon elders, including Zoldrak, stared at Karkus’s corpse with absolute disbelief. A dragon warrior who had trained for two hundred years had been killed in minutes by a human who hadn’t even broken a sweat, using nothing more than a ”metal stick.”

​Dom stood straight, lowered his weapon, and offered a brief military salute toward Roland before returning to his line as if he had just completed a mundane administrative task.

​Ignis was trembling, his face deathly pale. ”It’s impossible! No weapon of that size could penetrate a dragon’s hide!”

​”It is a toy, Prince,” Roland stepped forward, his voice echoing through the hall, calm yet lethal. ”It is the proof that the world has changed. Your warrior fought with history and pride, while my soldier fought with precision and logic. On the battlefields of the future, pride will not protect you from the velocity of our projectiles.”

​Roland turned to face Emperor Tharazion, ignoring the humiliated Ignis.

​”Your Imperial Majesty,” Roland said with unshakeable authority. ”We did not come here to mock the strength of dragons. We came because we respect that strength, and we want it to endure against the threats to come. House Sudrath does not seek a master, but we offer an equal partnership. This victory is not a mockery, but a guarantee—that if the dragons stand with the humans of Sudrath, then our enemies will face a death just as efficient as the one you have just witnessed.”

​Zoldrak stared at his student’s body for a long time, then at Dom, and finally at Roland. The hatred in his eyes began to fade, replaced by something far more dangerous for Sudrath’s enemies: recognition.

​Emperor Tharazion slowly stood from his throne. His Dragon Fear aura subsided, replaced by the dignity of a ruler who had just glimpsed the future.

​”The duel is concluded,” the Emperor’s voice boomed. ”Blood has been shed to sanctify the promise. These humans have proven that they are a nation that brings new fangs to this continent.”

​Tharazion glanced at Zoldrak. ”General, handle the funeral of the warrior with honor. He died as the pathbreaker for a new era.”

​Then the Emperor looked at Roland and Rumina. ”You have proven your value. Economically, and in terms of strength. Sudrath is no longer viewed as refugees in the eyes of Draconia. For tonight, rest as allies. The council’s final decision will be rendered soon.”

​Roland bowed, but this time the corner of his mouth twitched into a faint smile. Beside him, Rumina gripped his hand tightly, her eyes still trembling slightly from the death she had witnessed, but she knew that from this second onward, Sudrath’s position at the negotiating table would never be the same.

​They were no longer insects beneath a dragon’s foot. They were the holders of the keys to a death that made even dragons think twice before opposing them.