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

Chapter 146: Chapter 146: BROKEN HOPES BEYOND RECOVERY

​The soft, pulsating luminescence from the Tactical Digital Map V.2 atop the round table in the War Room began to dim as Rianor retracted his control stylus. The grand assembly had officially reached its conclusion. The pact for a two-month preparation period was sealed, locked by the mutual interests of steel and scales. General Zoldrak, the dragon in human form with copper scales adorning his temples, stood tall across the table. His breath was heavy, leaving faint traces of vapor in the chill air of the Northreach highlands.

​”Two months, Duke Lucian,” Zoldrak’s voice was deep and gravelly, echoing through the expansive stone hall. ”Dragons are not accustomed to waiting. We are creatures of the storm and the strike. But if what your second son says about this ’logic of death’ holds true, then we shall use this time to sharpen our claws in the East District. Do not make us regret this patience.”

​Lucian Sudrath nodded calmly, his ”Old Lion” aura not wavering for a single second. ”The honor is ours, General. This cooperation is the bedrock upon which the future of this continent will be built.”

​On the other side of the room, Riven Sudrath—sitting with perfect military posture—appeared rejuvenated. The wounds from the Battle of Northveil, which had nearly claimed his life, had closed cleanly thanks to Elena’s intensive care and Sudrath’s advanced medical tech. He glanced at Rianor, his younger brother, who still looked tense despite the meeting’s success.

​Just as Zoldrak turned to stride out, the heavy doors of the War Room creaked open. Captain Thorne, the ever-loyal infantry commander, stepped inside with precise military strides. However, there was something different in his expression. A small, rare glint shone in his usually stoic eyes. He passed Zoldrak with a brief, respectful nod, then moved toward the Sudrath family’s seats.

​Thorne leaned down, whispering directly into Rianor’s ear. ”Young Master... Lady Elara. She has regained full consciousness.”

​The world seemed to stop spinning for Rianor Sudrath.

​The control stylus he was holding slipped from his fingers, clattering softly against the stone floor. Rianor’s eyes, usually cold and filled with clinical calculations, suddenly widened. He couldn’t hide the visible tremor in his hands. A surge of overwhelming joy erupted in his chest like a chain reaction of mana crystals.

​”Father... General...” Rianor stood so abruptly that his chair scraped harshly against the floor. ”I... I crave your indulgence to conclude my duties here early. There is a matter of the utmost urgency I must attend to.”

​Zoldrak paused at the threshold, glancing back with a skeptical brow. He didn’t know the specifics, but he could feel the sudden shift in atmospheric pressure surrounding the human youth.

​Lucian Sudrath looked at his second son. He didn’t need to hear Thorne’s message to know what it was. Seeing the light in Rianor’s eyes—a light he hadn’t seen since the fall of Northveil—Lucian understood perfectly. It wasn’t the spark of technical success. It was the frantic, hopeful pulse of a man in love.

​”Go,” Lucian said, his voice low but uncharacteristically warm. ”Thorne will handle the remaining formalities here.”

​”Thank you, Father!” Rianor didn’t even bother to gather his tactical documents. He turned and marched out of the War Room with long, hurried strides. He was practically running as he moved through the cold, vaulted corridors of the castle, ignoring the greetings of servants and soldiers he passed. In his mind, there was only the image of Elara. Elara smiling, Elara scolding him for overworking, Elara being the sole reason he had fought so stubbornly to keep Iron Hearth alive.

​She’s awake. She’s finally awake, Rianor thought, his heart pounding against his ribs like a caged bird.

​Meanwhile, in the Iron Hearth City Square, Roland Sudrath was leading Seraphina Draconia through the bustling crowds. They had just finished their tour on the magitech tandem bicycle. The city was alive with the hiss of steam engines and the hum of mana-lamps, providing a surreal backdrop for the unlikely pair.

​”Roland, that genius brother of yours... Why does he always look like he’s carrying the weight of the entire world on his shoulders?” Seraphina asked, looking toward the distant silhouette of the castle.

​Roland offered a faint, diplomatic smile, but his eyes reflected genuine empathy. ”My brother is the type of man who would try to fix the world if he found it broken. But for him, Elara is the world. If that woman were gone, I suspect what you see as a genius would simply become a hollow pile of ash.”

​Seraphina fell silent, looking at Roland with an unreadable expression. ”Is that how humans love? With such crushing obsession?”

​”It isn’t obsession, Seraphina. It’s a loyalty that defies logic. The same thing that makes a dragon’s bond so strong, isn’t it?” Roland answered softly, causing a faint blush to creep up the Dragon Princess’s cheeks.

​Rianor’s footsteps echoed sharply in the quiet, sterile corridors of the Hospital’s VIP Wing. The sharp scent of antiseptic mixed with the purified aroma of concentrated mana filled the air. Outside Elara’s room, he found Sila, the senior nurse, standing with a pale, troubled face.

​”Young Master Rianor...” Sila greeted him, her voice barely a whisper.

​”How is she? Has she spoken? Is she hungry?” Rianor’s questions tumbled out in a frantic rush. He was already prepared to pull her into his arms, to tell her that Northreach would soon be theirs again.

​Sila hesitated, her fingers twisting her apron. ”She is conscious, Master. But... her emotions are extremely unstable. I’ve tried using Calming Runes, but they’ve had little effect. She... she won’t stop crying.”

​Rianor’s brow furrowed. ”Crying? She’s likely just overwhelmed by the shock of waking up. Let me in.”

​Without waiting for Sila’s reply, Rianor pushed open the heavy wooden door.

​The reddish glow of the late afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating the figure of the red-haired girl sitting propped up against the pillows. Elara. Her face, usually so full of vibrant confidence and fiery spirit, looked fragile, hollow, and soaked with tears that refused to stop falling.

​”Elara...” Rianor whispered, his voice cracking.

​She turned her head. When her eyes met Rianor’s, her sobs broke out anew. It was a harrowing sound, a wail of pure, unadulterated despair that Rianor couldn’t begin to comprehend.

​Ignoring everything else, Rianor rushed to the bedside and pulled Elara’s small frame into his embrace. He held her with a fierce tenderness, resting her head against his shoulder. ”Shhh... it’s alright. I’m here. Elara, I’m right here. You’re awake. Everything is going to be fine.”

​Elara didn’t return the embrace with her usual strength. Her hands remained limp at her sides. Her sobbing intensified, dampening the military uniform Rianor wore.

​”Rianor... why...” Elara’s voice was raspy, nearly drowned out by her grief.

​”Don’t talk yet. Just rest. You’ve been through so much,” Rianor tried to soothe her, rubbing her back gently. There was a warmth between them, but Rianor felt something unsettling. Elara’s lower body felt... unnervingly still.

​Suddenly, Elara pushed weakly against Rianor’s chest, forcing him to look into her swollen, red eyes.

​”Cancel it, Rianor,” she whispered, her voice trembling violently.

​Rianor froze. ”Cancel what? The wedding? Elara, you’ve only just woken up, your mind is clouded—”

​”Cancel our engagement!” Elara screamed with the last of her strength before dissolving back into sobs. ”Let me go, Rianor Sudrath. Find another woman. Find a mage who can stand by your side in battle. Find someone who...”

​Rianor’s heart felt as though it had been gripped by an iron fist. ”What are you talking about? Why so sudden? Did I do something wrong while you were unconscious? Tell me!”

​Elara shook her head wildly. With a frantic, jerky motion, she pulled back the white blankets covering her legs. She revealed her legs lying stiffly on the bed, not moving a single inch even as she appeared to strain her entire mind to make them twitch.

​”Look at this!” Elara struck her own thigh with her fist, but she didn’t wince. She didn’t even blink. ”I can’t feel it, Rianor! My legs... my legs are dead! I’m paralyzed!”

​Rianor stood paralyzed himself, his eyes fixed on her legs that showed no reaction to the blow.

​”And that isn’t all...” Elara let out a bitter, jagged laugh through her tears—a sound of pure self-loathing. ”My mana... my magic circuits... they are shattered. I am no longer a mage. I am just a burden! I cannot walk, I cannot cast... I am useless to you!”

​The room fell into a sudden, heavy silence, broken only by the sound of Elara’s pitiful weeping. Rianor looked at her with a profound, unbreaking gaze. He saw the devastation in the eyes of the woman he loved. The Elara he knew was a woman who took fierce pride in her power, a woman who stood tall against any foe. Now, that pride was in ashes.

​Rianor didn’t respond with a technical lecture on nerve regeneration or the possibilities of magitech healing. He didn’t speak as the Chief of Sudrath Technology.

​Instead, he pulled her back into his arms, tighter than before.

​”Listen to me, Elara,” Rianor’s voice was low, but it carried an absolute, unshakable authority. ”Do you truly think I engaged myself to you because you were a powerful mage? Do you think I needed you to be a weapon on my battlefield?”

​Rianor pulled back slightly, gripping her shoulders and forcing her to look into his piercing eyes.

​”I am Rianor Sudrath. I have thousands of soldiers and hundreds of tanks. I do not need another mage. What I need... is Elara.”

​”But I can’t walk, Rianor! I can’t—”

​”Then I will be your legs!” Rianor cut her off firmly. ”If you cannot walk, I will build a machine that can carry you to the highest mountain peak on this continent. If your mana is gone, then my strength will be yours. I will not cancel a single thing. You are still my fiancée, and you will still be the beautiful wife at my side.”

​Elara stared at Rianor, her mouth agape. ”Rianor... but this isn’t logical. You are a man of absolute pragmatism. Choosing a paralyzed woman with no magic as a wife... it will ruin your image in the eyes of the other nobles.”

​Rianor offered a faint, selfish smile—the kind of loyal arrogance that had become his trademark. ”Let them talk. They don’t know that your mind is worth more than ten divisions of royal mages. And more importantly... they don’t know that I love you for who you are, not for what you can do for me.”

​Elara began to cry again, but this time, the despair had vanished. She buried her face in his chest, her hands finally gripping his cloak, seeking the protection he so fiercely offered.

Rianor pressed a gentle kiss to the top of Elara’s head, letting his warmth linger around her fragile frame. Inside his chest, a new flame of anger ignited—anger toward the Iron Empire for stealing her ability to walk.

”Two months, Elara,” he whispered softly against his fiancée’s ear. ”In two months, I’ll finish everything in Northveil. And after that... we’ll be married.”

​Sila, who had been watching from behind the slightly ajar door, wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. She closed the door softly, leaving the two of them to share their grief and their newfound, broken strength.