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

Chapter 158: Chapter 158: THE RETURN OF THE LION (2)

​Rianor knocked on the door of Lucian’s study. Two raps. Short and firm.

​”Come in.”

​Rianor opened the door. Inside, Lucian was already seated behind his desk. The room—with its familiar aroma of teak wood, ink, and parchment—felt like a return to normalcy. The massive desk was cluttered with documents, the large window overlooked the city, and the mana-electric lamps cast a warm, steady glow.

​”It feels like only yesterday,” Rianor murmured softly.

​Lucian gazed at his second son. The face—the same one he had watched as a child running through the castle gardens—was now more mature, more hardened. But the eyes remained unchanged. They were the eyes of a dreamer. The eyes of a visionary.

​”Welcome home, Father.” Rianor gave a brief, respectful bow. ”I am glad you returned safely.”

​Lucian nodded. ”Thank you. Sit.”

​Rianor took the chair across from the desk. A silence followed—not an awkward one, but the comfortable silence of a father and son who understood each other perfectly.

​”Father, I must report on our war preparations.”

​Lucian raised a hand. ”Before that, how is Elara?”

​Rianor was caught off guard. The question was unexpected. However, a faint smile soon touched his lips—a rare occurrence on his usually solemn face. ”She is well. Still in the hospital, but her spirit is returning. The doctors say her physical condition is stable, though...”

​”Though?”

​”Though she will never walk again. And her magic... it may never return.” Rianor sighed. ”But she is still Elara. She is the same person. And she is...” He hesitated for a heartbeat. ”She is my reason to win, Father. I promised her. Once Northveil is reclaimed, we will be married.”

​Lucian processed his son’s words in silence before nodding. ”You are fortunate to have her.”

​”I know, Father.”

​”I am grieved by her condition. But I am also proud of how you treat her. It shows your true character, Rianor.”

​Rianor lowered his head, absorbing his father’s praise. A warmth spread through his chest—a feeling seldom felt amidst the chaos of research and impending war.

​”Very well.” Lucian straightened his back, shifting back into Duke-mode. ”Report.”

​Rianor nodded. He took a breath and began to speak—swift, concise, and professional.

​”Garrick’s Fury—the missile we designed—passed its test ten days ago in Mist Valley. It has a range of 25 kilometers and perfect accuracy. A granite target the size of a Dual Railgun boiler was completely obliterated in a single strike. Currently, we have one heavy truck-based launcher unit with a four-missile capacity. They can be fired individually with a three-second interval. The aiming system utilizes a combination of mana-gyroscopes and magnetic compasses.”

​Lucian listened intently, nodding occasionally.

​”The Sky-Slayer Wing is combat-ready. Twenty-seven of our top-tier pilots, led by Kaelen with Thamrin as second-in-command, have undergone intensive training—including flight simulations, dogfights, and ground coordination. Twelve Sudrath Sky-Hunter helicopters are operational. Five units of the Sudrath Carrier-01 for troop transport are also ready.”

​Rianor continued, ”Fifteen Wolf-Tusk MBTs are standing by. The crews have been trained and are familiar with Northveil’s terrain. The infantry under Thorne—roughly 800 soldiers—have practiced coordination with both helicopters and tanks. The Ghost Squad is in peak condition; Dom has organized sniper support teams. The Nightshade Sentinels are handling internal security—Ember has already neutralized several provocateurs, including Father Geryon and his men.”

​He paused to catch his breath. ”The forces are ready, Father. We can strike Northveil in four days.”

​Lucian remained quiet for a moment. His eyes held an unspoken pride that filled the air. ”You accomplished all of this in two months?”

​”With the help of Arvid, Hektor, and thousands of technicians and soldiers, Father.”

​”You are too humble.” Lucian rose from his chair and walked to the window, looking down at the bustling city of Iron Hearth. ”When we first arrived in this world, I never imagined we could reach this point.”

​Rianor stood and joined his father at the window. ”Neither did I. But we have no choice. We survive, or we perish.”

​Lucian turned to look at his son. ”You’re right.” There was a pause. His voice grew heavier, more serious. ”Now, there is something you must know.”

​Rianor stiffened his posture.

​”Highgarden. Solari.” Lucian looked his son directly in the eye. ”From the information Nyx gathered in Sol-Regis, they are involved with the Iron Empire.”

​Rianor wasn’t surprised. His eyes merely narrowed slightly. ”And the message?”

​”’Kingdom information is vital. Northreach is currently the top priority.’”

​Rianor processed this for a moment. Then he nodded. ”As I suspected.”

​”You aren’t shocked?”

​”I already knew, Father.” Rianor’s smile was thin and cold. ”I accounted for that possibility from the beginning, especially after Ember captured those Solari spies recently. Solari won’t sit idly by while we rise. They will try to stab us in the back while we are occupied in the north.”

​Lucian nodded slowly. ”Indeed. And that is why I cannot join the assault on Northveil.”

​Rianor looked at his father, waiting for an explanation.

​”I must stay here to control the situation and anticipate any Solari attacks on our border cities.” Lucian walked to the large map on the wall, pointing to several locations. ”Isafjord in the northwest—a small but vital port for our logistics. Qaqortoq in the east—the mana crystal mines, a vital resource. Torshavn in the south—the main gate from Ironhold. If Solari strikes, these are their targets.”

​Rianor studied the map. ”We must be able to deploy forces quickly if that happens.”

​”Precisely. My plan is to utilize the Maglev trains. We will clear them of civilian passengers and repurpose them for troop mobilization. The Nightshade Sentinels will secure the lines and regulate civilian access during the war.”

​”What about Riven?”

​”Riven stays here. Though he has fully recovered and undoubtedly seeks vengeance, his duty is to defend our territory. If Solari attacks, he will lead the defense.”

​Rianor nodded. ”That is the right decision.”

​Lucian looked at his son. ”And you... you will lead the assault on Northveil.”

​Rianor fell silent. The weight on his shoulders increased, yet there was also a sense of relief. His father would guard the home, allowing him to focus on the primary target.

​”Are you certain, Father?” he asked quietly. ”Are you certain I am the one to lead?”

​Lucian stepped closer, standing directly in front of his son. His eyes—the same eyes that commanded the respect of thousands—gazed at Rianor with absolute conviction.

​”You are Rianor Sudrath.” His voice was low but heavy, like a mountain. ”You are my son. You created all of this. You built Garrick’s Fury. You forged this army. You are the one who knows exactly how to utilize every weapon we possess. No one is more fit to lead this strike than you.”

​Rianor bowed his head for a moment, then looked back up. A fierce determination burned in his eyes. ”I won’t fail you, Father.”

​”I know.”

​When they returned to the family room, the atmosphere was more lively.

​Riven and Roland had arrived. Riven, with his signature stoic posture, was talking with Caelus. Roland stood in a corner, his expression unreadable. Aurelia sat in the main chair, flanked by Raveena and Raphael. Rhea was on the sofa, one hand protectively over her belly.

​Rumina finally appeared, her hair slightly messy and wearing an expression that said ”I just faced the numbers of a demon.” Silas followed behind her, carrying a stack of documents.

​”Ah, the Lady Treasurer finally graces us,” Roland teased.

​Rumina glared. ”Shut it, Roland. You have no idea what it’s like calculating war operational costs while ensuring we don’t go broke.”

​”I know, I know. I’m the one who incurred debt with Madam Vernazza.” Roland raised both hands. ”I plead guilty.”

​”You certainly are!”

​Lucian raised a hand, and both immediately fell silent. ”We can discuss debts later. Right now, there is something more important.”

​Every eye turned toward him.

​”In four days, Rianor will lead the assault on Northveil.”

​The mood shifted instantly.

​Aurelia turned to Rianor, her eyes filled with maternal anxiety. ”Rianor... you...?”

​Rianor nodded slowly. ”I have to, Mother.”

​Aurelia wanted to protest—a mother’s instinct is to protect. But she was also the wife of a Duke. She knew that sometimes, love meant letting go. She suppressed her fear and replaced it with a warm smile. ”If that is the best decision... I am proud of you. But... be careful. Promise me.”

​Rianor approached his mother and took her hand. ”I promise, Mother. I will come home.”

​Aurelia squeezed his hand tightly. Her eyes shimmered, but she remained strong.

​Riven stepped forward, his face tense. ”I want to go.” His fists clenched. ”I want to face Martin again. I want to—”

​”Riven.” Lucian cut him off gently. ”You are not going.”

​”But Father—”

​”You stay here.” Lucian’s voice was firm, immovable like bedrock. ”You will defend Northreach if Solari attacks. You’ve recovered, and that is good news. But you are the only one I can trust with this duty.”

​Riven was silent. His eyes shimmered—not with sadness, but with frustration. His grudge against Martin burned. He remembered the pain of Martin’s hammer, the feeling of almost dying. But he was a soldier. He knew the meaning of an order.

​He clenched his fists tighter, then slowly relaxed them. ”Understood, Father.” His voice was raspy. ”I will guard Northreach.”

​Rianor looked at his brother. ”Riven... I know you want revenge. But trust me, I will make Martin pay for everything he did.”

​Riven nodded. ”Make sure he feels the same pain.”

​”I promise.”

​Roland approached Rianor and patted his shoulder. ”I won’t be going. My talent isn’t in battle, and we all know that.” He gave a thin, diplomatic smile. ”But I will ensure the diplomacy in the background holds. If any foolish nobles try to exploit the situation, they’ll have to deal with me.”

​Rianor looked at his younger brother. ”You’ve done more than enough, Roland. The alliance with Draconia is our greatest achievement.”

​Roland nodded, warmth visible in his eyes for once. ”Focus on the front. Let me handle the rear.”

​Rhea, with a hand over her belly, approached Rianor. ”Be careful out there.” Her voice was cold as usual, but her eyes held a spark of warmth. ”You’re the only brother I can tolerate.”

​Rianor smiled. ”I’ll try to stay alive, just to hear you scold me again.”

​Rhea huffed. ”Scold? I never scold. I simply... present facts with firm emphasis.”

​”That’s called scolding, Sister.”

​”It’s called firmness.”

​They both shared a rare smile.

​Raveena suddenly lunged forward, hugging Rianor tightly. ”Brother... I’m going too!”

​Rianor sighed. ”No, Raveena.”

​”But I can help! My magic has returned! I can—”

​”No.” Rianor gently broke the hug. ”You’ve sacrificed enough. I won’t let you get hurt again. You stay here and help Riven guard Northreach.”

​Raveena wanted to argue, but seeing Rianor’s protective gaze, she simply nodded in resignation. ”But... what if you get hurt?”

​”I won’t.” Rianor stroked her hair. ”I promise.”

​Raphael stood tall before Rianor. ”Brother, I also want to—”

​”You,” Rianor interrupted, ”will help Riven. Guard Northreach. Keep training your small unit. When you are older, you will lead. But for now, you learn.”

​Raphael was disappointed, but he nodded. ”Fine, Brother. But... you must come home. I still have much to learn from you.”

​Rianor smiled. ”I will. And I will teach you everything you need.”

​Caelus, who had been silent, finally spoke. ”Sir Rianor... I wish to help as well. Perhaps not on the front lines, but in the rear. I know many nobles in Sol-Regis. My information might be useful.”

​Rianor looked at the Seventh Prince. ”You’ve helped enough by choosing to stay here, Caelus. I will remember your offer.”

​Caelus nodded, relieved.

​Rumina suddenly appeared beside Rianor, thrusting a piece of paper at him. ”Here, Brother. The approved budget list. Don’t you dare exceed this, alright? A single Garrick’s Fury missile costs... ah, never mind. Just make sure it’s one missile for one Dual Railgun.”

​Rianor scanned the paper. ”This is... quite tight.”

​”Of course it is! So don’t be wasteful!” Rumina poked Rianor’s chest. ”Aim accurately. Don’t miss. Because if you miss, I’m the one who has to find the extra funds. And you know how hard it is to raise money during wartime—”

​”Rumina.” Lucian interrupted. ”Enough.”

​Rumina huffed, but her eyes betrayed her anxiety. ”Bring home a victory, Brother. But more importantly... bring yourself home.” Her voice softened suddenly.

​Rianor smiled warmly. ”I promise.”

​Aurelia approached Rianor again, straightening his collar as she used to do when he was a boy. ”Have you eaten? Don’t forget to rest before you leave. Carry enough supplies. If it gets cold, wear a thick cloak. And—”

​”Mother,” Rianor interrupted gently, holding her hands. ”I will be fine.”

​Aurelia looked at him for a long time. Her eyes were moist, but she smiled. ”I know. I’m just...”

​”Worried. I know.”

​That night, Iron Heart prepared.

​In the barracks, soldiers checked their gear. The clatter of metal, low prayers, and nervous laughter mingled together.

​On the runway, the Sky-Slayer Wing pilots performed final checks on their helicopters. Thamrin, the second-in-command, stood beside his Sky-Hunter, staring at the night sky.

​”You know, Kaelen?” he murmured. ”I never thought we’d make it this far.”

​Kaelen stood beside him. ”You earned your place here, Thamrin.”

​In the workshop, Hektor and the technical team ensured Garrick’s Fury was in peak condition. Every connection was checked, every valve tested, and every system recalibrated.

​”This is it, Garrick,” Hektor whispered, patting the launcher truck. ”You will be avenged.”

​In the subterranean interrogation room, Ember sat in a chair, facing the six provocateurs. They were terrified.

​”You have two choices,” Ember said flatly. ”Talk, or I make you talk. Choose.”

​In his room, Riven sat on the edge of the bed with Elena. They didn’t speak. They only held hands.

​On the castle balcony, Roland and Seraphina stood side by side, overlooking the city.

​”Are you worried?” Seraphina asked.

​”Of course.” Roland sighed. ”Rianor is leading the charge. Riven is guarding the home. I can only... wait.”

​”Waiting is also a struggle, Roland.”

​He looked at her. ”You’re right.”

​And in the hospital, in a quiet room, Elara sat in her wheelchair, looking out the window. In her hand was the Snow Chrysanthemum Rianor had given her. It was beginning to wilt, but it remained a beautiful white-blue.

​”Rianor...” she whispered. ”Come home.”

​In his room, Rianor sat on his bed. Before him was a small vase with the same flower—the one he had plucked from the hospital garden. It was wilting too.

​He reached out and held it gently.

​”Elara,” he whispered. ”Wait for me. I’m coming home.”

​Four days.

​Four days until the war.

​Four days until vengeance.

​In the distance, to the north, Northveil waited.