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

Chapter 173: Chapter 173: THE SHATTERED SILENCE

The silence did not last long.

From outside the room, the sound of heavy footsteps echoed, punctuated by the rhythmic tap of a crystal staff hitting the marble floor. Those sounds were followed by two other sets of footsteps—one light and graceful, the other flat and expressionless.

Elvari straightened her back. Her measured smile returned instantly, as if the preceding silence had never occurred.

”Ah,” she said softly. ”They have returned.”

Elara gripped Rianor’s hand even tighter. Her body began to tremble. Rianor felt it—a subtle tremor he had known since the first time he saw her in the hospital. It was a fear that couldn’t be articulated in words.

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. Slowly. Repeatedly.

The doors to the drawing room swung open.

Adrian Velmora was the first to stride in.

His posture was rigid, and his fiery red hair—identical to Elara’s—was combed back neatly. A black robe with deep crimson embroidery billowed behind him. His face was stern, with lines of age etched at the corners of his eyes and jaw, but his eyes—the same purple eyes as Elara’s—remained sharp. Cold. It was as if he were assessing every corner of the room in a single blink.

Behind him, Celeste stepped in with practiced elegance.

Her pitch-black hair contrasted sharply with her navy-blue gown embroidered with silver. A faint smile was already fixed on her beautiful face as she entered. Her gaze swept across the room—flicking from Elvari to Rianor, and finally to the wheelchair.

To Elara.

Her smile widened.

Valir entered last. With red hair like his father and a simple black robe, his face remained a blank mask. He didn’t look at anyone. His eyes stayed fixed forward as he moved to the furthest sofa, pulled a book from his robe pocket, and began to read.

As if nothing were happening.

As if Elara wasn’t even in the room.

Elvari stood, greeting her husband with a slight nod. ”Adrian, this is Lord Rianor Sudrath. Son of Duke Lucian of Northreach.”

Adrian stared at Rianor for a fraction of a second, then gave a curt nod.

”Lord Sudrath.” His voice was deep, flat, and devoid of pleasantries. ”Sit.”

It wasn’t an invitation. It was a command.

Rianor did not budge. He remained standing beside Elara’s wheelchair, his hand still firmly clasping her fingers. Only after several seconds passed did he pull the wheelchair to the side of the sofa and take a seat next to her.

Adrian took the primary chair beside Elvari. Celeste sat on the opposite sofa, directly facing Elara. Valir remained in the corner, eyes still glued to his book.

A servant entered with a tray of tea, placed it on the table, and promptly left.

No one touched the tea.

Elvari was the first to speak. ”Adrian, Lord Sudrath has come to—”

”I heard,” Adrian cut her off flatly. His eyes never left Rianor. ”The son of the Duke of Northreach. The family that just won a war. Impressive.”

Rianor nodded politely. ”Thank you, Count Velmora.”

Adrian didn’t reply. He picked up his teacup, took a slow sip, and set it back down.

Silence returned.

Celeste could not contain herself any longer.

”Elara.” Her voice was sweet and soft, like honey-coated poison. ”My goodness, it really is you. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Elara didn’t answer. Her shoulders shook.

Celeste leaned forward, her eyes scanning the wheelchair with an expression of feigned pity. ”A wheelchair? And your mana... I don’t feel even a ripple of mana from you. Not a single spark.”

She turned to Adrian, then to Elvari, her face twisted into a mask of false concern.

”Father, Mother, is Elara ill? Why was I never told? I certainly would have visited had I known.”

Adrian remained silent. Elvari offered a thin smile, joining the quiet.

Celeste turned her gaze back to Elara. ”Are you alright? I heard you went to Northreach. That frigid region in the north? Truly unsuitable for Velmora blood. It’s no wonder you’ve ended up like this.”

Elara lowered her head further. Her red hair fell over her face, obscuring her expression. Her fingers gripped Rianor’s hand so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Rianor squeezed back. Harder.

He didn’t retaliate. Not once did his eyes flicker toward Celeste. He simply continued to stroke the back of Elara’s hand with his thumb—a slow, rhythmic gesture that served as an unspoken signal: I am here. You are not alone.

Elara lifted her gaze.

They locked eyes for a brief moment. Then, Rianor gave a small, reassuring nod.

Elara gripped back. Tighter still.

Celeste watched the interaction. Her smile faltered for a second before blooming again. She leaned back on the sofa, picked up her teacup, and sipped with grace.

”Very well,” she said lightly. ”Lord Sudrath of Northreach. You must have urgent business to come to a remote place like Aritama.”

Rianor did not acknowledge Celeste. His eyes went directly to Adrian.

”I am here to inform you,” he said, his voice calm, firm, and polite, yet leaving no room for negotiation. ”I will be marrying Elara.”

Silence.

Adrian stared at him. His face was a blank slate. No surprise. No anger. No joy.

Celeste stopped mid-sip. Her eyes widened for an instant before narrowing.

Valir... gave no reaction. His eyes remained on the pages of his book.

Adrian set his teacup down. ”Marriage.”

”Yes.”

”To Elara.”

”Yes.”

Adrian looked at Elara for a moment, then back at Rianor.

”Do as you wish.”

Four words. Flat. Emotionless. No questions asked. No warm blessing, but no rejection either.

It was as if he were discarding trash. As if he were saying ”whatever” to something utterly inconsequential.

Elara heard those words. Her face went pale. Her lips trembled. But she smiled—a bitter smile that didn’t reach her eyes. A smile born of an inexplicable dilemma.

Was it relief? Because she would never have to deal with this family again?

Or was it sorrow? Because her family remained the same. Still indifferent. Still acting as if she didn’t exist.

She didn’t know. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps those feelings were inseparable.

Rianor remained unfazed. He had expected this.

”The wedding will take place in a month at Iron Hearth, Northreach,” he said. His gaze moved from Adrian to Elvari, then to Celeste, and finally to Valir—though Valir did not look up. ”The Velmora family is invited. I will send a formal invitation following this.”

Adrian nodded. ”We shall see.”

Not a promise to attend. Not a rejection. Simply... ”We shall see.”

Celeste could no longer keep quiet.

She set her teacup down with a slow, deliberate motion, then smiled at Rianor. It was the same smile she used to insult Elara—sweet, soft, yet piercing.

”Lord Sudrath,” she said softly. ”I just want to be certain. You are aware of my sister’s condition, aren’t you?”

Rianor looked at her. He didn’t answer.

Celeste sighed softly, like someone explaining something simple to a child. ”She is paralyzed. She cannot walk. And the mana in her body... it’s non-existent. I feel nothing. A complete void.”

She leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. ”You know, our family is famous for its powerful magical blood. Every Velmora child inherits extraordinary mana. But Elara...” She shook her head slowly. ”Nothing. Since birth, nothing.”

She leaned back again, her smile returning.

”I’m just concerned, Lord Sudrath. Marriage isn’t just about love. There is lineage. There is blood. There is family dignity. Are you certain that carrying the Sudrath name will be alright with... this?”

She pointed to the wheelchair with the tip of her finger. A small gesture. Elegant. Lethal.

Rianor listened until she was finished.

His face didn’t change. His eyes didn’t waver. His hand still held Elara’s fingers firmly.

He struck back.

”Thank you for your concern, Miss Velmora.”

His voice was flat. Neither high nor low. Just... a fact.

”But the matter of lineage is not something you need to worry about. That is between Elara and me.”

Celeste forced a smile. ”I was only—”

”Furthermore,” Rianor cut in, his tone remaining the same—flat, calm, as if explaining the obvious—”from what I’ve seen, Velmora blood doesn’t exactly guarantee a good personality.”

Silence.

Adrian froze mid-motion as he reached for his teacup. His hand hung suspended in the air. His eyes narrowed.

Elvari smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes—but she remained silent.

Celeste’s expression shifted. Her smile remained, but it was stiff. Her eyes widened for a moment before sharpening.

She wanted to retort. Her lips parted.

But Rianor wasn’t finished.

”But you needn’t worry,” he continued, his eyes now boring directly into Celeste’s. ”I am marrying Elara because of who she is. Not because of her blood. Not because of her mana. Not because of what she can offer to a family. But because of her.”

He paused for a beat.

”So, if anyone still tries to bother her, harass her, or simply make her feel worthless...” His voice didn’t rise. It remained flat. ”The Sudrath family will stand as her shield. No matter who the opponent is.”

A silence deeper than any before enveloped the room.

Adrian set his teacup down with a slow motion. His face was still a mask, but his jaw was tight. He was furious. It was suppressed fury.

Celeste forced another smile. She wanted to speak, but no sound came out.

Valir...

For the first time, Valir lifted his face from his book. He looked at Rianor for a moment. Then, the corner of his lip twitched upward—a tiny, almost imperceptible movement. A flash of a smile that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

He looked back down at his book.

Rianor stood up.

He didn’t wish to linger. His objective was complete. This family now knew. Adrian had said, ”Do as you wish.” Celeste had been answered. And he had held Elara’s hand since the very beginning.

There was nothing left to add.

He leaned toward Elara, his hands reaching for the wheelchair handles.

”Let’s go home.”

Elara nodded. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, but she was smiling. A genuine smile.

Rianor bowed politely to Adrian and Elvari. ”Thank you for your time.”

He pushed the wheelchair out of the drawing room.

No one stopped them.

No one called out.

Outside, Dom and the three Ghost Squad members were already on high alert. Dom opened the car door and prepared for the wheelchair. Rianor scooped Elara up—one arm under her knees, the other supporting her back—and lowered her into the car seat with the same gentleness he had shown upon arrival.

Elara did not look back. Not even once.

Dom closed the door.

The black SUV sped away from the castle courtyard. Past the garden with the silver flowers. Past the statue of the Velmora ancestor. Past the black iron gate where the blue crystal orbs glowed dimly.

Inside the car, Elara wept.

She lowered her head, her shoulders sobbing, her hands covering her face. Rianor didn’t speak. He simply pulled her into his embrace, letting her cry against his chest.

Dom and the driver sat in the front, silent. The Ghost Squad in the back remained still.

The car pressed on.

Aritama began to fade behind them. Kastel Velmora and the Tower of Babil in the distance grew smaller and smaller, until finally, they vanished behind the mist and the trees.

Elara was still crying, but her sobs slowly subsided.

”We’re going home,” Rianor whispered.

Elara nodded against his chest, her hands gripping his clothes tightly.

The car sped westward. Toward Northreach. Toward home.