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

Chapter 176: Chapter 176: THE UNWANTED CHILD

Morning had arrived.

The sun began to illuminate the spires of the Castle of Iron Hearth. The sounds of busy servants drifted from a distance—hurried footsteps in the corridors, small commands echoing back and forth, and the occasional burst of laughter from the kitchen as it hummed to life.

Inside the room, the atmosphere was different.

Quiet.

But it wasn’t a cold silence. It was a warm, expectant quiet, for behind that door, the world was bustling to prepare something for her. For the first time in her life, the commotion wasn’t for someone else. It was for her.

A white gown hung on the wooden rack beside the bed. The fabric was soft, adorned with Snow Chrysanthemum embroidery at the cuffs and bodice—a single row, just as she had chosen. A sheer veil was draped neatly beside it.

Elara sat in her wheelchair, facing the window.

From here, she could see the castle gardens. The Snow Chrysanthemums were in full bloom along the fence, their white and blue petals contrasting sharply with the gray stone walls. A few servants were still busy arranging chairs in the courtyard, and in the distance, a voice—perhaps Aurelia’s—cried out instructions.

Elara offered a faint smile.

Her hand reached for the gown. She touched the fabric, feeling the softness beneath her fingertips. Then, she slowly pushed her wheelchair, moving toward the large mirror in the corner of the room.

In that mirror, she saw her reflection.

White gown. Red hair. Wheelchair.

But what she saw wasn’t a bride.

What she saw was a young girl. A little girl with the same red hair, standing before a much colder mirror, in a place that had never truly been a home.

Her mind drifted back.

Castle Velmora.

Grand. Cold. Hollow.

Those were the only words that could describe the home of her childhood. High, gray stone walls towered above, stained-glass windows depicted the grandeur of ancestors, and in every corner, the emblem of a red tree with roots stretching out like claws was displayed—the House of Crimson Arkana.

But for young Elara, the castle was merely a silent place.

A cold silence. A freezing silence.

That day was the day after the mana screening. Elara was only seven years old. She didn’t fully understand the meaning of ”weak mana” or ”unfit.” All she knew was that morning, when she went down to the dining table, everything felt different.

Celeste, her eldest sister, was already seated in her favorite chair. Her jet-black hair was combed neatly, and her light blue robes were brand new. She glanced at Elara briefly, then smiled. A smile that had once been warm now felt like a blade.

”Ah, the failure has finally woken up,” she said softly. Her voice was sweet, but her words were piercing.

Young Elara didn’t answer. She simply sat at the far end of the table, far from Celeste, far from Adrian who was reading a parchment scroll, and far from Elvari who was busy with her tea.

No one greeted her.

Adrian didn’t look up. Elvari didn’t speak. Valir, her second brother, walked in, saw Elara, then turned and left for another room without a single word.

That was the first morning of many silent mornings to come.

Gradually, days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and months into years.

Elara grew up in that grand, cold castle. She learned that in this family, being weak meant being invisible. No one spoke to her except for formal necessities. No one asked how she was. No one cared.

And Celeste only grew more cruel.

”Do you see this?” Celeste would hold up her palm. At the tips of her fingers, blue mana pulsed, forming a small, glowing orb. ”This is what every Velmora child should possess. But you...” She chuckled. ”You can’t even produce a spark.”

Young Elara looked down.

Celeste leaned in. ”Father and Mother won’t say it, but I will. You are useless, Elara. You are nothing but a burden. It would have been better if you were never born.”

The words were painful enough. But Celeste didn’t stop at words.

One afternoon, Elara was walking down the corridor toward her room. Her small shoes clicked against the cold marble floor, creating an echo in the silent hallway. She had just finished fetching the tea Elvari had requested—a task often given to her, though she suspected it was merely an excuse to keep her from sitting idle in her room.

Her hands trembled slightly as she carried the tray. She wasn’t used to it yet. Her hands were still too small; the tray was too heavy. But she tried.

From the end of the corridor, Celeste appeared.

She walked slowly, her blue robes trailing behind her. Her jet-black hair swayed in rhythm with her steps. A sweet smile was carved onto her face—but her purple eyes were icy.

”Elara,” she greeted. ”Father wants you to—”

She stopped.

Her eyes settled on the tray in Elara’s hands. Then she smiled. It wasn’t a warm smile. It was the kind of smile that made Elara want to run.

”You still haven’t learned how to carry that properly, have you?”

Celeste raised her hand.

There was no warning. No harsh words. Just a flick of her fingers, and a bolt of blue mana shot out—not hard, not enough to send her flying, but enough to unbalance the tray in Elara’s grip.

The teacup fell. It shattered against the marble floor. Warm tea spilled, soaking the hem of Elara’s dress.

And Elara herself tumbled down.

Her knees slammed against the hard stone floor. Her hands braced her fall, her palms scraped by ceramic shards. Blood dripped thinly between her fingers.

Celeste let out a small laugh. ”Do you see? You can’t even stand properly. You failed at even bringing Mother tea. What use are you?”

She stepped over Elara. She didn’t help her up. She didn’t call a servant to clean the shards. She didn’t even look at the girl’s wounds.

She simply left.

Elara sat on the cold corridor floor. Ceramic shards were scattered around her. The warm tea began to cool, seeping into the thin fabric of her dress. The blood from her palms dripped slowly.

She didn’t scream. She didn’t call out.

She simply sat there, head bowed, holding back something in her throat that felt hot and suffocating.

A moment later, a servant passed by. The middle-aged woman saw Elara, saw the shards, saw the blood. Her eyes moved quickly, then she looked down, quickened her pace, and walked away.

As if she hadn’t seen anything.

As if Elara wasn’t even there.

Young Elara sat alone in the cold corridor. No one came. No one asked. No one cared.

She cried.

She cried because Celeste had done it right before everyone’s eyes, and not a single person—not Adrian, not Elvari, not the servants, not anyone—had stopped. No one scolded her. No one said, ”That is not allowed.”

They knew. They all knew.

And they were silent.

Silence was consent.

Young Elara cried on the corridor floor, alone, until her tears ran dry. Then she stood up, wiped her eyes with the back of her still-bleeding hand, and walked to her room without looking back.

She learned something that day.

In the Velmora family, she had no one.

Years passed.

Celeste’s bullying never ceased. Sometimes it was words. Sometimes it was small, painful spells. Sometimes it was just a sneer that made Elara want to vanish.

No one protected her. Adrian and Elvari knew—they must have known. But they remained silent. As if they were allowing Celeste to do whatever she pleased. As if they agreed.

That was what hurt the most—not the wounds on her knees or palms, but the silence of her parents.

Elara learned not to cry in front of them. She learned to be silent.

But at night, in her quiet room, she often cried herself to sleep.

Until one day, at the age of sixteen, she discovered the castle library.

The library was vast, silent, and cold—just like the rest of the castle. But there, on the tall, dusty wooden shelves, Elara found something she had never found anywhere else.

Science books.

Physics. Mathematics. Knowledge of a world that didn’t need mana. A world that was logical, measurable, and fair. A place where worth wasn’t determined by blood or magical talent.

Elara read. She read everything.

She learned about numbers, about formulas, about how objects fall, how light moves, and how machines work. Every page felt like meeting a new friend. Every formula felt like the warm embrace she had never received from her family.

In that library, Elara felt alive.

She came every day. She sat in the same corner, near the window that caught the afternoon sun, reading book after book. The servants didn’t care. Celeste rarely visited the library—the place was too boring for her.

For the first time, Elara had a sanctuary.

But one afternoon, Celeste walked in.

It wasn’t intentional. Perhaps she was looking for something. Perhaps she was just bored. But she saw Elara in the corner, sitting with a book on her lap, and her smile instantly widened.

”What is that?” she asked, approaching with slow steps.

Elara closed the book. Her hands trembled. ”Nothing.”

”Nothing?” Celeste laughed.

She snatched the book from Elara’s hands. Elara couldn’t fight back. Her hands were too weak. Her mana was too faint.

Celeste read the title. ”Fundamental Principles of Motion and Force. Physics?” She laughed again. ”What is this trash? Why are you reading this?”

”It’s—it’s nothing,” Elara answered softly. ”I just—”

”You’re just wasting time.” Celeste flipped through the pages. ”Do you think reading this nonsense will make you useful? Your mana isn’t enough. No matter how much you read, you will never be a true mage.”

”That’s not the goal—”

”Then what is the goal?” Celeste stared at her. Her eyes were cold. ”What do you want to be? A scientist? A researcher? In this world, Elara, mana is power.”

She held the book up. Blue mana flared at the tips of her fingers.

Elara reached forward. ”Don’t—”

But it was too late.

Blue flames consumed the first page. Then the second. The third. The old papers scorched and turned to ash, scattering across the library floor.

Elara knelt, trying to grab the book, trying to smother the fire, but her hands only burned. It was hot. It was painful.

She let go.

The book was gone in seconds. All that remained was a pile of black ash on the wooden floor.

Celeste smiled. ”Do you see? Even that book couldn’t protect you from my smallest spark. What use is knowledge without mana?”

She turned and walked out. The heels of her shoes clicked against the marble, creating an echo in the silent room.

Elara knelt on the floor.

She gathered the ash with her hands, which were still stinging. She held it in her palms. The black ash stained her fingers, the edges of her nails.

She didn’t cry. Not there.

She just sat in silence, staring at the ash that remained of the only friend she had in this castle.

Age seventeen.

That night, the castle was quiet. No parties. No family gatherings. Only the usual silence.

Elara gripped the remaining books tightly—the ones she had managed to hide from Celeste, the ones that hadn’t been burned. Only three books. The most precious ones. The ones that had been hardest to obtain.

She had been preparing for days. A few clothes, a bit of food, and those books.

She stepped out of her room.

The corridor was dark. The mana lamps on the walls glowed dimly, but not enough to light the entire hallway. Elara walked slowly, avoiding the paths the guards usually took. She descended the cold stone stairs. She passed the empty dining hall.

Every step felt heavy.

No one saw her.

At the main gate, two guards stood. They glanced at Elara briefly. Perhaps they only saw a faint shadow under the moonlight and dismissed it as an illusion.

Elara stepped out.

The black iron gate closed behind her.

The night wind greeted her. Cold. But a different kind of cold. A cold that carried freedom.

She stopped outside the gate.

Castle Velmora stood behind her. Grand. Cold. Hollow. Its red roofs were dimly visible under the moonlight. None of the stained-glass windows were lit. Everyone was sleeping. Everyone was silent.

No one saw her leave. No one would come looking for her.

Elara stared at the castle for a long time. She didn’t cry. She had no more tears left for this place.

She just stood there, in the middle of the cold night wind, feeling the weight on her shoulders begin to lift. Slowly. One by one. Like chains snapping.

She would not return.

She was knowledgeable enough. She was strong enough.

And this was her day of freedom.

Without a letter, without a message, without a goodbye.

Elara turned.

She walked West. Toward the unknown. Toward a place that might become a home, or perhaps just a stop before the next.

And she would never return to the place that never wanted her.

The night wind blew harder, whipping her red hair back. Castle Velmora grew smaller in the distance. Its towers slowly sank into the darkness.

Elara did not look back. She kept walking.

Stepping into the vast night, into a world she didn’t yet know, into a new life.

And behind her, Castle Velmora stood silent, as if it had never lost anyone at all.