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

Chapter 212: Chapter 212: THE CALL OF THE LION

​Two weeks after Ana’s birth, Iron Hearth had begun to grow accustomed to the sound of a baby’s cry in the west wing.

​That morning, Arvid no longer panicked every time his daughter cried—at least, not as severely as he had on the first day. He sat on the edge of the bed, carefully cradling Ana, while Rhea lay beside him, her eyes half-closed but alert as always.

​”She’s hungry again,” Rhea murmured.

​”How can you tell?”

​”Because she’s clenching her fists. Look.” Rhea pointed to Ana’s tiny fingers, gripped tight. ”That’s the sign.”

​Arvid observed his daughter with intense focus, as if he were examining a rare specimen. ”I never read about this in any of the books.”

​”That’s because you read history books, not baby manuals.” Rhea took Ana from Arvid’s arms and began to nurse her. ”You need to read more useful books.”

​”I’ll look for some in the library.”

​Rhea let out a huff—a sound that was almost a laugh. ”The library won’t teach you how to be a father.”

​Arvid fell silent, staring at his wife and daughter. There was a strange warmth in his chest—something that all the books he had ever read could never explain. ”In that case... I shall learn from you.”

​Rhea glanced at him before returning her focus to Ana. ”You can start by making breakfast.”

​At the other end of the castle, Rianor Sudrath had been awake since dawn.

​He sat at his desk in the Alpha Building, surrounded by piles of sketches and notes. On the blackboard before him, the image of the school gate he had named ”Seruni” was taking shape—two stone pillars with a wooden arch, flanked by pine trees. Elara sat in her wheelchair beside him, cradling a crystal tablet that displayed a list of subjects.

​”Basic mathematics, physics, chemistry, history, ethics, and magic,” she read. ”Are you sure the children of Northreach need all of this?”

​”They need more than that.” Rianor pointed to the sketch. ”But we start here. The foundation.”

​Elara simply nodded and smiled.

​Rianor set down his chalk and turned to his wife. ”I want this school to stand even after we are gone. I want the children of Northreach to have a place to learn, not just how to fight, but how to think.”

​Elara maneuvered her wheelchair closer, reaching for Rianor’s hand. ”They will. You are the one building it.”

​”We,” Rianor gripped her hand. ”We are building it together.”

​Meanwhile, at the Southern Paddock training grounds, Raphael Sudrath was already drenched in sweat.

​He stood before a straw dummy that was already dented in several places, a wooden sword in his hand. Riven stood several meters behind him, arms crossed, his face expressionless.

​”Again,” Riven said.

​Raphael swung his sword. The dummy rattled but did not fall.

​”Again.”

​The second swing. This time harder, faster.

​”Again. Don’t just use brute force. Use your brain. Find the weak point.”

​Raphael caught his breath, staring at the dummy. He noticed how the straw at the neck was looser than the chest. He swung his sword there.

​The dummy collapsed.

​Riven nodded. ”Good. Now get it back up. We repeat.”

​Raphael wanted to complain, but he held his tongue. He remembered Thorne’s words before the war: ”Being able to fight and being ready to fight are two different things.” He wasn’t ready yet. But he would keep training until he was.

​”Again,” Riven said.

​Raphael nodded, picked up his sword, and began once more.

​In his study, Lucian Sudrath stood by the window, staring south.

​In his hand was a cup of warm tea—made by Aurelia, as always. But this morning, he had barely touched it. His mind was too occupied.

​The door opened softly. Aurelia entered, wearing a simple yet elegant dark blue gown. She walked over and stood beside her husband, following his gaze out the window.

​”What is it? You seem to have a lot on your mind,” she said gently.

​Lucian nodded. ”The war is over. The ceasefire has been signed. But this isn’t the end, Aurelia. It’s only an intermission.”

​Aurelia placed her hand on her husband’s arm. ”Then what will you do?”

​Lucian looked out the window again—at the city he had built from nothing, at the factories belching smoke, at the people who were finally brave enough to dream.

​”I will summon the city lords,” he said. ”Northreach can no longer remain a mere duchy. We must become something greater.”

​Aurelia offered a thin smile. ”I figured you would say that.” She took her husband’s hand. ”I am by your side. As always.”

​Lucian squeezed her hand. ”As always.”

​The city lords began to arrive before sunset.

​Count Eddard Torsen of Torshavn arrived first—punctual, as usual. His face still bore the lines of fatigue from the war, but his posture remained upright. Count Hektor Torricelli of Northveil arrived shortly after, followed by Count Lionel Andreas of Isafjord, who still walked with a slight limp from an old wound. Countess Mira Frost of Frostmere arrived in a carriage coated in a thin layer of frost—a remnant of the magic she carried everywhere. Baron Aldric Varn of Varnhold, Baron Gerold Holloway of Hollowford, and Baron Corvin Salt of Saltspire arrived together, greeting each other with stiff nods. Viscount Alden Oak of Oakhaven—the youngest among them—arrived with a serious expression, trying to look older than his years. Viscount Roderick Qan of Qaqortoq entered in his mining cloak, still dusted with grime. And finally, Count Merrick East of East-Port, with a faint smile whose meaning was always impossible to guess.

​They all gathered in the Main Hall of Iron Hearth Castle—the same room where the Sudrath family had first woken up in this world, confused and nearly bankrupt. Now, the room was filled with regional rulers they could once only dream of commanding.

​Lucian stood at the end of the long table. Beside him, Aurelia sat quietly. Behind them, Roland stood—his face calm, but his eyes moving quickly, reading every expression in the room. Rianor sat on the left side, his crystal tablet glowing with notes. Riven stood by the window, arms crossed, preferring to observe rather than speak. Rumina sat near Rianor, her ledger already open, ready to record every decision that would affect the budget.

​”I believe everyone is present,” Lucian spoke. His voice was low, but every word rang clear. ”Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

​Count Eddard nodded. ”A summons from you is always of great importance, Your Grace.”

​Lucian looked at each of the faces before him. ”You all know what we have just been through. The war against Aethelgard. The ceasefire. And the reality that we can no longer return to the shelter of the same crown.”

​Hektor Torricelli—whose city had once been destroyed by the Iron Empire’s invasion—leaned forward. ”What are you proposing, Your Grace?”

​Lucian took a breath. ”Northreach must become its own kingdom.”

​Silence.

​Count Lionel Andreas frowned. ”A kingdom... of our own? That means officially seceding from Aethelgard.”

​”Precisely.”

​”And the consequences?” Lionel stared at Lucian intensely. ”Aethelgard will not sit idly by. They may have lost the battle, but their pride is wounded. Eleanor will not let this pass easily.”

​Lucian nodded. ”I know. But this ceasefire is not peace. If we remain a duchy, we will always live in their shadow. We will always be subject to their pressure, their regulations, and their betrayals.”

​Countess Mira Frost—a silver-haired woman with eyes as sharp as a hawk—finally spoke. ”I agree. Frostmere has depended on Sol-Regis’s disadvantageous decisions for too long. If Northreach becomes a kingdom, we can manage the crystal trade ourselves.”

​Baron Holloway—a stout man with a friendly, nervous face—rubbed his brow. ”But... are we ready? Building a kingdom isn’t just about a name. There is administration, military, economy...”

​”I can handle that,” Rumina interrupted without looking up from her ledger. ”Our budget is stable. The Maglev rail to the Emerald Union will soon be operational. Revenue from the Mithril mines and the steel mills is sufficient to fund a new government.”

​Holloway swallowed hard. ”Oh. Well, then.”

​Count Merrick East—who had only offered a faint smile until now—finally opened his mouth. ”I have no objection. East-Port has always been the back door. Becoming the front door of a kingdom isn’t an issue either.”

​A few people chuckled softly.

​Count Eddard stood up. His voice was heavy, but full of conviction. ”Torshavn has nearly fallen twice. First to monsters, then to the royal army. We survived not because of Aethelgard, but because of House Sudrath. I will never again bow to a crown that sends troops to kill its own people.”

​He looked at Lucian. ”Torshavn supports Northreach as a kingdom.”

​Hektor Torricelli stood next. ”Northveil as well. My city was rebuilt by Sudrath hands. Our blood is your blood.”

​One by one, the city lords declared their support. Count Lionel—who had been hesitant—finally nodded. ”Isafjord will not swim against the current. We are with Northreach.”

​Lucian looked at them all. Behind him, Aurelia gripped her own hands tightly. Riven remained silent by the window, but the corner of his lip twitched upward slightly. Rianor was busy typing on his tablet. Roland smiled—the smile of a diplomat who knew victory was at hand.

​”The name of the kingdom,” Lucian said at last. ”We need a name.”

​Several suggestions arose. ”The Sudrath Kingdom.” ”The Northern Kingdom.” ”The Kingdom of the Wolf.”

​But Count Eddard shook his head. ”Too complicated. Our people already call themselves the people of Northreach. Let that name be eternal.”

​Lucian looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. ”The Kingdom of Northreach.”

​No one objected.

​Lucian gazed at the large map hanging on the wall—a map that once only showed a small duchy in the north, now encompassing the entire land they had fought for with their blood.

​”I will write to all the kingdoms,” he said. ”Aethelgard. Draconia. The Emerald Union. The Beast-Kin Khanate. They must know that as of today, Northreach is no longer anyone’s vassal.”

​He turned, facing his city lords.

​”There is no turning back.”

​The city lords began to leave the Main Hall one by one. Count Eddard stopped briefly in front of Lucian.

​”Your Majesty... apologies, I am still used to calling you Duke.”

​Lucian patted his shoulder. ”Call me whatever makes you comfortable, Eddard. What matters is that you remain here, by our side.”

​Eddard smiled—a rare smile from a man who had seen too much death. ”I am going nowhere. Torshavn is my home. Northreach is my home.”

​He bowed and departed.

​Rumina approached Lucian, her ledger still open. ”Father, I need to talk about the coronation budget. If we want a proper ceremony, I need approval for additional funds.”

​Lucian looked at his daughter. ”You never stop, do you?”

​”No. That’s my job.” Rumina looked at her father seriously. ”So? Can I start the calculations?”

​Lucian sighed, but the corner of his lip curled up. ”Calculate it. But don’t be too extravagant.”

​Rumina smiled in satisfaction and walked out, already busy with her own math.

​Aurelia approached, taking her husband’s arm. ”You did it.”

​”We did it.” Lucian looked at his wife.

​Aurelia rested her head on Lucian’s shoulder. ”I will be here. Until the end.”

​Outside the window, the snow began to fall again. But inside the Main Hall, the fire of determination was lit. And it would not be extinguished.