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

​The early hours in Iron Hearth always possessed a unique way of chilling one to the bone.

​Whooosh... The relentless North wind howled, slipping through the ventilation shafts of Facility Alpha’s underground laboratory. Amidst the suffocating silence—occupied only by a sea of hanging cables, scattered metal plates, and blueprints strewn across the floor—a sharp hiss echoed.

​Bzzzt! A mana welding torch flared a brilliant blue. The pungent scent of ozone mixed with the sharp sting of scorched metal instantly permeated the air, clinging to the low ceiling of the room.

​Rianor Sudrath sat alone at his workbench. Beside him, an oval mirror stood tilted. Before him, the thick medical bandages wrapping his left arm had been forcibly removed, lying dull and discarded on the tiled floor.

​The sight of the arm was horrifying. The flesh had hardened and died. The skin was shriveled, carrying a sickly, blackened-red hue.

​”Seventy percent nerve damage. Total muscular necrosis.”

​Rianor muttered the diagnosis to himself. His tone was phenomenally flat, as cold as a surgical scalpel. There was not a single trace of self-pity.

​His healthy right hand grabbed a piece of metal plating the size of his forearm. It wasn’t ordinary steel—it was a precise alloy of Adamantite and conductive silver. The exact same ultra-rare material he utilized to assemble the reactor cores of the Sky-Hunter combat helicopters.

​Bzzzt! The blue mana torch flared back to life. Rianor got to work.

​In the dead of the night, the genius was forging something for his own body.

​An Arcanotech Bracer.

​His old Mana Glove had been annihilated in Luminara. That artifact would never return. But Rianor didn’t care. His battle in the Colosseum had awakened the Spectrum. Now, he simply needed a new vessel. A physical channeling conduit capable of withstanding the explosive pressure of those frequencies.

​Clack. The first metal plate was forcibly locked, encasing his charred wrist. The freezing sensation of the steel pressing against his sensitive, ruined skin immediately crawled up his nervous system, shooting straight to his brain.

​Rianor ground his jaw tightly. The veins in his neck bulged as he endured the agonizing sting. Drawing on the absolute last of his strength, he forced his violently trembling fingers to press the activation trigger on the metal.

​BZZZT! This time, the micro-circuits running along the length of the Bracer ignited in unison. The light pulsed in perfect sync—blue, purple, before stabilizing into a blinding white.

​Rianor attempted to clench his new mechanical hand.

​Whirrr... Clank! The steel fist closed flawlessly with absolute precision. Rianor scrutinized his handiwork intently from behind his thin glasses. Slowly, the corner of the architect’s lips pulled upward. A faint smirk of satisfaction.

​”Perfect.”

​The sun still refused to rise when Rianor marched into the classified garage in the eastern wing of the castle.

​A light tactical mana-engine vehicle was already parked neatly inside. It was the latest prototype modification from the Northern military workshops—its design was aerodynamic, built with a lightweight steel chassis, and ran quietly enough to carry four passengers across extreme overland routes toward the Draconian border.

​Vwuum... Its engine was already purring, warming up. Its yellow headlights cast a dim glow, reflecting elongated shadows against the concrete walls of the garage.

​And apparently, Eva was already standing there, waiting.

​The brunette leaned her shoulder against a steel pillar in a remarkably casual stance.

​”Are you sure you can infiltrate Draconia?” Eva’s voice shattered the quiet. Her tone sounded flat, but there was a sharp, underlying edge to it. Not anger. But a deep-seated fear disguised by ego.

​Rianor looked at her calmly. ”I won’t be alone. I am going with Roland.”

​”Roland is just a diplomat! If things actually turn into a bloodbath, what exactly can he do?” Eva scoffed. ”You need a bodyguard, not a smooth talker.”

​”I am perfectly capable of protecting myself.”

​”Oh, really? Then what the hell happened to your left arm?”

​Rianor was stripped of words. Eva pushed herself off the pillar, taking firm steps to close the distance between them.

​”I am an outcast, Rianor,” Eva’s voice softened slightly, shedding its tough exterior. ”I have absolutely no one else here. No family. No place to return to.” She looked him dead in the eye. ”The only thing I possess is my ability to fight. So... let me protect you.”

​Before Rianor could formulate a reply, the sound of rapid, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Tap! Tap! Tap!

​Adul practically burst through the garage doors. Panic was painted all over the young man’s face. A heavy supply rucksack was strapped to his back, while he tightly hugged a transmission comms box to his chest.

​”L-Lord Rianor! I heard rumors that you were heading out on another expedition!” Adul stammered, desperately trying to catch his breath. ”This radio comms device... I’m the only technician who knows how to maintain it in the field! If you recklessly leave without me... who is going to broadcast a distress signal back to Northreach?!”

​Rianor stood stunned, staring at Adul.

​The teenage boy who was once an absolute coward, who could only throw stones with knocking knees back in Magniora... now stood defiantly, a faint, flickering golden-yellow Aura cloaking his entire body.

​Eva threw Adul an approving smirk before turning back to Rianor, crossing her arms. ”See? You’ll never be able to just get rid of us.”

​Haaaaah. Rianor let out a long, heavy exhale. He glanced at the mechanical Bracer on his left arm, then back at the two incredibly stubborn people standing before him.

​”You have to remember. Neither of you will be paid a single copper coin for this mission.”

​”To hell with the money. Who’s expecting a paycheck from you anyway?” Eva grinned widely.

​Adul shook his head frantically in agreement. ”I-I just want to help, My Lord!”

​Rianor slowly turned his face toward the main garage doors, where the first crimson streaks of dawn were beginning to crack the darkness.

​”Good. In that case, load your supplies into the vehicle. We depart the second I drag Roland down here.”

​A brilliant red dawn finally broke fully over the eastern horizon.

​Inside his office in the castle’s diplomatic wing, Roland Sudrath had just finished organizing the final stack of protocol documents for Selene. Thick dark circles bagged his eyes from a severe lack of sleep. Yet, the moment his office door creaked open and Rianor walked in, subtly displaying his new mechanical arm, Roland’s posture instantly stiffened. His gaze fell squarely on Rianor’s altered limb.

​”Your arm...” he muttered softly. There was a raw shock he couldn’t quite conceal.

​Rianor acted as if he didn’t care. He marched straight to the desk, unrolling a weathered parchment map and spreading it wide.

​”We leave this morning.” His metal finger tapped the eastern continent. ”You handle the navigation. You’ve been there before.”

​Roland’s eyes traced the intricate details of the map on the desk. Draconia. The land of the dragon riders. The very place where Seraphina—the only woman who had ever successfully scrambled his flawless logic—was currently imprisoned in a web of political intrigue and the threat of a forced, inbred marriage.

​”Two more people are joining us,” Rianor said, tapping his mechanical fingers against the wood. Clank. ”Eva and Adul.”

​Roland raised an eyebrow. ”Are they seriously willing to go that far?”

​”I tried to forbid them. They threatened to follow anyway.”

​Roland chuckled softly. A faint smile touched his face. ”Incredibly stubborn. Reminds me of how we used to be.”

​”It’s different.” Rianor shook his head. ”Back then, we truly had no choice.”

​Roland shrugged. ”It’s still the same.”

​The two princes fell silent. Their gazes locked back onto the expanse of the Draconian map. The map was littered with terrifying topographies: the Volcanic Peaks, the Hall of Eternal Flame, the Cloud Terraces. Names of places that sounded physically impossible to conquer, yet Roland had them entirely memorized.

​”In your opinion... what is the most fatal obstacle we will face there?” Rianor asked, breaking the silence.

​”Prince Ignis,” Roland answered coldly, his finger tapping hard on one of the castle symbols on the map. ”He is Seraphina’s cousin, as well as the leader of the warmongering hardline faction. He is the prime mastermind forcing Seraphina into this marriage.”

​Roland drew a heavy breath. ”And the most troublesome part... behind that bastard stands the shadow of the hyper-conservative Dragon Elder Council. They view human races like us as nothing more than annoying pests. They absolutely will not welcome our arrival with open arms.”

​”The Dragon Council doesn’t have to like us,” Rianor said, casually adjusting his glasses. ”They only need to shut up and listen.”

​Roland chuckled. ”You always talk as if diplomacy is incredibly easy.”

​”It is easy. Diplomacy is merely about calculating probabilities. The only difference is, numbers don’t have egos. Humans do.”

​Roland let out a soft laugh. ”A very fitting description for Draconia.”

​Whirrr... Clank! Rianor flexed his mechanical fingers, clenching his steel fist with full force.

​”I promise you. I will tear open a path and make sure you reach Seraphina alive. Whatever the risk.”

​Roland stared intently at his brother’s face. The rigid man who, for his entire life, only cared about machines, metals, and numbers... was now standing tall, ready to defy death with a steel arm, fully prepared to cross a continent just to help him fight for a woman.

​It was a moment of brotherhood whose value was beyond measure.

​”Thank you so much, Brother.”

​Rianor didn’t respond to the sentimental praise. He simply looked back down, glaring at the map of Draconia, his brain shifting into overdrive—calculating travel distances, assessing weather patterns, and formulating layers upon layers of contingency plans.

​This morning, they would hit the gas and tear through the eastern horizon. Heading toward the land of dragons. Driving straight into the crater of a war whose victory could not be guaranteed by any mathematical formula.

​But for now, bathed in the warm morning light filtering through the castle’s glass windows, the two Sudrath brothers simply stood side by side. Silently fortifying each other.