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

​Rianor and Elara’s private bedchambers in the Iron Hearth Castle were enveloped in a slowly creeping warmth that night.

​In the corner of the room, the stone hearth burned steadily. Crackle... pop... The soft snapping of pine firewood danced playfully behind the protective glass pane.

​The lighting was kept dim, relying solely on the amber glow of the hearth and the antique oil lamps mounted on the walls.

​Elara was already in bed, half-reclined against a mountain of pillows. Her cream-colored cotton nightgown draped softly over her figure. Her crimson hair cascaded freely, covering one shoulder.

​Her purple eyes stared intently at the door.

​Beside the bed, her modified Arcanotech wheelchair was parked neatly, positioned close enough to reach. A thick wool blanket covered her legs and lower half.

​Click. The door handle pressed down. Rianor stepped inside.

​The Arcanotech Bracer on his left arm was still fully attached. The mechanical prosthetic, forged from an alloy of Adamantite and conductive silver, encased his entire forearm. A faint blue luminescence pulsed from the micro-circuits running along its metal plating.

​Rianor silently toed off his leather shoes, stepped forward, and sat at the edge of the bed.

​Whirrr... clack. The incredibly faint hum of a mechanical motor whined every time he moved his elbow joint. It was a machine’s heartbeat that had now become a permanent part of his own rhythm.

​Elara watched the heavy metal instrument with a small smile. There wasn’t a single drop of pity in her gaze. Only absolute acceptance.

​”I heard your nephew threw another tantrum today, Rianor,” Elara opened, breaking the silence with a light tone.

​Rianor relaxed his shoulders. ”Kaelven?”

​”Yes.” Elara let out a muffled, crisp laugh. ”The boy tried to stack some wooden blocks. But the moment his tower collapsed... my gods, he threw a fit, smacking the blocks while grumbling in his baby babble.”

​Rianor let out a short exhale through his nose. Haaah. ”Stubbornness. He definitely inherited that straight from Riven.”

​He then added in his trademark deadpan tone, ”Mother told me once... Riven threw a massive tantrum in the courtyard just because he couldn’t tie his shoelaces properly. He got so furious, my brother actually threw both his shoes down the old well.”

​Elara laughed freely. ”Hahaha! You’re not making this up, are you, Rianor?”

​”I feel no need to fabricate jokes,” Rianor answered stiffly. A response that only made Elara laugh harder, because she knew her husband was one hundred percent serious.

​The atmosphere in the room grew warmer. Elara then shifted the topic—bringing up her brother-in-law, Raphael.

​”The youngest prince has truly changed, hasn’t he?” Elara’s smile widened. ”Just imagine, he actually had the nerve to walk Elodie right into the castle grounds.”

​Rianor nodded slowly. ”You mentioned that yesterday, in the garden.”

​”I know, I know.” Elara chuckled softly.

​The conversation sounded casual, but Rianor’s analytical instincts caught an anomaly. He turned his head slowly, looking at his wife intently.

​”Why do you keep talking about children tonight, El?”

​The question slipped out without any filler. His gray eyes demanded the truth.

​Elara didn’t answer right away. Her pale, slender fingers reached out, touching the cold surface of the Arcanotech Bracer plating on her husband’s left arm. She traced the lines of the micro-circuits, feeling the freezing chill of the Adamantite metal.

​”Every time I see Kaelven’s adorable antics...” Elara’s voice shrank, shifting into a fragile whisper. ”...or hear about the innocent romance between Raphael and Elodie...”

​The woman slowly looked up. Staring straight into her husband’s eyes.

​”...I often find myself wondering, Rianor. What would it feel like... if we had a child of our own?”

​Rianor was struck mute. His breath seemingly froze in the air.

​”I’m not asking you to change,” Elara continued, her voice trembling slightly under the weight of her longing. ”I just... I want to have someone waiting for you to come home to this house, exactly the way I faithfully wait for you.”

​Rianor stared at the woman before him.

​Rianor’s right hand—his only fully intact hand—reached out to grasp Elara’s fingers. Tightly.

​”El... are you absolutely certain? Given your current physical condition...” Rianor’s voice was hoarse.

​”I have lost my magic pathways and the use of my legs. But my womb still functions perfectly,” Elara answered with unwavering conviction. Her eyes glistened wetly. ”I have verified it myself. I know the condition of my own body better than anyone.”

​Rianor sat stunned for a long time.

​Then, with incredibly cautious movements, his fingers unlatched the locking mechanism of the Arcanotech Bracer on his wrist.

​Whirrr... clank.

​The heavy metal detached. Rianor placed it on the nightstand. The blue glow of its circuits slowly dimmed into standby mode.

​Beneath the mechanical arm, his severely mangled left skin was exposed to the air.

​Elara didn’t look away for a single second. There was no glimmer of disgust. No fear.

​Instead, she brought her small hand to stroke the scarred, rough surface of his skin directly. Her touch was phenomenally gentle, accepting every inch of her husband’s scars unconditionally.

​Rianor could no longer respond with words.

​The man leaned forward and planted a warm, lingering kiss on Elara’s forehead. The kiss trailed down to her temple, swept across her cheek, and finally sealed their lips together in a passionate embrace, pouring out the yearning that had been locked away for months.

​Outside the window, a blizzard continued its descent, painting the earth of Northreach in a blanket of white. Serving as a silent witness as two souls, both cruelly altered by the ravages of war, finally reunited that night. Not with wild, untamed lust, but with the absolute, profound tenderness of two lovers who had no idea when fate might tear them apart again.

​Hours later, they lay side-by-side beneath the warmth of the thick duvet.

​Their breathing was still heavy. Elara rested her head comfortably against Rianor’s right shoulder—the shoulder that was still whole and warm. Her fingers held his hand tightly, resting it squarely over her rising and falling chest.

​”Will you... come back home from Draconia?” Elara whispered, breaking the quiet.

​”I will come home,” Rianor answered without hesitation.

​Elara smiled faintly. ”You know you can’t just keep promising that forever, Rianor.”

​”I will keep making that promise for you.”

​Elara’s smile widened. An exhausted smile, yet one that radiated pure, unadulterated happiness. ”In that case... I will wait for you again. As always.”

​Rianor didn’t answer verbally. He simply tightened his grip around Elara’s fingers. A silent declaration of an eternal vow.

​The dawn broke pale the following morning, smothered by the thick Northern fog.

​Inside the secret underground garage in the eastern wing of the Iron Hearth Castle, the freezing chill bit through the ventilation shafts. The hidden military workshop was stuffy with the pungent scent of engine lubricant mixed with liquid mana-fuel.

​A light tactical vehicle—a modified four-wheeled Hover-Jeep with a dark gray steel chassis—was prepped in the center of the room. The engine had already been warmed up. Vwuum... Its low hum vibrated the concrete floor. Its yellow headlights pierced sharply through the gloom.

​Near the vehicle, Eva stood leaning her shoulder against an iron pillar. Her travel attire was completely dark. Her brown hair was tied back practically. Her face still bore traces of sleepiness, but her eyes watched her surroundings as alertly as a she-wolf. The dagger at her waist had been freshly sharpened.

​Not far from her, Adul crouched beside the tires. The scrawny youth was busy inspecting the transmission comms box. The faint golden-yellow Aura—resembling docile static electricity—flickered stably around his entire body.

​Along his jawline, the fading blue bruise from his fight against Selene was still clearly stamped.

​”Have you eaten breakfast, Adul?” Eva asked flatly over the engine’s hum.

​”N-Not yet. My stomach is in knots because I’m too nervous,” Adul answered honestly without looking up.

​Eva snorted cynically. Tch. ”If your stomach starts rumbling from hunger in the middle of the road and distracts us, I’ll throw you out of the car.”

​”E-Eh, don’t worry! I packed plenty of hardtack rations!”

​”Hardtack that scrapes your throat on the way down is not breakfast, you idiot. It’s emergency food.”

​”B-But you can eat hardtack anytime...”

​Tap. Tap. The sound of approaching footsteps cut their light bickering short. Roland strode into the garage.

​The third prince carried a leather rucksack and a rolled-up map of Draconia. His strides were firm, even though the bags under his eyes were pitch-black. He hadn’t slept a wink all night, finalizing diplomatic negotiation protocols with Selene. He wore a dark blue travel coat pinned with the silver Wolf emblem.

​”Are you guys ready?” Roland asked, his voice raspy from exhaustion.

​”The vehicle is warmed up and logistics are loaded,” Eva reported sharply.

​”The communication signal to the nearest relay tower is also stable, Lord Roland!” Adul added, patting his device.

​Roland carved a faint smile. ”Good. We’re just waiting on Rianor.”

​Shortly after, Rianor emerged from the corridor. The Arcanotech Bracer was flawlessly reattached to his left arm, glowing a steady blue. He wore a dark gray travel cloak that fell to his knees.

​However, what caused Eva, Adul, and Roland to simultaneously stand at rigid attention wasn’t Rianor.

​In front of them, Elara sat in the wheelchair being pushed by Rianor. She wore a pale blue morning gown, a wool blanket draped over her lap. Her red hair was neatly combed, and her purple eyes never once left her husband’s face.

​Rianor stopped right in front of his wife’s wheelchair.

​They didn’t speak a single word. Every promise had been settled last night. Now, they purely just gazed at one another.

​Elara tilted her face up. Rianor leaned down.

​Their lips met once more in a parting kiss beneath the garage’s neon lights. It was warm, brimming with vows, yet laced with a thin undercurrent of desperation—for this was a death-defying farewell for the gods knew what number of times.

​Breaking the kiss, Elara raised her fingers, gently brushing Rianor’s jaw.

​”Come home,” Elara whispered.

​”I will come home,” Rianor answered with absolute certainty.

​The man spun on his heels. He vaulted up and took the front passenger seat of the Hover-Jeep. Roland climbed in beside him in the driver’s seat, unrolling the map of Draconia. Eva and Adul scrambled into the back seats. Adul hugged his comms box like he was cradling a newborn baby.

​VWUUUNGGG... VROOOM!

​The mana-engine roared to life like a wild beast. The grooved tires spun rapidly, screeching against the concrete floor of the garage.

​Right as the combat vehicle began to speed out toward the castle gates, Rianor turned his head over his right shoulder. He looked back.

​At the threshold of the garage doors, illuminated by the reddish hues of dawn piercing the fog, Elara still sat upright in her wheelchair.

​Rianor Sudrath now smiled.

​The military vehicle shot out, its snout slicing through the thick morning fog of Iron Hearth. Its tires tore across the city’s still-empty asphalt. Heading East. Heading to Draconia.

​At the garage threshold, Elara’s gaze remained locked on the asphalt path where the vehicle had disappeared. Her pale hands tightly gripped the wool blanket on her lap.

​The red-haired woman looked up at the freezing morning air, and whispered softly.

​”Come home. I will wait for you... We will always wait for you.”