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

​The adrenaline flooding Roland’s bloodstream slowly subsided, instantly replaced by a brutal assault of pain.

​The moment the echoes of the Emperor’s announcement faded, the diplomat’s knees lost all functionality. The tendons in his legs felt as though they had been forcibly yanked out.

​He lurched forward, his vision blurring.

​However, before his face could kiss the hard obsidian floor, a pair of arms draped in white silk caught him first. Seraphina held him tightly, supporting Roland’s nearly collapsing frame.

​”My gods, Roland... you’re bleeding so much,” Seraphina whispered in a panic.

​The dragon princess’s tears dripped, soaking Roland’s white shirt, which was now torn and drenched in deep crimson.

​Roland winced, holding back a groan. The three lacerations on his left arm throbbed in sync with his heartbeat, while his ribs felt as if they had just been struck by a steel cannon.

​”I... ugh, I can still walk, Sera,” Roland murmured hoarsely. He forced himself to straighten his back, clinging to the remaining pride of a diplomat in front of the council.

​Seraphina immediately glared at him. Her red eyes flashed with an undeniable threat. ”Shut your mouth and don’t be stubborn.”

​The princess turned toward the edge of the arena, raising a hand. ”Bring a medical litter! Right now!”

​Two humanoid attendants clad in pale gray scales ran across the bridge, carrying a litter made of a thick slab of pumice covered in heavy cloth.

​Roland could only let out a resigned sigh as his body was gently laid onto the litter.

​As the attendants carried him away from the center of the arena, they passed Ignis. The copper-scaled prince remained frozen in place, the fire in his palms extinguished without a trace.

​The expression on Ignis’s face was difficult to decipher—not explosive rage, yet far from friendly.

​Right as Roland’s litter passed him, Ignis spoke without bothering to turn his head.

​”Never make me regret my decision to let you live today, Human,” he murmured, his deep baritone reverberating low.

​Roland turned his head slowly. His sharp diplomatic instincts dissected the veiled meaning behind those words.

​Roland carved a faint, pale smile. ”Turns out... you’re not the brainless monster I always pictured you to be, Ignis.”

​Ignis snorted harshly. Hmph. He didn’t reply. The dragon prince strode away with heavy footsteps, his silhouette slowly swallowed by the shadows of the obsidian pillars.

​The recovery room in the east wing felt vastly more humane than the Hall of Eternal Flame.

​Its stone walls radiated a comfortable warmth, directly fed by geothermal heat. Roland sat leaning against a stone couch lined with a leather mattress. His ruined shirt had been discarded, leaving his broad chest exposed.

​An elderly female healer with pale green scales—a hallmark of her centuries-old age—was tending to his wounds.

​Hsssh... A cloth sponge dipped in herbal water cleansed the residual blood and sulfur dust from Roland’s body.

​The healer applied a pale blue, extraordinarily cooling ointment over the bruises on Roland’s chest, then bound his arm with white bandages. The healer worked with lethal efficiency without uttering a word, bowed politely, and exited the room.

​Now, only the two of them remained.

​Seraphina sat quietly on a stone chair beside the couch. The entire time, her eyes had been fixed on every single laceration on the body of the man who had just risked his life for her.

​Roland cleared his throat softly. ”The wounds aren’t as bad as they look, Sera. You don’t need to look so worried.”

​Seraphina slowly looked up. Her eyes no longer radiated panic, but an extraordinarily elegant aura of maturity. The aura of a queen.

​”Roland,” Seraphina called softly yet firmly. ”I have made up my mind... I am staying here. In Draconia.”

​The movement of Roland’s hand adjusting his bandage halted. He stared intently at Seraphina.

​”Of course I want to return home to Northreach with you,” Seraphina continued rationally. ”But... if I abandon Draconia today, the transition of power to Ignis will devolve into a civil war. The Council of Elders will rebel. And the racial alliance you just built with your spilled blood... will crumble to pieces.”

​Seraphina tightly grasped Roland’s right hand.

​”I have to be here. Keeping an eye on Ignis. Ensuring the council honors their word.”

​Roland fell silent. There was no disappointment in the diplomat’s eyes. On the contrary, his chest expanded with a profound sense of pride. His woman was no spoiled princess fleeing from responsibility.

​”And... once the transition of power and the military alliance stabilize, what then?” Roland asked, the corners of his lips beginning to lift.

​Seraphina returned the smile. ”Once my work here is complete and my home is secure... I will pack my own bags and come collect on your promise.”

​Roland let out a soft laugh. A crisp laugh that was abruptly cut short by a wince. ”Agh... damn it, my ribs hurt like hell when I laugh.”

​”You absolute idiot,” Seraphina scolded softly.

​The dragon girl leaned forward. One of her hands slipped behind Roland’s neck, pulling his face closer, and landed a kiss on his lips.

​It was no awkward, hurried kiss. It was a deep, warm kiss, laden with absolute certainty between two adults who had made peace with their destiny.

​Outside the room, the door happened to be slightly ajar.

​Eva, who had intended to step inside to check on his condition, abruptly froze in her tracks.

​Seeing the scene inside, she clicked her tongue. Tch. Eva rolled her eyes lazily and turned her back to the door. However, the corners of her lips were visibly pulling up as she held back a smile.

​Behind Eva, Adul stood on his tiptoes to peek.

​”Woah...” he whispered in awe, his cheeks flushing red. The boy’s eyes were still swollen from crying, but a wide smile adorned his face.

​And standing at the very back, Rianor Sudrath simply stood staring at the crack in the door for three full seconds.

​He adjusted his glasses with his index finger. He turned on his heels calmly and strode away down the corridor.

​He still had one vital piece of business to settle before heading home.

​Whirrr... clank. The mechanical hum from his left arm echoed rhythmically toward the heart of the hall.

​The Hall of Eternal Flame was now entirely deserted.

​There were no ranks of Elders. No roaring from Ignis. There was only Emperor Tharazion, leaning back in contemplation upon his throne, accompanied by the dimming ancestral flames.

​Tap... tap... tap...

​Rianor walked alone across the obsidian bridge. The man stopped mid-arena, then offered a brief, formal bow typical of Northern nobility.

​”Rianor Sudrath,” Tharazion greeted. His vertical eyes looked straight down at the mechanical-armed man below him.

​”Your Majesty,” Rianor replied. His voice was clinical, as cold as ice without unnecessary emotion.

​Rianor stood straight. ”I did not come to trade pleasantries. Our mana circuit monitoring data has picked up an anomaly. Waves of demon Gates have begun appearing along the outermost fringes of Draconia’s southern border.”

​Tharazion showed no reaction of shock, merely remaining silent as he listened.

​”If the pattern of these waves continues to expand as I project, Draconia will face a direct assault from demons within a matter of months. In a worst-case scenario... it may be a matter of weeks.”

​Rianor presented the facts as if reading a weather report. ”It is far better for you to prep your forces for an attack that never comes... than to be completely unprepared for an assault that will guaranteed eradicate your people.”

​Silence enveloped the hall.

​Tharazion leaned his massive frame forward. ”The history you showed me... frankly, it still troubles me.”

​The Emperor exhaled, venting sulfurous steam from between his teeth.

​”At present, Draconia cannot promise a full troop deployment. The Council of Elders needs time to digest that bitter truth. However...” His reptilian eyes narrowed authoritatively. ”...I will double the combat patrols along the entire southern border starting today. If those demons show their faces... Draconia will not remain idle.”

​Rianor didn’t push for a signed treaty. His analytical brain knew this was the absolute best negotiation outcome achievable from an arrogant race within twenty-four hours.

​”That guarantee is more than sufficient, Your Majesty,” Rianor nodded in understanding.

​The scientist offered a final respectful bow, turned, and strode away with absolute composure.

​Evening crept over the Draconian sky as the Northern party prepared to depart.

​Vwuum... The mana-engine of the tactical Hover-Jeep purred softly in the courtyard of the obsidian palace.

​Roland stood beside the passenger door. His white shirt had been replaced with a fresh one. His left arm was bound beneath his blue coat, his chest stiff when he breathed, but he was fully capable of standing tall.

​Seraphina stood facing him.

​Her gown billowed in the crater wind. There were no more tears. This farewell was unburdened by despair.

​”I will come back to see you,” Roland stroked the back of the girl’s hand.

​”Honestly, you use that cliché line every single time we part ways, Mr. Diplomat,” Seraphina teased, offering a warm smile.

​”And I will always ensure that cliché promise is kept,” Roland replied, flashing a wink.

​Seraphina let out a crisp laugh. The dragon girl released her grip and took a step back.

​Roland returned that smile one last time, then climbed into the front passenger seat.

​Vrooomb! The Hover-Jeep accelerated smoothly, grinding over the volcanic rock.

​Roland rolled down the window, looking out. Seraphina stood motionless in the vast courtyard. The crater wind whipped her silver hair wildly. She stood firm like a resilient future ruler... because she was certain that half of her soul would definitely return.

​The journey across the border toward the grasslands of Eastmarch was wrapped in a comfortable silence.

​Behind the wheel, Rianor maintained his sharp focus on the road. His Bracer emitted a dim blue glow, releasing a soft whirrr every time he turned the steering wheel.

​In the backseat, Adul was fast asleep, snoring softly while hugging the radio box like a bolster. Eva rested her chin on her hand, gazing at the twilight clouds in boredom, her hand no longer clutching her dagger.

​In the front passenger seat, Roland leaned his head back.

​His gray eyes observed the dramatic transformation outside the windshield. The signature blood-red sky of Draconia was fading, replaced by a clear blue canopy stretching across the Eastmarch grasslands.

​One impossible task had been accomplished. The eastern front was secure.

​A relieved smile carved its way onto the diplomat’s pale face. He slowly closed his eyes, letting the rhythmic hum of the engine carry him off to sleep toward the warmth of home.