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

​The morning sunlight pierced through the stained glass of the council chamber in Iron Hearth Castle. It cast cool, gray shadows across the long teakwood table.

​The atmosphere in the room was forged purely from iron, the weight of responsibility, and military tactical calculations.

​At the head of the table, King Lucian Sudrath stood tall before the continental map of Aethel-Terra mounted on the wall. His dark gray coat proudly displayed the silver Wolf emblem on its collar. His gray eyes swept over every key figure present, one by one.

​This was King Mode. Not father mode.

​”We have secured valuable victories on many fronts,” Lucian’s deep baritone boomed calmly, breaking the silence. ”However, this war is far from over.”

​Lucian’s index finger pointed to a red marker on the southern portion of the map.

​”Satan’s resurrection is becoming increasingly real. Demon Gates are tearing open uncontrollably across various regions. The Kingdom of Luminara has bound itself to a full alliance with us. Draconia has alerted its entire borderline. However...”

​The King’s finger shifted to the northern territory. ”...there is still one giant empire that has yet to determine where the blade of its sword will point. The Iron Empire.”

​Around the table, the leaders of Northreach listened in absolute silence.

​Rianor sat in a simple gray shirt, resting his left arm, which was encased in the Arcanotech Bracer. Its micro-circuits emitted a dim blue glow accompanied by a steady whirrr.

​Roland sat beside him, his dark blue diplomatic coat neat, even though his left arm was wrapped in white bandages—a souvenir from Ignis’s talons at the Altar of the Ancestral Breath.

​Riven sat with arms crossed in his dark blue military uniform. The Supreme General’s colossal posture dominated the table.

​In the guest of honor seat, Selene sat gracefully as Luminara’s supreme envoy. The sea-blue robes of the Water Arcanum draped her frame, while her silver-blue hair fell neatly down her back.

​Duke Hektor sat back, stroking his graying mustache, gazing at the map of the Northveil shipyards.

​Rumina sat on the left side. Her glasses rested snugly on her nose, with the state’s financial ledger already open before her eyes.

​Queen Aurelia sat beside her husband, her simple gray gown radiating a quiet elegance. A bit further down in the corner of the table, Arvid sat awkwardly, adjusting his slipping glasses, unsure why an archaeology professor needed to be in a war council meeting.

​Along the walls, regional lords—including Duke Eddard of Torshavn and Countess Mira of Frostmere—sat at attention.

​”Rianor,” Lucian called out. ”Deliver your official report from Draconia.”

​Rianor stood up slowly, adjusting his glasses with his right index finger. Whirrr...

​”Emperor Tharazion agreed to double the combat patrol fleets along the entire southern borderline of their volcanic mountains,” Rianor reported in a clinical, emotionless voice.

​”A full military alliance has not been signed yet because their Council of Elders is still processing the historical facts of Project Legion. However, the door to diplomacy has opened wide. Draconia will definitely not become our enemy.”

​Rianor deliberately omitted the details of Roland’s Blood Duel and the internal dynamics of the dragons. It was pure strategic facts.

​Lucian nodded in satisfaction, then turned to his eldest prince. ”What about the Khanate?”

​Riven flexed his arms. ”A ceasefire with General Katarina of the Iron Empire has been reached at the Khanate border. Their occupying forces have withdrawn.”

​Riven paused, his eyes narrowing. ”However, Katarina flat-out rejected our diplomatic pledge letter. For a warlord raised on past vendettas, sweet words are merely considered passing wind. She demands concrete proof.”

​Selene raised her face, interjecting calmly. ”Luminara will officially deploy a fleet of troops to escort this alliance. Our Church must bear the responsibility for the sin of slaughter committed by our ancestors thousands of years ago.”

​Roland smirked faintly, throwing a side-glance at the Water Arcanum Master. ”So you will personally join the expedition party to the Iron Empire, Lady Selene?”

​”Of course,” Selene answered without hesitation. ”One Arcanum Master in your team will be extremely useful if those negotiations turn into a bloodbath.”

​”Good,” Roland replied. ”Your presence strengthens our bargaining position.”

​Lucian rested both his palms on the table, leaning forward to look at the map.

​”But before the expedition departs, we need a concrete guarantee. The Iron Empire is the pure-blooded lineage of Project Legion that fled north. They fight out of historical vengeance. They will not believe a mere verbal apology.”

​”What kind of guarantee do you mean, Your Majesty?” Duke Hektor asked.

​”Absolute information,” Rianor cut in coldly. ”Access to The Core. We will bring their leader to see the corpse of Orion and the remnants of Legion Prime lying beneath this castle in person. That is the most expensive historical guarantee.”

​”That is a guarantee for later, after they arrive in Northreach,” Roland countered diplomatically. ”They need a guarantee they can hold in their hands right now on their desk before they are willing to hold back their forces.”

​A heavy silence abruptly compressed the room.

​Everyone at the table actually knew the most extreme form of guarantee in ancient diplomatic law. However, no one dared to speak it out loud.

​Selene broke the silence. ”In the continental ancient diplomatic law book... the highest guarantee to halt a war between dynasties is a Political Hostage. A member of the main royal family must reside in enemy territory as a living guarantee. If the sending party breaks their oath, the hostage bears the execution.”

​”Wait, that is a disgusting, barbaric tradition,” Roland hissed sharply.

​”But it is the only way that will be believed,” Selene replied calmly.

​Lucian instantly stood tall. A faint murderous aura emanated from his eyes, his jaw tightening heavily. ”You are asking me to hand over one of my flesh-and-blood children into the wolf’s den of the Iron Empire as a sacrificial hostage?!”

​”I am not asking for anything, Your Majesty,” Selene replied without fear. ”I am merely laying out the psychological reality of the enemy you will face.”

​Riven scoffed harshly. The eldest prince stepped forward, slamming his hand on the table. BAM! ”In that case, I will stay there as the hostage!”

​”You cannot, Riven,” Lucian cut in quickly. ”Your face is already stamped as the Grand General of Northreach who slaughtered their forces at the border. Your presence there will only trigger provocation.”

​”Then let me stay!” Roland offered.

​”You are our chief diplomat, Roland,” Lucian shook his head firmly in rejection. ”You must lead the negotiations with Emperor Regulus. You cannot be replaced.”

​”What about me?” Rianor interjected flatly.

​”You are the only person who knows how to operate The Core’s system and project the data of Project Legion,” Lucian crushed his second son’s proposal. ”You must be present to dissect that data right before their eyes.”

​The three Sudrath princes fell silent. The King’s logic was irrefutable. Whichever of the three of them was held as a hostage, it would render this alliance mission completely flawed.

​”In that case... let me go instead.”

​That voice flowed flatly. It wasn’t loud, yet it was capable of stopping everyone’s heartbeat.

​Every head turned simultaneously toward the far left end of the table.

​Rumina Sudrath sat upright. Her glasses reflected the light from the window. Her financial ledger had been closed with a soft tap. Her beautiful face was exceptionally calm—as flat as the state treasury reports she usually audited.

​”You...?” Roland stared at his sister in disbelief. ”Rumina, are you insane?! You have to go to the Emerald Union to handle negotiations for warship raw material imports—”

​”Silas can take my place for Emerald Union affairs,” Rumina cut in quickly, her tone cold and efficient.

​”Silas has assisted me for years. He has every legal clause, contract loophole, and market commodity price memorized. But... not a single minister in this kingdom can replace Brother Riven, Brother Roland, or Brother Rianor for the Iron Empire mission.”

​Riven stared at his sister tensely. ”Rumina, do you know full well how cruel the Iron Empire is to political hostages?”

​”I am the Royal Head Treasurer of this kingdom, Brother Riven,” Rumina answered while adjusting her glasses with her index finger. ”My job every single day is to calculate the risk of loss.”

​Rumina looked at her brothers, one by one.

​”My calculation is very simple: If one of you three is held hostage, this world-saving diplomatic mission fails completely. But if I am the one held... Northreach’s governance continues to run stably. Silas can handle the state cash flow. The three of you are vastly more irreplaceable than I am.”

​Aurelia held her chest, her eyes glistening wetly with suppressed emotion. ”Rumina... darling... you don’t need to sacrifice yourself like this...”

​Rumina clicked her tongue softly. Tch. ”I am not sacrificing myself for a heroic act at all, Mother. I am purely using the logic of efficiency.”

​Rumina lowered her gaze slightly. ”Besides... I cannot fight with a sword like Brother Riven. I am not silver-tongued like Brother Roland. And I am no genius at assembling machines like Brother Rianor. The only thing I can do for this family is count numbers. And that job... can be done by someone else.”

​The council chamber instantly fell into an agonizingly dense silence. A silence laden with deep emotion and profound respect for the princess treasurer who was always considered rigid.

​King Lucian looked at his second daughter in a long silence. The King’s gaze softened—an extraordinarily rare sight.

​”You belittle yourself far too much, Rumina,” Lucian whispered softly yet deeply. ”You are vastly more precious to this family than mere numbers on your sheets of paper.”

​Rumina didn’t reply to her father’s praise. However, her intertwined fingers on the table gripped the fabric of her gown a fraction tighter. A micro-gesture concealing the tremor in her heart.

​Duke Hektor cleared his throat, attempting to thaw the frozen tension. He laid out the map of the Northveil shipyards.

​”Regarding the new warship fleet... the shipyards in my territory are one hundred percent ready to begin construction,” Hektor reported. ”However, we are suffering from a deficit in high-strength steel supplies, specialized oak wood, and large-scale engine components. Local mines can only supply seventy percent. The rest must be imported from the Emerald Union through the port of Meridoss.”

​Rumina reclaimed control with her cold professionalism.

​”I have already prepared the initial draft contract with Madam Vernazza. However, since I must depart for the Iron Empire as a hostage... I will not be present in Meridoss.”

​Lucian looked at his daughter. ”You trust Silas that much?”

​”One hundred percent,” Rumina answered firmly. ”However, Silas does not possess the legal authority to press the signature stamp on behalf of the Sudrath dynasty.”

​”I will be the one to sign those documents,” Lucian stated firmly. ”Finish drafting all your briefing files with Silas before you depart.”

​Rumina adjusted her glasses. ”I need two full days to organize all the state logistics archives.”

​”You have two days,” Lucian decreed with absolute finality.

​The King then stood tall. Every council participant in the room reflexively stood as well.

​”We will construct the first modern warship fleet in Northreach’s history,” Lucian declared, his voice echoing against the stone walls.

​”This fleet will sail across the ocean toward the Iron Empire—not to spread the flag of invasion, but to deliver an apology that has been delayed for thousands of years. To set history straight. And to offer an alliance against Satan’s threat.”

​Lucian looked straight at Rianor, Roland, Riven, and Selene. ”The four of you will lead that fleet once warship construction is ready.”

​Then, the King’s gaze shifted to look at Rumina.

​”And you... my daughter... you will walk beside them. Serving as living proof to Emperor Regulus that Northreach is not playing with promises.”

​Rumina gave a firm nod of her head. There were no tears. No hysterical regrets. Only the unyielding resolve of a royal treasurer.

​”Today’s council meeting is officially adjourned,” Lucian tapped his command baton against the floor. ”Prepare yourselves.”

​The meeting was over, yet the participants didn’t disperse immediately. A heavy atmosphere still lingered in the air.

​In the corner near the window, Arvid walked awkwardly toward Rianor. The young professor adjusted his slipping thick glasses.

​”Umm... Rianor,” Arvid called softly. ”Regarding... the ancient language translation files of Project Legion... if you need help organizing the archives before you depart...”

​Rianor turned, looking at his brother-in-law with cold gray eyes. Whirrr... His mechanical arm hummed softly.

​”You have already helped me tremendously with the artifact data from the Khanate yesterday, Arvid,” Rianor spoke softly. The genius man gently patted Arvid’s shoulder with his healthy right hand.

​”This mission to the Iron Empire is far too dangerous for an academic like you. Remain in the castle with Rhea and your baby.”

​Arvid was stunned, then nodded in understanding with a relieved smile.

​Meanwhile, at the far end of the main table, Lucian still stood mutely, gazing at the continental map mounted on the wall.

​Aurelia stepped toward him from the side. The Queen placed her warm palm over her husband’s sturdy arm.

​”Are you alright, Lucian?” Aurelia whispered gently.

​Lucian didn’t answer right away. His eyes stared at the location marker of the Iron Empire at the northern tip of the map—the very place where his second daughter would soon be left behind as a war hostage.

​”No,” the King answered honestly, stroking his wife’s palm. ”But I have to be alright for the safety of this continent.”

​Outside the stained glass window, the morning sunlight of Iron Hearth shone increasingly bright, sweeping over the stone walls of the fortress. Yet, within the chests of the Northern rulers... the shadow of the greatest war storm in Aethel-Terra’s history had officially begun.