Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 143: ECHOES IN THE HALL OF HONOR

​The sky above Iron Hearth was usually adorned only by the faint, shimmering glow of stars or the thin, constant plumes of smoke from factory chimneys that labored twenty-four hours a day. But tonight, as the newly installed Mana-Electric streetlights flickered to life, bathing the asphalt in a clinical, bluish-white radiance, a massive shadow sliced through the horizon.

​A sharp, whistling hiss of wind preceded the creature’s arrival. Citizens walking through the city square or sitting in local coffee houses looked up in unison. Their first reflex was fear—the haunting memory of Northveil’s fall to the Iron Empire’s steam technology still fresh in their minds. However, that terror was swiftly replaced by a collective, bated breath of relief when they saw the familiar silhouette atop the back of a white dragon that glowed like molten silver beneath the city lights.

​"Look! It’s Master Roland and Lady Rumina!" shouted a factory worker returning from a late shift.

​The dragon, Seraphina, glided low over the city’s electrical transmission towers. She did not emit the foul, sulfuric stench of the wild dragons depicted in ancient legends. Instead, as her wings swept past high balconies, she carried an aroma that reflected the dignity of the Draconian Empire—a pure blend of mountain snow and the scent of crystal flowers that grew only upon the continent’s highest peaks.

​At the main courtyard of Castle Iron Hearth, Duke Lucian Sudrath stood tall. Beside him, Duchess Aurelia crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes glistening with unshed tears as she watched her children return alive. Lucian did not appear threatened by the encroaching draconic aura. On the contrary, the "Old Lion" aura he projected was so thick and heavy that the protective knights surrounding him felt more fear toward their master than toward the mythological creature about to land.

​THUD!

​Seraphina landed gracefully, yet her sheer mass sent a tremor through the concrete floor of the courtyard. Within seconds, a blinding light enveloped her massive body, and the draconic form shrank, shifting into a beautiful girl with white hair and shimmering horns.

​Roland jumped down, followed by Rumina, whose legs were still trembling from the flight.

​"Father, Mother... we’ve returned," Roland said, his voice raspy. His body was covered in the dust of travel, and his face looked ten years older due to the crushing weight of diplomatic exhaustion.

​Aurelia was about to rush forward to embrace them, but the warm atmosphere was shattered in a heartbeat.

​SLAM!

​The side doors of the castle hall swung open with violent force. Rianor emerged, looking like a ghost of his former self. His appearance was a mess; his white shirt had turned a dull grey from oil stains and gunpowder soot. His usually neat hair was a chaotic nest, and the dark circles beneath his eyes spoke of days without sleep.

​"Roland!" Rianor’s voice thundered, filled with an unstable, volatile anger. "You only return now?! Where have you been?!"

​Roland tensed. He watched his brother approach with heavy, aggressive strides. "Rianor, calm yourself. I’ve only just arrived—"

​"Calm?!" Rianor grabbed the collar of Roland’s mantle, forcing his younger brother to look into his bloodshot eyes. "Elara is dying, Roland! She’s in a coma because she tried to stop an enemy Railgun that she shouldn’t have had to face if military reinforcements had arrived on time! You are the diplomat of this family! You were sent to Sol-Regis to petition for the aid of Aethelgard’s forces! Where are they?! Where are the Silver Eagle cavalry you promised?!"

​Roland, who had also reached the absolute limit of his patience and endurance, violently shoved Rianor’s hands away. "Get off me, Rianor! You think I was on vacation?! You think I didn’t know Northveil had fallen?!"

​"Then why did you take so long?!" Rianor roared, his voice cracking with grief. "You let them slaughter us!"

​"Because the Kingdom of Aethelgard is garbage!" Roland spat back with equal ferocity. Fire met fire. "I humiliated myself before King Edward! I begged before the council of ministers in Sol-Regis until my mouth bled! And what was their answer?! They laughed! They said Northreach are traitors and that letting us die was the best way to clean up the Sudrath problem! I was kicked out like a common beggar from our own capital!"

​Rianor stunned for a moment, but the agonizing pain of Elara’s condition still dominated his mind. "Then you just gave up?! You vanished for days—"

​"I didn’t give up, you idiot!" Roland shoved Rianor’s chest. "Because I was rejected in Sol-Regis, I had to find another way so this journey wouldn’t be in vain! I risked my life entering Draconia—a territory that usually kills humans within five minutes! I had to duel an ancient Dragon General to the death just to prove we were worthy of aid! I nearly died so that you would have the chance for revenge, and now you blame me?!"

​Rumina stepped between her two brothers, tears streaming down her cheeks. "Brother Rianor, stop! Brother Roland is right! We were nearly executed by Prince Marcus on the road! We had to fight alone without anyone’s protection! Don’t you dare say he didn’t try!"

​Seraphina, standing a few paces behind them, looked unsettled. She wanted to pull Roland away from Rianor’s fury, but she knew this was the internal, painful business of the Sudrath bloodline. Her usually arrogant expression was replaced by a deep, hollow sadness for the humans she had begun to respect.

​Rianor was still panting, his hand—equipped with a Mana Glove—trembling violently, emitting dangerous sparks of static electricity. "Still... Elara... she might never wake up because we weren’t strong enough..."

​Lucian Sudrath stepped forward. Every step felt like a sledgehammer hitting the hearts of everyone present. His aura exploded—cold, ruthless, and dominant. He stared at Rianor with a gaze that could freeze blood. Lucian raised his hand, preparing to deliver a "physical lesson" to his second son who had lost control of his emotions in front of a foreign guest.

​However, before the Duke’s iron hand could land, Aurelia touched her husband’s arm.

​"Lucian... don’t," Aurelia whispered, her voice soft but absolute.

​Lucian turned to his wife, then slowly lowered his aura. Aurelia stepped forward, entering the circle of conflict between her two sons. She pulled Rianor’s oil-stained face to her shoulder, then used her other hand to pull Roland into the same embrace.

​"Enough," Aurelia said, her voice possessing the weight of a mother who could move mountains. "You are both wounded. Rianor, you fought with your strength on the front lines. Roland, you fought with your spirit in a foreign kingdom. No one is more heroic, and no one is more to blame. We are Sudrath. If we break from within, then the Iron Empire doesn’t need to fire a single bullet to win this war."

​Silence descended over the courtyard. Only the low hum of the city’s electric lights could be heard. Rianor’s shoulders slowly slumped. A small sob escaped his soot-covered mouth. He realized his anger wasn’t truly directed at Roland, but at his own helplessness while watching Elara fall.

​Rianor pulled away from his mother’s embrace and looked at Roland. He bowed his head in defeat. "I’m sorry... Roland. I... I just didn’t know who else to blame."

​Roland let out a long breath, his anger evaporating at the sight of his brother’s fragility. He patted Rianor’s shoulder. "I know. And I’m sorry I couldn’t come home sooner."

​Rianor wiped his eyes roughly, leaving black smudges on his cheeks. He then looked up at the sky, where hundreds of points of light were beginning to close in from the East. "So... those dragons...?"

​"Five hundred Draconian knights," Roland said with a faint, proud smile. "Led by General Zoldrak himself. They will arrive at the eastern gates shortly."

​Rianor was stunned. As a scientist, he automatically calculated the logistical load and the sheer destructive power of five hundred dragons. "That... that is an insane achievement, Roland. With that much aerial support, combined with the helicopter division I’m producing... we won’t just retake Northveil. We will level them."

​"Helicopters?" Roland frowned.

​"I’ll explain later," Rianor smiled faintly, his guilt beginning to shift into a newfound respect. "Come inside. You need rest. Rumina, I see you’re still clutching your financial ledger? Don’t tell me you were calculating the cost of feeding dragons on the way here?"

​Rumina huffed as she wiped her tears. "Of course! And your Research Department owes me a massive debt because I had to leave a custom-built carriage worth two hundred gold coins at the border!"

​The small joke eased the tension. However, everyone’s eyes were drawn back to the sky as the collective roar of five hundred dragons began to shake the windowpanes of Castle Iron Hearth. Tonight, Iron Hearth no longer felt like a besieged city. Tonight, they felt like the eye of a storm ready to consume everything in its path.

​Roland whispered to Rumina before they entered the hall, "Ready the logistics team, Rumina. Those dragons need a vast landing area as our first gesture of hospitality."

​Rumina nodded firmly. The war had just been rekindled, and this time, Sudrath had wings.