Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 150: THE NORTHERN LION AND THE DECREE OF THE SUN

​The mana-powered chandelier suspended from the vaulted ceiling of Duke Lucian Sudrath’s study emitted a steady, clinical white glow, illuminating the vast topographic maps of Northreach that blanketed his massive mahogany desk. Lucian was not preoccupied with the festivities of the city or the joyous news of a new grandchild that had recently filtered through from the castle’s medical wing. In his eyes, the jagged red lines marking the intelligence reports of Iron Empire movements near the Northveil border were far more pressing than any celebration.

​"The Iron Empire will not wait for the snow to vanish entirely," Lucian muttered to himself, his voice a low rumble in the quiet room. His fingers tapped rhythmically against the desk, synchronized with the steady tick of a mechanical clock in the corner. "Two months... Rianor claims we need sixty days for full-scale mass production. But the Iron Empire possesses the raw resources to launch an incursion in two weeks if Rudigor grows impatient."

​The heavy oak door of the study was struck with a rhythm Lucian recognized instantly. Grimm entered, carrying a silver tray with a single parchment resting upon it. There was no trace of panic on the old butler’s face, only the professional, unshakable composure he had exhibited throughout decades of service to House Sudrath.

​"Master Duke, a special courier from the Capital has just arrived. They carry a missive bearing the private seal of His Majesty the King," Grimm stated softly.

​Lucian’s tapping stopped. He reached out and took the letter. The golden-yellow wax seal, embossed with the radiant Sun of Aethelgard, remained intact. He broke the seal with a silver letter opener, the scent of high-grade vellum and royal ink wafting upward—a scent that usually heralded a grand ball invitation or a routine administrative decree.

​However, the contents were far from routine.

​’To Duke Lucian Sudrath, the Lion of the North.’

​’The Annual Summit of Lords shall be convened in seven days at the Palace of Light, Sol-Regis. Your attendance is mandatory. However, let this letter not be mistaken for a mere invitation. The Crown has received official reports and testimonies from the remnants of the Silver Eagle knights regarding the incident at the Alpine-Draconia Pass.’

​’My second son, Prince Marcus Aethelgard, has perished at the hands of your third son, Roland Sudrath. This is a bloodstain without precedent in the long history of our friendship. I demand a direct explanation from you before the Council of Lords. Do not let our past brotherhood be a reason to circumvent the laws of the realm.’

​’Edward Aethelgard IV.’

​Lucian set the letter back onto the desk. His face remained an unreadable mask, but his eyes sharpened into chips of flint. He leaned back into his leather chair, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. The memories of Sanusi—the soul from Earth now inhabiting Lucian’s body—assimilated with the original Lucian’s deep-seated recollections. He remembered vividly that Edward was not merely a monarch; they had been brothers-in-arms in their youth, surviving frozen trenches together. Edward was a man who lived and breathed the law, and Roland had just shattered that law in the most brutal, public manner possible.

​"Grimm," Lucian called, his voice dangerously low.

​"Yes, Master Duke?"

​"Find Roland. I do not care if he is in the barracks, at the harbor negotiating with dragons, or in the commercial district. Bring him here this instant. Tell him... this is not a request. It is a command from the Head of the House." 𝕗𝐫𝐞𝕖𝕨𝐞𝗯𝚗𝕠𝘃𝐞𝚕.𝐜𝗼𝚖

​Grimm bowed deeply, the gravity of the situation weighing on his shoulders. "Immediately, Master."

​Thirty minutes later, the study door opened again. Roland Sudrath stepped inside, clad in a crisp black suit, looking as composed as if he had just returned from a leisurely afternoon tea. There was no sign of anxiety on his handsome, youthful face. He stopped before his father’s desk and offered a bow of perfect, aristocratic precision.

​"You summoned me, Father?" Roland asked smoothly.

​Lucian did not respond with words. He rose from his chair, walking toward Roland with heavy, measured steps that seemed to vibrate through the floorboards. Once he stood directly in front of his third son, Lucian’s right hand moved with the speed of a striking viper.

​SLAP!

​The sound of the strike echoed violently in the silent room. Roland’s head snapped to the side. The corner of his lip split instantly, a small trickle of bright crimson blood escaping. Yet, Roland did not fall, nor did he flinch. He remained standing tall, slowly returning his gaze to face his father. He pulled a white silk handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed the blood from his lip without changing his expression.

​"Explain yourself, Roland," Lucian’s voice was a guttural growl, like a wounded lion. "Explain why I must receive a letter from King Edward stating that you have murdered the Second Prince of Aethelgard. Do you have any inkling of the catastrophe you have invited upon us?"

​Roland met his father’s gaze. There was no guilt in those eyes, only a cold, terrifying certainty. "I did what was necessary to ensure that House Sudrath did not perish in the snow, Father."

​"By killing a Prince?!" Lucian roared, his voice booming so loudly it could be heard in the corridors outside. "Edward was my comrade! Aethelgard is our ally! We are preparing for a war against the Iron Empire, and you have given the Crown a justification to stab us in the back!"

​"An ally?" Roland scoffed softly, a sound laced with profound cynicism. "Father, if they were truly allies, they would not have dispatched Marcus with four hundred heavy cavalry to intercept me at the border while I was bringing the only hope for our survival from Draconia. They would not have issued a Black Decree that authorized the summary execution of our entire family based on fabricated charges of high treason."

​Roland took a step forward, his voice remaining calm but filled with an intense, sharp edge. "Marcus stood there, upon the Alpine snow, and he called us traitors. He claimed the blood of his crown was worth more than every life in Northreach combined. He intended to take my head and let the dragons raze Northreach to the ground simply because of his own diplomatic incompetence. If I had let him live, he would have crawled back to Sol-Regis and convinced the King to burn our lands to ash before the Iron Empire even crossed the border."

​Lucian fell silent. He looked at the letter on his desk, then back at Roland. "Even so... there were other ways. Diplomacy, Roland. You are a diplomat, the best we have!"

​"Diplomacy only works on those who possess logic, Father. Marcus possessed only vanity and a dangerous sense of entitlement," Roland answered firmly. "I did not kill him out of personal spite. I killed him because he was a variable that endangered the survival of Northreach. Aethelgard is rotting from the inside, Father. The Solari faction has infiltrated every corner of the Palace. If we continue to bow to rules designed specifically to facilitate our destruction, then we are the fools."

​Lucian closed his eyes for a brief moment. He understood Roland’s logic perfectly. As a former CEO in his previous life, he knew that sometimes a strategic elimination was required to save the entire corporation. But this was not a corporation. This was a kingdom with a thousand years of tradition, and blood was the only currency that truly mattered.

​"You killed a prince with his own sword, Roland. You humiliated the entire royal lineage," Lucian whispered.

​"I tore that Black Decree in front of his dying eyes," Roland added, causing Lucian’s eyes to snap open. "I wanted them to know that House Sudrath can no longer be suppressed with paper and ink. We have the technology, we have the dragons as allies, and we have a military more advanced than anything they have ever seen. Why must we continue to play the role of servants to a King who cannot even protect his own borders?"

​Lucian walked back to his chair, dropping into it with a heavy thud. "Edward will not let this pass. The Annual Summit in Sol-Regis will be a trial for you... and for all of us."

​"Then we go there, Father," Roland said, his tone both dutiful and challenging. "We go there not as defendants pleading for mercy, but as the rulers of a territory demanding justice. Let them see who truly holds the reins of this continent’s future."

​Lucian stared at his third son for a long time. Roland was fundamentally different from other noble children. His slick, pragmatic nature was a double-edged sword, but in the middle of a storm against the Iron Empire, perhaps this was exactly the kind of weapon the Sudrath family needed.

​"Go," Lucian said finally. "Prepare yourself. We depart for Sol-Regis in three days. And Roland..."

​Roland stopped at the door, glancing back.

​"Never act behind my back again without a formal report. I am your Duke, and I am your father. Do you understand?"

​"I understand, Father," Roland replied softly, before stepping out and closing the door with a subtle click.

​The room returned to its heavy silence. Lucian inhaled the scent of sandalwood and ink, trying to steady his mind. He reached for the map of the Iron Empire once more. His mind was now split: how to face the wrath of his oldest friend, King Edward, and how to stop the imminent invasion from Rudigor that loomed on the horizon.

​"Edward... what will you do when you see what we have built?" Lucian murmured, his eyes fixed on the Sun symbol on the royal letter, which now looked like a sun that was slowly, inevitably setting.