Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 130: ILL TIDINGS FROM THE HORIZON

​The echoes of footsteps within the Hall of the Jade Claw felt sharper and more intrusive than usual. This chamber, carved directly from a massive vein of deep-green jade at the very heart of the mountain, possessed acoustics capable of catching even the faintest whisper. Roland Sudrath stood in the center of the council circle, surrounded by the Dragon Elders whose faces were as cold and unyielding as ancient ice. Beside him, Rumina stood with a rigid back, though her hands were hidden within the folds of her gown, clutching her financial ledger as if it were the only tether she had to reality.

​"So, you wish for us to believe that this sliver of translucent crystal can alter the very energy foundations of the world?" The voice belonged to Elder Oros, an ancient dragon with scales the color of rusted bronze, seated next to Prince Ignis. His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing the sample of purified mana crystal on the table with profound suspicion. 𝚏𝕣𝐞𝗲𝐰𝕖𝐛𝐧𝕠𝕧𝚎𝚕.𝐜𝚘𝗺

​Roland offered a shallow, respectful bow, his professional smile never wavering for a second. "It is not merely an alteration, Elder Oros. It is an evolution. Draconia possesses the purest energy in the world, yet Northreach possesses the methodology to multiply that efficiency ten-fold without desecrating the environment. This is not about dismantling your traditions, but rather fortifying them against an uncertain future."

​Prince Ignis let out a sharp, barking laugh that bounced off the jade walls, sounding both condescending and predatory. "Flowery words from a human who cannot even take to the skies without the aid of livestock. You call it progress? I call it the desperate struggle of an ant trying to convince itself it has the wings of a hawk."

​Roland was just about to counter the provocation when the massive, reinforced doors of the Jade Claw Hall swung open with a resounding, violent thud.

​The freezing mountain air surged inward, carrying with it a strange, acrid scent of char. A middle-caste dragon knight, his silver-and-blue armor dented at the chest and his right wing slightly scorched, staggered in, gasping for breath. This was Razor, one of the premier couriers from the Silver Wing unit, usually tasked with high-altitude reconnaissance over the northern maritime borders.

​"Forgive me, Your Imperial Majesty!" Razor threw himself into a deep prostrate position before the obsidian throne of Emperor Tharazion. His breath came in short, ragged bursts, and his eyes were wide with a primal terror—a sight rarely seen in the inherently arrogant dragon race.

​Emperor Tharazion straightened his posture, his aura immediately exerting a crushing pressure throughout the room. "Razor? What madness compels you to abandon your reconnaissance post without leave?"

​Razor lifted his head, his face ghastly pale. "Chaos, Your Majesty... In the lands of the humans to the North. Northveil... Northveil has fallen."

​The world seemed to stop spinning for Roland.

​His heart hammered against his ribs, a sickening cold wave washing over his stomach. Northveil? Fallen? Visions of his father, Riven, Rianor, and the thousands of citizens of Northreach flashed through his mind like jagged lightning. However, Roland Sudrath was no longer the emotional student council president of his youth. He was the High Diplomat of House Sudrath. He drew a slow, deliberate breath, forcing his facial muscles to remain composed and neutral. There could be no panic. To a dragon, panic was a scent of weakness, and weakness was the death of any negotiation.

​"Explain what you have witnessed," Emperor Tharazion commanded, his voice vibrating with a low, dangerous rumble.

​"I was gliding at the cloud ceiling, monitoring the oceanic currents, when I saw a plume of black smoke that choked half the northern horizon," Razor began, his voice trembling as he recounted the horror. "There... on the shores of Northveil, I saw things that defy the laws of the world. Great beasts of iron, floating upon the waves without the aid of oars or wind-magic. They belched fire and iron, shattering the stone fortresses as if they were made of dry clay."

​The chamber fell into a deafening silence. The Dragon Elders exchanged uneasy glances. Floating iron?

​"That was not all," Razor continued, his voice rising an octave in sheer dread. "There were humans who soared through the heavens on strange, humming metal contraptions, dropping spheres of fire that liquidated the city’s interior. And on the ground... their army was not composed of mere knights. There were iron giants emitting scalding steam from their backs, tearing through human barricades with their bare hands. Northveil is no longer a city, Your Majesty. It is a heap of ash and twisted, glowing metal."

​Beside Roland, Rumina pressed her hand over her mouth, her eyes welling with tears, yet she remained anchored to her spot. She knew that if she collapsed now, all of her brother’s hard-won progress would evaporate.

​Ignis snorted, though a flicker of doubt danced in his eyes. "Hmph. Humans slaughtering other humans with toys of iron. What business is that of ours? It only proves the inherent inferiority of your race, Man. Killing each other over piles of rock."

​Roland stepped forward. This time, his aura shifted. He was no longer using the soft, persuasive tones of a diplomat; he spoke with the authority of a general delivering a final warning.

​"Toys of iron, Prince Ignis?" Roland fixed a lethal gaze on the prince. "What your courier has reported is not a mere civil war or a border skirmish. This is an invasion from across the Great Sea, by the Iron Empire. And if you believe they only desire the cold soil of Northreach, you are the most naive dragon I have ever encountered."

​"How dare you—!" Ignis surged to his feet, his hands crackling with arcs of flame.

​"Sit down, Ignis!" Emperor Tharazion barked. The Emperor then turned his piercing gaze toward Roland. "What do you mean, Human? Why would they care for our silent peaks?"

​Roland looked directly into the Emperor’s golden pupils. "Because those floating iron ships and steam-giants require sustenance, Your Majesty. They do not eat grain or meat. They consume resources. They devour pure minerals. And the purest mineral deposits on this entire continent lie directly beneath your feet at this very moment."

​Roland walked toward the massive map of the continent spread across the central table. "The news Razor brought confirms one thing: The Iron Empire has made landfall on Aethel-Terra. They bring with them an alien knowledge that recognizes no ethical boundaries of magic. They call it ’efficiency.’ To them, a dragon is not a god of the sky; you are merely a biological energy reserve and a walking pile of refined Adamantite ore."

​Elder Oros scoffed, though his voice lacked its previous conviction. "You bluster and threaten. We are dragons, the apex of the food chain. Those iron toys will melt beneath our dragon-fire."

​"Was the stone fortress of Northveil, reinforced with ancient defensive runes, not strong enough?" Roland countered instantly. "Your courier says the fortress was obliterated. Are you certain your scales are sturdier than those walls? The Iron Empire covets Draconia’s minerals to strengthen their hulls and their machines. If they succeed in occupying Northreach entirely, their next step is East. Toward Draconia."

​Roland paused, allowing his words to sink into the prideful depths of the dragon council. He had to suppress the agonizing worry for his family, burying it beneath layers of cold calculation. He had to act as if the fall of Northveil was merely a variable in his risk assessment, even as his heart screamed to fly back to Iron Hearth.

​"I am offering this alliance not because we are weak," Roland lied with a mask of granite. "We possess the technology to resist them, but we are outnumbered. If Draconia joins us, we can halt this iron plague on the northern coast. If not... you are merely waiting for your turn until those flying humans drop their spheres of fire upon this holy mountain."

​Emperor Tharazion fell silent. He looked at Razor, who was still trembling on the floor, and then back to Roland. The information about "floating iron" and "flying humans" had fundamentally shaken his logic. For millennia, this world had only known the sword, the arrow, and the spell. The arrival of steam and iron technology from beyond the continent was a terrifying anomaly for a ruler who cherished stability.

​"This news... must be verified by the high council further," the Emperor stated, his voice heavy. "However, I cannot ignore this report. Razor, go and rest. Humans... you remain our guests. But know this, the color of this diplomacy has changed. This is no longer a matter of mere crystal trade."

​Roland offered a deep bow. "I understand, Your Majesty. But remember, time is a luxury not afforded to those who are already burning."

​Upon exiting the Hall, Roland and Rumina walked briskly toward their pavilion under Elian’s guard. Once the doors were sealed and secured from dragon ears, Rumina’s strength gave out, and she slumped into a stone chair.

​"Brother... Northveil..." Rumina sobbed quietly. "Father... Brother Riven... What if they..."

​Roland knelt before his sister, gripping her shoulders with a strength that was almost painful. His eyes were bloodshot, yet not a single tear fell. "Rumi, listen to me. We do not have time for tears. Razor said Northveil was destroyed, but he did not say Northreach has fallen completely. Father and Rianor would have evacuated everyone to Iron Hearth. They are strong. We must be stronger here."

​"But Brother, the Iron Empire... Razor’s description..."

​"That is exactly why we must secure these arrogant dragons," Roland interrupted sharply. "If Northveil has fallen, then Iron Hearth is the last bastion. We must bring reinforcements as fast as possible. I will use the information regarding the Adamantite veins to force the Emperor’s hand tomorrow. We cannot wait any longer."

​Captain Elian entered, his face grim. "Master Roland, Prince Ignis and the conservative faction are gathering in the Western Wing. It seems they are trying to convince the Emperor that the fall of Northveil is the best reason to completely seal Draconia’s borders and let the outside world perish."

​Roland stood, adjusting the collar of his diplomat’s cloak, and looked toward the mountain peaks now being swallowed by the night snow. "They want to close the doors? Fine. I will burn those doors down with information so terrifying they will have no choice but to step out and fight alongside us."

​That night in Draconia felt colder than any before. News of the "Iron Plague" from the North began to spread among the dragon servant castes, creating whispers of fear never heard before. Amidst the uncertainty, Roland Sudrath sat at his desk, drafting his next set of ultimatums, while his heart prayed fervently that the smoke Razor saw in Northveil was not a shroud for his family.