Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 159: DEPARTING INTO THE STORM
Dawn broke over Iron Hearth. Golden light began to creep through the crevices of industrial buildings, greeting a city that never truly slept. But this morning was different. The air felt heavier. More sacred.
In the gardens of Iron Hearth Castle, dew still clung to the tips of the leaves. Snow Chrysanthemums were in full bloom in the corners, their white-blue petals contrasting sharply with the green foliage. In the center of the garden, two figures sat side by side on a stone bench.
Rianor and Elara.
Elara smiled, her pale face finally regaining some color. Her crimson hair flowed beautifully, a striking contrast to the Snow Chrysanthemum she held. Her violet eyes gazed at Rianor with immeasurable warmth.
"You know," Rianor broke the silence, his tone lighter and warmer than usual, "I used to think these flowers were just ordinary plants. It turns out... they bloom most beautifully right in the middle of the snow."
Elara let out a soft giggle. "That’s a bit too poetic an analogy for a scientist."
"I can be poetic if I want to." Rianor nudged her shoulder gently. "It’s just that until now, no one was worthy of seeing my poetic side."
"And now?"
Rianor looked at her. "Now, there is someone."
Elara blushed, her fingers tightening around the flower. "You’re leaving today."
It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.
Rianor exhaled. "Yes."
"Will you come back?"
"I will come back." Rianor reached for her hand, holding it tenderly. "And after that, we will marry. My promise."
Elara looked down. Her shoulders trembled—slightly, almost imperceptibly. But Rianor knew. He knew his bride-to-be was struggling to hold back her tears.
"Hey." Rianor lifted her chin gently. His eyes—ordinarily cold when facing numbers and formulas—were now as warm as the morning sun. "I am Rianor Sudrath. I never fail to reach my targets. And my target this time is to return and marry you."
Elara laughed—a sound caught between a chuckle and a sob. "You... you are far too confident."
"It’s not confidence. It’s a fact." Rianor smiled. "I’ve already calculated the probability. There is a 99.9% chance I will return."
"And the remaining 0.1%?"
"There isn’t any. I rounded up."
Elara finally burst into laughter, swatting Rianor’s arm playfully. "You crazy scientist."
But behind the laughter, a single tear escaped. She wiped it away quickly, but Rianor saw it.
He pulled her into an embrace. "I will come home, Elara. I promise."
Elara returned the hug tightly, her eyes fluttering shut as she breathed in his scent—a mix of machine oil, paper, and something uniquely his. "I know. I’m just..."
"Scared."
"Yes."
Rianor stroked her hair. "I’m scared too. But if I don’t go, thousands of people will lose their homes forever. Garrick and the other soldiers died to give us this chance. I cannot let it go to waste."
Elara nodded against his chest. "I am proud of you."
For a few moments, they embraced in silence, accompanied only by the whispering wind and the chirping of birds.
Finally, Rianor pulled back. He looked at Elara, then took a single Snow Chrysanthemum from a vase beside them. He placed it in her hand, joining the one she already held.
"Keep this," he whispered. "Until I return."
Elara clutched both flowers tightly. "I will keep them. And you... you keep yourself safe."
Rianor nodded. He stood up, looking at Elara one last time. Long. As if trying to immortalize every detail of her face.
"I’m leaving."
Elara smiled—the most beautiful smile Rianor had ever seen. "Come home."
Rianor turned and walked away. Behind him, Elara gripped the flowers, her tears finally falling freely.
In the public square of Iron Hearth, the atmosphere was different.
Roland and Seraphina sat on a park bench, surrounded by citizens passing by. But they were in a world of their own. Seraphina was in her human form—her wavy white hair, alluring red eyes, and small horns hidden beneath her locks.
"Are you sure you have to go?" Roland asked, his tone trying to be light but failing.
Seraphina turned to him, her eyes gleaming. "I am a dragon. War is in my blood."
"You are also a Crown Princess."
"And a Crown Princess must lead, not just sit in a palace." Seraphina smiled—a smile that made Roland forget how to breathe. "Don’t worry. I’ve lived longer than most humans. I know how to survive."
"That’s exactly what worries me." Roland sighed. "You’re too overconfident."
"Just like Rianor?"
"Worse."
Seraphina laughed—a bright, clear sound that contrasted with her draconic aura. "You’re funny, Roland Sudrath."
"I’m not funny. I’m anxious."
Seraphina reached for his hand. "Listen. I will go, I will fight, and I will return. That is my promise." She looked Roland straight in the eye. "And you... don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone. No diplomatic flirtations with princesses from other kingdoms."
Roland chuckled. "Promise."
"And look at the sky often. Perhaps I will fly past."
"I’ll set up a chair on the balcony specifically for that."
Seraphina grinned widely. Then, without warning, she pulled Roland into a hug. It wasn’t brief—it was tight, warm, and lingering. Roland was startled but quickly embraced her back.
"Come back to me," Roland whispered.
"I will."
From a distance, behind some bushes, Rumina peeked. She had just finished some treasury business and accidentally stumbled upon the scene. She quickly turned away, muttering, "Roland better not cause any more trouble later."
But behind her grumbling, there was a small smile.
At the Southern Paddock, thousands of soldiers had gathered.
The sun was directly overhead. The vast field was packed. Infantry stood in full uniform with Sudrath Spears mounted. The cavalry lined up with Wolf-Tusk MBTs and Titan MK-1s in neat rows. The Sky-Slayer Wing stood with twenty-seven pilots beside their helicopters. The Ghost Squad was nearly invisible, blending into the shadows. And at the rear stood five hundred dragonkins in human form—Zoldrak at the front, Seraphina beside him, the rest forming a disciplined formation.
Citizens crowded outside the field, waving, shouting, and cheering. Small children sat on their fathers’ shoulders, eyes wide at the sight of tanks and helicopters.
Among the soldiers, Thamrin was checking his Sky-Hunter for the umpteenth time. His hands were shaking—not from fear, but from adrenaline.
"Nervous?" Kaelen appeared beside him.
Thamrin nodded honestly. "Nervous."
"Good." Kaelen gave a thin smile—one of the few he ever showed. "Soldiers who aren’t nervous usually die fast."
Thamrin let out a weak laugh. "Thanks, Commander. That’s... comforting?"
"I mean you’ll survive."
In the tank rows, Leofric was shouting as usual. "CHECK THE AMMO! CHECK THE ENGINES! I DON’T WANT ANY TROUBLE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ROAD!"
Gideon, beside him, remained silent, noting things on his crystal tablet. "Hydraulic pressure for all units is stable. Ready to move."
Leofric slapped his shoulder hard—nearly knocking Gideon over. "GOOD! YOU REALLY ARE THE BEST DEPUTY!"
Gideon rubbed his shoulder with a deadpan expression. "Your hit was too hard."
"THAT’S A SIGN OF AFFECTION!"
Among the infantry, Thorne stood tall before his men. His eyes swept the ranks, searching for signs of weakness. He found none. All he saw was resolve.
"SOLDIERS!" he roared. "TODAY WE DEPART! TODAY WE BEGIN A LONG JOURNEY! BUT REMEMBER—YOU ARE NOT ALONE! YOU HAVE THE COMRADE BESIDE YOU! YOU HAVE THE HELICOPTERS ABOVE YOU! YOU HAVE THE TANKS IN FRONT OF YOU! AND YOU HAVE... ME!"
The soldiers cheered. Thorne smiled with satisfaction.
In the Ghost Squad ranks, Borch and Dom remained silent. No words were needed. They were shadows. And shadows did not need to speak.
The Sudrath family arrived.
Lucian led the way in his formal regalia. Aurelia was beside him, graceful despite her shimmering eyes. Behind them, Riven walked with a steady gait, Roland with his diplomatic smile, Rhea sitting in a special chair because of her pregnancy, Raveena clutching a Snow Chrysanthemum, Raphael trying his best to look mature, and Rumina—for the first time—not carrying a ledger.
They ascended a simple stage at the edge of the field. Lucian stood at the front, overlooking the sea of soldiers before him.
Silence.
Thousands of troops fell quiet simultaneously. The citizens outside the field followed suit. The wind seemed to stop blowing. It was as if nature itself was listening.
Lucian took a breath. Then, he spoke.
His voice wasn’t loud. Yet strangely, every word carried clearly to the very last row. Perhaps it was his authority. Perhaps it was mana. Or perhaps it was simply the sanctity of the moment.
"Soldiers of Northreach."
He paused, his eyes scanning the ranks.
"A few months ago, we lost Northveil. Our sister city. A city where thousands of citizens lived, worked, and dreamed. That city fell into the hands of invaders."
His gaze hardened.
"I still remember that day. I remember the fallen positions, the retreating troops, the citizens killed. I remember the name Garrick, the cavalry commander who fell with his men at the southern gate. They died so that we could live. So that we could evacuate. So that we could... prepare."
Some soldiers lowered their heads. Others clenched their fists.
"Today, that preparation is complete."
Lucian raised his hand, pointing toward the north.
"There, in Northveil, the invaders still sit comfortably atop the ruins of our homes. They think they have won. They think we will remain silent. They think their technology is enough to conquer Northreach."
His voice rose—slightly, but enough to send shivers down spines.
"THEY ARE WRONG!"
Thousands of troops roared. The citizens outside joined the cry.
Lucian lowered his hand, and the cheers ceased instantly. Silence returned.
"Today, you depart. Not as desperate soldiers, but as liberators. As the right hand of justice. As the storm that will obliterate the invaders!"
He turned to his side, toward Rianor, who stood quietly.
"And that storm... will be led by my son. Rianor Sudrath."
All eyes turned to Rianor.
Lucian stepped aside, clearing the path. Rianor stepped forward. He was silent. He did not speak; he simply stood there, looking at his army.
But that gaze was enough.
In the back row, among the crowd of citizens, Elara stood in her wheelchair. A Snow Chrysanthemum was in her hand. Tears were on her cheeks. But she was smiling.
Rianor saw her.
For a moment, the world stopped. There was only the two of them.
Then Rianor gave a nod—so small it was almost invisible. But Elara knew. It was a promise.
The final goodbyes followed.
Aurelia hugged Rianor tightly. "Come home, my son."
"I’m coming home, Mother."
Lucian shook his hand—firmly, for a long time. No words were necessary. Everything had been conveyed.
Riven patted his shoulder. "Make sure the invaders feel the same pain."
Rhea approached, touching his arm. "Don’t die." Cold as always. But her eyes—her eyes were misty.
Roland smiled. "Don’t die a foolish death. Foolish deaths are expensive, according to Rumina." He laughed, but his tone wavered.
Rumina kicked Roland’s shin. "Shut up!" Then she looked at Rianor. "Brother... don’t waste bullets." Her voice was raspy. "But if you must... just waste them. As long as you come home."
Raveena hugged him tight, crying against his chest. "Brother... promise you’ll come home..."
Rianor stroked her hair. "I promise."
Raphael gave a stiff military salute. Rianor returned it seriously—then ruffled his youngest brother’s hair. "Take care of Mother and Father."
"Yes, Brother!"
The army began to move.
One by one, the dragons shifted into their true forms. It was a spectacular sight—shimmering scales, spanning wings, and plumes of fiery breath. Zoldrak, in the form of a giant iron-scaled dragon, roared—a sound that shook the heavens. Seraphina shifted next, a white dragon with red eyes, graceful yet deadly.
She glanced toward Roland, waving her wing—an odd gesture for a dragon, but Roland knew it was for him. He waved back, smiling.
One by one, the dragons took to the sky, forming a pattern in the heavens.
On the ground, tanks began to roll. Infantry boarded trucks and Carrier-01s. Helicopters started their rotors, the distinctive sound cutting through the silence. The Ghost Squad had already vanished into the shadows, moving ahead. 𝓯𝓻𝓮𝙚𝙬𝓮𝙗𝒏𝙤𝒗𝙚𝙡.𝒄𝒐𝓶
Rianor boarded the command vehicle. Before entering, he looked back once more—searching for Elara among the crowd.
He found her.
Elara held the Snow Chrysanthemum high.
Rianor nodded. Then he entered the vehicle.
The convoy began its march. Thousands of soldiers. Dozens of heavy vehicles. Dozens of helicopters. Hundreds of dragons in the sky.
Citizens waved their hands. Children ran alongside the road. Some wept. Some shouted, "Come home! Come home!"
On the stage, Lucian stood tall, his eyes following the convoy until it disappeared on the horizon.
Beside him, Aurelia gripped his hand tightly.
"They will come home," Aurelia whispered.
Lucian did not answer. He only squeezed his wife’s hand in return.
In the sky, Seraphina flew beside Zoldrak. Her eyes occasionally glanced back—at the small dot that was likely Roland.
On the ground, inside the command vehicle, Rianor sat with his eyes closed. In his hand, he held a single petal of a Snow Chrysanthemum.
He gripped it tightly.
Elara, wait for me.
The convoy pressed on. Leaving Iron Hearth. Leaving family. Leaving everything they loved behind.
Ahead, Northveil awaited.
