Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 133: A BANQUET OF WOUNDS AND NEW DESIGNS

​The nights in Iron Hearth, the capital of Northreach, were no longer as silent as they once were. Beyond the arched windows of Castle Iron Hearth, the glow of Mana-based streetlights illuminated the asphalt roads, creating streaks of pale blue light that sliced through the darkness of the snowy territory. However, inside the main Dining Hall, this technological advancement felt in stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere enveloping the long table of ancient teak wood.

​The crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling had been modified by Rianor with filaments made of Mana-quartz. The light they emitted was bright, stable, and clear—far superior to the animal-fat candles traditionally used by the nobility of Aethelgard. Yet, this brilliant clarity served only to highlight every line of exhaustion, every scar, and every flicker of despair on the faces of those seated below.

​Dinner this evening felt hollow. Three empty chairs—belonging to Roland, Rumina, and Raveena—felt like gaping voids in the center of the Sudrath family circle.

​Riven Sudrath sat to his father’s right. The Great General usually resembled an unshakeable mountain, but tonight, he appeared fragile. Beneath his white silk shirt, thick layers of bandages were still wrapped tightly around his chest—the lingering remains of the kinetic impact from Commander Martin’s steam hammer. Every time he attempted to cut the meat on his plate, his hand trembled slightly, and his breathing was heavy and shallow—a tell-tale sign that his lungs had not yet fully recovered from the pressure trauma.

​Elena, seated beside him, immediately set down her own knife. With the gentle grace unique to a wife who was also a physician, she reached over to take Riven’s plate.

​"Let me do it, Riven," Elena whispered. Her voice was soft, yet it contained an undeniable firmness.

​Riven looked at Elena with eyes that had dimmed. "I can still do it, Elena. It’s just a scratch..."

​"A ’scratch’ that nearly shattered your ribs and punctured your lungs," Elena countered, not looking up as she sliced the meat with surgical precision. "Do not be stubborn with me. I was the one who stitched those wounds; I was the one who counted every fracture in your bones. Sit still and save your energy."

​Elena turned to her husband with a softened gaze. Deep concern lingered in her eyes, but behind it, a fierce conviction blazed. She knew her husband was a warrior who defied common logic, and she would ensure he returned to the battlefield only when he was truly ready.

​Across from them, Rianor Sudrath looked significantly worse. The young genius usually possessed a spark of unbridled ambition in his eyes, but now, he merely stared blankly at his plate. Occasionally, his shoulders would twitch—a lingering side effect of the Neural Mana-Burn that had scorched several of his sensory nerve pathways.

​"Rianor, you haven’t touched your soup," Aurelia Sudrath spoke with the compassionate tone of a mother. The Duchess of Northreach was the only one attempting to maintain the dignity of the dinner table. "You need nutrients to restore your mana circuits."

​Rianor looked up, his eyes struggling to focus as the artificial light felt too sharp for his damaged nerves. "Forgive me, Mother. I just... I don’t feel hungry."

​"Are you thinking about Elara again?" asked Rhea Sudrath, who sat beside Arvid. The eldest daughter appeared the most composed of the siblings.

​Rianor fell silent. That name felt like a sudden electric shock to his brain. "She used her magic not just to save me, Rhea. She tried to hold back that Railgun alone so Northveil wouldn’t be completely erased. She performed a duty that should have been the responsibility of my weaponry. And now... she lies there, paralyzed, with her mana core utterly shattered."

​Rianor’s voice trembled toward the end. The weight of his guilt was more agonizing than the nerve damage he suffered.

​Aurelia rose from her chair, walked around the table, and placed a comforting hand on Rianor’s shoulder. "Elara is a strong girl. She did what she believed was right as a mage. Now, your duty is not to mourn, but to ensure her sacrifice was not in vain. Our presence here, eating together, is proof that we are still breathing and still capable of striking back."

​Aurelia’s touch seemed to bring a warmth that de-escalated the tension in the room. Lucian Sudrath, the Old Lion who had been sitting as still as a stone statue, finally let out a long breath. He looked at his wife with unspoken gratitude. Without Aurelia, the family might have buckled under the weight of their collective emotional burden.

​"What is the news from the hospital?" Lucian finally spoke, his deep voice echoing through the vast hall.

​"Caelus is still there," Rhea answered, relaying information from internal intelligence reports. "He hasn’t left Raveena’s side since they arrived. Even Grimm had to force him to eat. He is guarding our sister as if his entire world would collapse if she stopped breathing."

​Upon hearing this, Aurelia offered a faint smile—the first genuine smile seen since the fall of Northveil. "That young Prince... he has changed much. I am glad that at least Raveena is not alone. Grimm is also there to ensure medical security protocols are maintained."

​Lucian snorted, though it wasn’t a sound of disapproval. "Caelus proved his mettle on the left wing of Northveil. If he wishes to prove himself worthy of my daughter, let him guard her. At least that is one thing I do not have to worry about right now."

​Lucian’s gaze then shifted toward Arvid and Rianor. His face hardened once more, shifting back into the mode of the Great Leader.

​"Arvid, Rianor. I want a technical report. Why did our defenses at Northveil collapse so rapidly?"

​Arvid, who had spent most of the evening listening, straightened his posture. The messy-haired scientist glanced at Rianor for a moment before answering.

​"Quantity, Father-in-law," Arvid said in a stiff tone. "Technically, our Magitech spears are superior in a one-on-one duel. However, the Iron Empire does not fight with chivalry. They sent thousands of Junk-Cyborgs that feel no pain simply to drain our ammunition. Our mana systems are too complex to mass-produce in a short time during a war of attrition."

​Rianor nodded, his focus returning as they delved into the realm of science. "Magitech spears require mana circuits to be hand-etched onto pure crystals. It is slow. We need something more... primitive in terms of energy, but more lethal in terms of kinetics."

​Arvid knit his brows, initially confused. "Primitive? You want us to return to bows and arrows?"

​"No," Rianor picked up a fork and began sketching on the expensive tablecloth. "I’m thinking of a concept for automatic firearms. No complex mana circuits inside. We will use chemical explosions—gunpowder—to propel metal projectiles. The system will be purely mechanical."

​Arvid went silent, his eyes fixed on the pattern Rianor was drawing. As a scientist, his brain began simulating the laws of physics behind Rianor’s words. Within seconds, his eyes widened in realization.

​"You want to use the gas expansion pressure from a controlled chemical explosion to propel mass?" Arvid murmured, his voice rising an octave in excitement. "That would eliminate the dependency on the user’s mana! A civilian could kill a knight if they held such a tool!"

​"Exactly," Rianor replied with a cold smirk. "I call it the SIG MCX Sudrath Edition. We will mass-produce them in the workshops of Iron Hearth. Arvid, I need your chemical expertise to stabilize the gunpowder so it doesn’t detonate in the user’s hands."

​Arvid nodded firmly. "I understand now. If we remove the magical component from the firing mechanism and only use it for projectile reinforcement, our production speed will increase tenfold. I agree with this plan, Rianor. We begin tomorrow morning."

​Lucian Sudrath listened to the discussion between the two young men intently. His hands gripped the edge of the table, but this time it wasn’t out of anger—it was from a burning determination.

​"Do it," Lucian commanded. "Whatever you need—funds, labor, raw materials—take it all. I want you to build an army that cannot be stopped by a thousand iron robots."

​Lucian rose from his seat, prompting everyone at the table to stand. He looked at each member of his family one by one.

​"We have lost Northveil. We have lost our comrades. Ben, Garrick, and thousands of other soldiers died so that we could stand here tonight," Lucian paused, his voice trembling with suppressed emotion. "We will not let them win. Northveil is not just a city; it is a symbol of our progress. And I swear upon the name of Sudrath, we will take it back. We will crush every inch of the Iron Empire’s machines until nothing remains but rusted scrap."

​In the midst of this heroic atmosphere, baby Kaelven in Elena’s arms let out a soft giggle, as if sensing the soaring spirit in the hall. Elena kissed the baby’s forehead, then looked at Riven with a hopeful smile.

​That night, amidst wounds that were still fresh, House Sudrath stopped mourning their defeat. Beneath the brilliant light of the magitech lamps, they began to weave a plan of vengeance that would change the history of warfare on the continent of Aethel-Terra forever.