Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution

Chapter 171: THE CRIMSON CLAN OF ARKAN

The sun still slanted toward the west when Rianor grasped Elara’s hand in the castle garden. Around them, the Snow Chrysanthemums began to close their petals, preparing to greet the night. A gentle breeze drifted by, carrying the scent of damp earth and drying leaves.

But Rianor refused to wait until tomorrow.

"Elara."

Elara looked up at him. Her eyes were still puffy from her earlier tears, but her smile remained. It was warm. It was real.

"We are getting married. Soon. I don’t want to wait anymore."

It wasn’t a poetic line. There were no flowery metaphors or grand allegories. But the tone of his voice—firm, absolute, like a commander issuing an order on the battlefield—made Elara’s tears fall once more.

She laughed through her sobs. "You... can’t you be just a little bit romantic?"

"I am being romantic." Rianor’s face remained stoic, but the corner of his lip twitched upward ever so slightly.

"You call this romantic?"

"This is my version of it."

Elara shook her head, but she squeezed his hand with all her strength. "I want to, Rianor. I’ve wanted to for so long. Since the day you came to the hospital. Since you told me you didn’t care that I was paralyzed. Since you promised you’d come home."

Rianor tightened his grip. "I am home."

"I know."

They fell into a comfortable silence. The wind brushed past again, carrying the scent of flowers beginning to wilt. In the distance, the hum of the city began to fade. Evening was taking hold.

Then Rianor spoke again. "I must ask your parents for their permission."

Elara’s hand tensed.

Her smile vanished, fading slowly like light swallowed by a passing cloud. She lowered her gaze, avoiding his eyes. She bit her lower lip, as if holding back something she didn’t want to let out.

"No, don’t," she said quickly, almost cutting him off. "Just send a letter. They... they won’t care."

Rianor stared at her. He didn’t speak; he simply waited.

"I sent a letter once, when you first proposed." Elara let out a bitter little laugh. "There was no reply. Perhaps they never read it. Or they read it and threw it away. It makes no difference."

"Elara."

"It’s not necessary, Rianor. Trust me, it’s better this way." Her voice was almost pleading.

Rianor didn’t answer immediately. He only held her hand, stroking the back of it with his thumb. Slowly. Repeatedly.

"You’ve never told me about your family," he said finally.

Elara was silent for a long time. Her chest rose and fell as if she were gathering courage that had been buried for years.

"I don’t like talking about them," she whispered. Her eyes were vacant, fixed on the Snow Chrysanthemums that had fully closed.

"You don’t have to tell me now. But one day, I want to know."

Elara exhaled. Her hands were trembling.

"I will tell you now."

"The Velmora Family. The Crimson Clan of Arkana." Elara’s voice was flat, like someone recounting a story buried for so long that all emotion had been bled out of it. "My father, Adrian Velmora. The head of the house. One of the strongest mages in Eastmarch. My mother, Elvari. From another noble house. They married for an alliance, but they were a perfect match. Both strong. Both ambitious. Both... cold."

Rianor listened. He did not let go of her hand.

"They have three children." Elara looked at her own hands. "Celeste, the eldest. Valir, the second. And me, the third. The youngest. The weakest. The most... disgraceful."

She paused, her breath hitching.

"Celeste. The eldest sister. A genius mage. People say she was born with mana at her fingertips. Father was proud of her. Mother was proud of her. All of Eastmarch was proud of her." Elara smiled—a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. "She never called me ’sister.’ Only ’the failed Velmora.’ Or ’that thing.’ As if I wasn’t even human."

Rianor’s grip tightened.

"Valir. The second brother. Not as famous as Celeste, but still powerful. Quieter. But his silence was more dangerous." Elara bit her lip. "He never mocked me with words. But his eyes... his eyes always said, ’You don’t belong here.’ Every time I tried to speak, he would walk away. Every time I tried to ask a question, he turned his back. As if I didn’t exist."

She took a deep breath.

"And Father..." Her voice cracked. "Father once said, in front of the entire family, ’I would rather have no child than a child like you.’ I still remember his voice. Cold. Not angry. Not disappointed. Just... cold. Like a fact. Like an unchangeable law of nature."

Tears began to fall.

"My mother stayed silent. Celeste smiled. Valir looked away. No one defended me. No one said it was wrong."

Rianor said nothing, but his jaw hardened.

"One day, I told them I wanted to leave. To study on my own. To find my own path." Elara laughed—a bitter laugh that erupted from a chest that had carried the weight of the world for far too long. "Father only nodded. Mother said, ’Finally, you’ve realized.’ Celeste laughed. ’Goodbye, failed Velmora.’ And Valir... Valir only glanced at me for a second. Then he left."

She looked at Rianor, her eyes shimmering with moisture.

"No one tried to stop me. No one asked when I’d be back. No one cared."

Rianor wiped her tears. "And after you left?"

"Nothing. No news. No letters. No messengers. It was as if I were dead. As if I had never existed."

She lowered her head.

"I never told them about my condition now. About my legs. About my magic. Perhaps they wouldn’t care. Perhaps they’ve already forgotten I exist."

Rianor remained silent for a long time. His eyes went dark—not his usual cold, calculating darkness, but something else entirely. Something rare for him.

Fury.

"You said they are in Eastmarch?"

Elara nodded. "Aritama. A small town at the foot of the eastern mountains. The Velmora estate sits atop the hill."

Rianor exhaled. Slowly. Deeply.

"We are going there."

Elara gasped. "Rianor—"

"I don’t need their blessing." His voice was calm, but it held a resonance that brokered no argument. "But I want them to know. The people who threw you away. The ones who called you a failure. I want them to know that you didn’t choose wrong."

Elara clutched his hand. "I don’t want to—"

"You are coming with me."

"Rianor—"

Rianor knelt before her, looking directly into her eyes. "No one will ever dare hurt you again. I promise. No matter who they are. No matter what they say. I will be by your side."

Elara wept. But this time, she was smiling.

"Fine. I’ll go."

Two days later, a black SUV sped away from Iron Heart.

Dom was in the front, alongside a Ghost Squad member who drove with silent focus. Two other Ghost Squad members sat in the back, silent as shadows. Rianor sat in the middle, Elara beside him.

Elara stared out the window. The lush greenery of the mountains began to give way to rolling hills. The air felt different here—more humid, warmer. This wasn’t Northreach. This was a place that felt foreign to her now, despite being the land of her birth.

"Aritama," she murmured. "A small town. The Velmora house is on the hill. From a distance, you can see its roof."

Rianor nodded. "You were born there?"

"Yes." She offered a faint smile. "I used to love sitting on the balcony, watching the sun rise from behind the mountains. It’s the only place I miss."

"You don’t miss the family?"

Elara was silent for a moment. "No. I only miss the place."

Rianor didn’t push further. He only held her hand.

The vehicle pressed on.

A few hours later, Elara began to speak again.

"Celeste. My eldest sister." Her voice was flat, but there was a tremor in it. "Back when we were children, I once accidentally broke my mother’s favorite vase. I was scared, so I said Celeste broke it. Celeste knew. She wasn’t angry. She just smiled. Then, in front of my father and mother, she said, ’I didn’t break it. But I’m not surprised Elara accused me. Weak people always need a scapegoat.’"

She paused.

"Father and mother believed her. I was punished. I wasn’t given food for the entire day. Celeste came to my room that night. ’Do you see?’ she told me. ’You will never be like me. You will never be anything.’"

Rianor didn’t speak, but his hand clenched into a fist.

"Valir. My second brother." Elara continued. "He never spoke harshly. He never mocked me. But he also never spoke to me at all. For years. I don’t remember the last time he even called me by my name."

She took a deep breath.

"One day, I fell on the stairs. My knee was bleeding. I was crying. Valir walked by. He saw me. I thought that maybe this time he would help. But he only stopped. Looked at me for a second. Then he left. As if I didn’t exist. As if the blood on my knee wasn’t his business."

Tears fell once more.

"That hurt more than Celeste’s words. Far more."

Rianor squeezed her hand. "Enough."

Elara shook her head. "Not yet."

She gazed out the window. The mountains in the distance were beginning to loom.

"I’m no longer angry at them. There’s no point. But I also cannot forgive them. Perhaps I never will."

Rianor remained silent, simply holding her hand.

Night fell. The Ghost Squad member drove tirelessly. The two in the back took turns sleeping. Rianor remained awake.

Elara had fallen asleep on his shoulder, her breathing steady, her hand still clutching his fingers tightly.

Outside, a thin mist began to settle between the trees. Village lights flickered occasionally in the distance, dim as fallen stars.

Rianor did not sleep. His eyes were fixed forward, toward the east. His thoughts moved faster than the car.

He had already visualized every possibility. The cold father. The cruel mother. The arrogant sister. The indifferent brother.

He didn’t know what would happen when they arrived. But one thing he knew: he would not let anyone hurt Elara again. Not Celeste with her piercing smile. Not Valir with his murderous silence. Not Adrian who threw away his own child. Not Elvari who never stood up for her.

They might be powerful. They might be arrogant. But they would never hurt Elara again.

In the front seat, Dom opened his crystal pager. A dim light illuminated his flat features. He read a message briefly, then closed it.

"A message from Borch, My Lord," he said quietly, careful not to wake Elara. "’Good luck.’"

Rianor offered a faint smile. "Reply: ’I don’t need luck. I already have a reason.’"

Dom nodded, his fingers moving across the pager. "Sent, My Lord."

The car pressed on. Eastmarch was drawing near.

Elara stirred slightly on Rianor’s shoulder. Her lips moved—perhaps a name, perhaps a prayer, perhaps just a dream.

Rianor gently patted her hair.

"You won’t be alone," he whispered. "Not anymore."

Outside, the sky began to brighten. The East. Dawn.