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

Chapter 177: THE ROAD TO THE NORTH

Two years.

Two years had passed since Elara stepped beyond the iron gates of Castle Velmora.

Now, she stood before a two-story stone building in the city of Hikarizawa.

Hikarizawa. A border town nestled between Eastmarch and Sol-Regis. Its name sounded beautiful, but the reality was a town that was rugged, humid, and teeming with adventurers coming and going. There was no castle grandeur here, no silk robes, and no judgmental glares measuring the amount of mana flowing through one’s veins.

Elara loved it.

The guild building before her was crafted from dark wood, with a large notice board flanking the entrance. Dozens of parchment sheets were pinned there—requests for item retrievals, monster hunts, and caravan escorts. The rewards weren’t grand, but they were enough to sustain a life for a week or two.

She stepped inside.

The guild was bustling. Groups of adventurers sat at wooden tables—some laughing, some counting coins, others quietly polishing their blades. In a corner, a burly man snored loudly, the sound echoing through the hall.

At the front desk, a female receptionist with short blonde hair offered a professional smile. Her bright green eyes and a small scar over her left eyebrow suggested she was more than just a simple clerk.

"Welcome to the Hikarizawa Adventurers’ Guild," she greeted. "Are you here to register? Or to take a quest?"

"Register," Elara replied.

"Name?"

"Elara."

"Just Elara?"

"That’s enough."

The receptionist nodded, scribbling in a thick ledger. "Specialization?"

"Mage."

The woman raised an eyebrow. "A mage? Usually, we only get knights or archers here. Mages tend to prefer guilds in the larger cities." She studied Elara for a moment. "But we do need mages. There’s a party looking for one right now. Do you have a letter of recommendation?"

"No."

"Have you seen combat?"

"I have. But not through a guild."

The receptionist smiled. "We have a simple test. Show me your magic."

Elara lifted her hand. She didn’t need a lengthy incantation. With a mere flick of her fingers, an empty bottle on the desk floated into the air, spun slowly, and landed back in its place without a sound.

The woman’s eyes widened. "Gravity magic? Without a chant? Are you an academy graduate?"

"No," Elara said flatly. "I am self-taught."

"...Interesting." The receptionist wrote another note. "Very well, Elara. There’s a party that suits you. Silver Fang. They need a mage for a mission to the eastern mountains. Shall I introduce you?"

"Now?"

"Why not? They’re right over there."

Silver Fang consisted of four members.

Raul was their leader. A twenty-two-year-old man with short black hair, a sword strapped to his back, and a small buckler on his left arm. His expression was calm, his eyes steady. He smiled warmly upon seeing Elara.

"You’re the mage?" he asked, his voice welcoming.

"Yes."

"Good. We’ve needed a mage since our last mission nearly ended in disaster. What can you do?"

"Gravity magic. Barriers. Small-scale pyromancy."

Raul nodded. "That’s plenty. I’m Raul. Behind me is Mira."

Mira waved. She was a twenty-year-old woman with a bow on her back, brown hair pulled into a ponytail, and a cheerful face. "Hello! Finally, a mage! We’ve been relying solely on Lilia’s healing; we almost died getting pummeled by monsters."

Grom, a man nearing two meters in height, grunted. He held a massive axe with a head that was dented in several places. "Don’t let my face scare you. I’m not a bad guy."

Lilia, an eighteen-year-old girl in plain white robes, offered a shy smile. Her voice was soft. "I’m... I’m Lilia. The healer. It’s nice to meet you."

Elara looked at them one by one. No one mocked her. No one looked down on her. No one asked about her mana, her bloodline, or her family.

"I look forward to working with you," Elara said.

They set out the following morning. The mission: hunt low-tier Oni reported to be harrassing a village at the foot of the eastern mountains.

The journey took half a day. Mira was the most talkative, sharing stories of past missions—how Grom once fell into a river after slipping on moss, and how Raul almost married a village chief’s daughter somewhere.

"Did he run?" Elara asked.

"Not run. He just said, ’I’m not ready for that much responsibility,’" Mira laughed. "Truth is, he’s more afraid of a father-in-law than a monster."

Grom snorted. "Coward."

Raul only smiled, offering no denial. Grom shared his own experiences, his voice loud and often punctuated with curses, yet devoid of malice. Lilia spoke rarely but was always ready with her potions and healing spells.

Elara didn’t say much. She listened.

In the mountains, they found the Oni den. Red-skinned monsters with single horns on their foreheads, standing twice the height of an adult man. Three of them. They charged the moment they spotted the group.

Raul stepped forward with his shield, blocking the first strike. Mira loosed an arrow from a distance, striking the first Oni squarely in the eye. Grom swung his axe, the sound of snapping bone echoing clearly.

Elara raised her hand. Gravity Magic.

The second Oni, about to lunge at Raul from the side, was hoisted into the air, floating helplessly. Grom finished it with a single cleave.

The third Oni tried to flee. Elara reached out, pulling it back with gravity, causing it to sprawl before Raul. One thrust, and it was over.

Mira whistled. "Damn. Your magic doesn’t look like a beginner’s level."

"Self-taught, she said," Raul remarked, looking at Elara with a faint smile. "Your talent is far beyond a local guild level."

Elara didn’t respond. She simply let Lilia approach to heal a small scratch on her hand from a stray stone fragment.

"You’re good," Lilia whispered.

"You too."

Grom shouldered his axe. "Mission accomplished. That was fast. Usually, we’re at it for over an hour."

"Because we have a mage now," Mira said. "We have to recruit her permanently."

Raul smiled. "Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We’ll discuss that later... I’d like to, but the decision is Elara’s."

Elara didn’t hear that. Or perhaps she heard but chose not to respond.

Four weeks passed. Elara and Silver Fang completed five missions together. Every single one was a swift success. Grom began to joke with Elara. Mira started calling her "little sister." Lilia grew brave enough to speak more than two sentences at a time.

One night, after their latest mission near the border, Raul gathered the party at a small tavern in Hikarizawa.

"I have news," he said, setting down his ale. "We have a big mission next week. Twenty gold pieces per person."

Mira whistled. "That’s huge. Where to?"

"Aritama."

The atmosphere shifted. It wasn’t tense, but a sudden silence fell.

"Aritama?" Grom frowned. "That place for powerful mages?"

"You could say that," Raul smiled. "It is indeed the center for mages. Our mission is to escort a merchant there. Apparently, he wants to purchase rare mana crystals."

Mira turned to Elara. "You must be excited, Lia. You’ll get to see the legendary home of mages."

Elara offered a thin smile. "Aritama... is indeed famous for its mages."

"You’re coming, right?" Raul asked.

Elara looked down for a moment. Then, she shook her head.

"I can’t."

Mira frowned. "Why? Do you have other business?"

"No." Elara stared at the table, then lifted her gaze. Her smile remained, but her eyes were different. "I just... don’t want to go there."

Raul watched her for a long time. He didn’t ask further questions. He didn’t pressure her. He simply gave a slow nod.

"Alright. If that is your decision."

Grom let out a heavy sigh. "Damn. We finally get a cool mage, and she’s already leaving us."

"Don’t push her," Raul chided.

"I’m just kidding," Grom raised his hands. "But seriously, Elara. You’re the most useful mage we’ve ever had. It’s a real shame."

Mira reached for Elara’s hand. "You’ll be successful wherever you go. And if you ever need friends, you know where to find us."

Lilia stood up, approached, and gave Elara a gentle hug. "I hope... we meet again."

Elara returned the embrace. "I hope so too."

They laughed. They drank. They told stories of the past, the future, and dreams that might never be reached.

That night, for the first time in her life, Elara felt like she had friends.

The next day, Elara stood before the guild’s notice board. Her eyes were fixed on a single piece of parchment tucked in a corner.

Mission: Monster Cull around Oakhaven – 5 Gold.

Oakhaven. A small town in the southern reaches of Northreach. A territory reportedly ruled by a bankrupt noble family, nearing collapse, infested with criminals and monsters.

"Oakhaven?" The same receptionist from before smiled. "You want to go there? That place is a mess. But there are plenty of missions because no adventurer wants to stay for long."

"Why doesn’t anyone want to stay?"

"Because the lord is broke. Duke Sudrath is his name. Word is, the territory exists only in name. Few soldiers, erratic taxes, and the monsters in the surrounding woods are multiplying. But if you’re looking for experience, it’s the place for you."

Elara stared at the parchment for a long time.

Northreach. Bankrupt. Monsters. Missions.

She grabbed the parchment.

"I’ll take this quest."

The journey to Oakhaven took several days. The town was busier than Elara had imagined. Not bustling like Hikarizawa with adventurers, but busy with traveling merchants, passing caravans, and people who seemed to be on their way elsewhere.

The Golden Stag Inn stood in the center of town. A two-story wooden building with the sign of a golden-antlered deer out front. From the outside, it looked lively. Oil lamps glowed brightly within.

Elara entered.

She chose a corner table, ordered a cup of pitch-black coffee, and pulled a book from her gray robes—a book she had read countless times, yet carried wherever she went.

Mana Flow Theory and its Application on Ancient Steam Engines.

Page 42. Concerning the assumption that mana behaves like a gas. Elara re-read the paragraph, trying to digest it again, even though she already suspected the answer.

There was something wrong with the equation.

She didn’t know what, but it felt off.

"The equation on page 42 is wrong."

Elara turned.

A young man stood beside her table. His face was cold, his eyes sharp, and his black hair was slightly disheveled. His suit was simple—not a noble’s style—but the cut was strange, unlike anything she had seen.

"Excuse me?" Elara’s voice was flat.

The young man pointed to her book. "That magical thermodynamic equation. The author assumes mana is a gas. In reality, mana is more akin to a liquid fluid. If you use that formula, the engine will explode."

Elara closed the book. "Who are you? Your clothes are strange, your haircut is strange, and you’re correcting the Grand Master who wrote this book?"

The young man wasn’t offended. "Rianor. Rianor Sudrath."

Elara frowned. "Sudrath? The bankrupt Duke from the north?"

"The one and only."

Elara stared at him for a long time. Then, she pushed her coffee cup toward him. "You say mana is a fluid. Prove it."

Rianor pulled out a chair and sat across from her. "Channel mana into that coffee. Three-to-one ratio."

"What?"

"Just try it."

Elara placed her index finger on the rim of the cup. A thin wisp of blue mana flowed from her fingertip, tracing the wall of the glass before entering the black coffee.

Zwing.

The coffee swirled, then heated up. It didn’t boil wildly. It didn’t bubble over. It was just... hot. Perfect.

Elara’s purple eyes widened. "The efficiency increased by forty percent."

Rianor shrugged. "Like I said."

"No one has ever taught me this theory before." Elara stared at him. "Which academy did you graduate from?"

"The Academy of Life," Rianor replied expressionlessly. "I just like to read."

"Liar," Elara countered. "Someone who just ’likes to read’ doesn’t wear a suit that sharp."

Rianor offered a faint smile. "Perhaps."

In another corner of the room, a commotion began. Several soldiers in Silver Eagle uniforms entered drunkenly, shouting, kicking chairs, and ordering people out of their way.

One of them spotted Elara.

"Whoa, look at the pretty girl over there." He stumbled toward her. "Take off that hood, miss. Let me see your face."

Elara didn’t budge. Rianor’s hand on the table remained still.

"Sir," Rianor said calmly. "We are having a discussion. Please be respectful."

The soldier turned to Rianor. "Shut up, you pampered brat!"

He raised his hand to deliver a slap.

Sret.

A fork was pinned into the wooden table, exactly between the soldier’s fingers.

A woman in a white shirt and leather corset stood behind Rianor, her hand still in a throwing position. Her face was cold. "My brother told you to show some respect."

The soldier backed away, his face pale. "Y-you dare oppose the Prince’s men?!"

From another table, a dignified old man in black robes stood up. His voice was deep, requiring no shout to be heard. "Take your friends and leave. Before I cut off your hands for ruining my dinner."

Sergeant Brutus, the leader of the soldiers, trembled. He recognized that aura. "D-Duke Lucian?"

"Five seconds," Lucian said.

Brutus didn’t wait for the fifth second. He sprinted out, followed by his panicking, limping men.

Amidst the chaos, Elara remained seated calmly. She looked at Rianor. "Your family is interesting. Usually, border nobles prostrate themselves the moment they hear the Prince’s name."

"We’re a different species."

Elara almost laughed. Almost.

She closed her book and stood up. "Perhaps we will meet again, Rianor Sudrath."

Rianor pulled something from his pocket—a small metal card. "If you ever need research funding for that fluid theory, find me in the Capital. We’ve just opened a vacancy for... a mad researcher."

Elara took the card. It read: Rianor Sudrath, House Sudrath, Northreach.

"If you survive the Capital for more than a week," she said, "maybe I’ll drop by."

She turned and walked toward the exit, leaving Rianor with a faint smile at the tavern table.

Two years after leaving Castle Velmora, Elara had found something she never expected to find.

Not just friends. Not just recognition.

But someone who spoke the same language. The language of logic, the language of science—the language she had spoken to no one since she was a child.

Rianor Sudrath.

She gripped the card tightly.

Maybe, she thought. Maybe I will drop by.

Inside the warm room at Castle Iron Hearth, on the morning of her wedding, Elara smiled.

The memory faded. She was still before the mirror. White gown. Red hair. Wheelchair.

She thought of Raul, Mira, Grom, and Lilia. The friends who gave her the first chance to be herself. She hoped they were well, wherever they were.

Then she thought of Rianor.

That young man with the cold face and sharp eyes, who corrected her favorite book without hesitation. Who offered her research funds in the middle of a brawl. Who saw her as a scientist, not as "the failed Velmora."

Elara smiled.

Outside, a knock sounded at the door.

"Lady Elara? May we come in?"

She took a deep breath. She looked in the mirror one last time. Her smile remained.

"Come in."