Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 62: Disaster Dinner (Family)

Iron Hearth Castle – Northreach. Night – Two Days After the Basilisk Incident.

The massive, pitch-black iron gates of Iron Hearth Castle groaned as they swung open, a majestic sound that echoed through the snow-capped peaks of the North. It was a sound that usually heralded the return of a conquering army or a diplomatic envoy from the capital.

Tonight, however, the cargo was far more delicate—and far more anxious.

A black military carriage, reinforced with steel plates and bearing the Golden Lion crest, rattled across the cobblestone courtyard. Inside the carriage, General Riven Sudrath, the man who had stared down a thousand bayonets without blinking, was currently a vibrating mess of nerves. His left shoulder was still wrapped in thick, white linen bandages from the Basilisk’s toxic bite, but the sweat beading on his forehead had nothing to do with physical pain.

It was pure, unadulterated trepidation.

Beside him, Doctor Elena sat with a composure that only a surgeon could maintain. She had traded her mud-stained field gear for a simple yet elegantly tailored navy-blue gown that complemented the cool tones of her skin. Her chestnut hair had been intricately pinned back, and she clutched a small leather medical bag in her lap—a reflex of habit, just in case someone in the castle required immediate trauma care.

"Riven," Elena said, her voice a calm anchor in the midst of his storm. She watched his leg bounce rhythmically against the floor of the carriage. "Is the wound throbbing? Do I need to check for signs of secondary infection?"

"No," Riven swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. "It’s worse."

"Worse? Did the neurotoxin reach your brain after all?"

"My family," Riven looked at her with the eyes of a condemned man. "Elena, listen to me carefully. Whatever happens inside those walls... please, don’t run. They are loud. They are eccentric. Sometimes they are borderline insane. But they don’t bite. Well, except for Rhea. Sometimes she bites if you touch her daggers."

Elena offered a soft, musical laugh. "Riven, I am a military doctor. I have dealt with shell-shocked soldiers, hallucinating patients high on toxic fungi, and arrogant colonels. I think I can handle a noble dinner party."

Riven let out a long, resigned sigh. "You haven’t met the First Lady of the North yet. My mother makes the Basilisk look like a pet hamster."

The carriage came to a halt. The door was pulled open by the family’s head servant, Grimm. He stood straight as a spear, his white gloves pristine, but there was a faint, rare twinkle in his aged eyes.

"Welcome home, Young Master Riven. And... our most distinguished guest." Grimm offered a slight, knowing smile.

Riven stepped down first, offering his hand to help Elena onto the paving blocks of the castle courtyard. The moment her heels touched the ground, the night was shattered.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A series of thunderous explosions rocked the air. Elena’s medical instincts took over instantly; she crouched low, dropping into a defensive martial arts stance, her eyes darting across the ramparts. "Artillery strike?! Ambush?!"

"No..." Riven covered his face with his broad palm, his ears turning red. "It’s just Rianor being an idiot."

High above on the main balcony, Sir Rianor Sudrath was holding a shoulder-mounted Magitech firework launcher of his own design. He was grinning like a mad scientist as he fired a barrage of multi-colored flares into the dark sky. The sparks coalesced into glowing, albeit slightly tilted, letters that hung in the air:

"WELCOME HOME, FUTURE DAUGHTER-IN-LAW!"

Elena straightened her dress, staring at the sky in a mixture of awe and bewilderment. Before she could process the message, the massive oak doors of the castle burst open.

"OH MY GOODNESS! SHE’S HERE!"

Duchess Aurelia Sudrath practically flew down the stairs. Her speed was physically impossible for a woman wearing four-inch heels and a heavy, traditional silk Kebaya. She was a vision in vibrant red silk, her hair styled into a high, intricate bun adorned with gold pins. The scent of jasmine perfume hit them like a tidal wave before she even reached them.

Beside her, Duke Lucian followed at a more dignified pace, though his expression was one of profound awkwardness. He was holding a hand-painted silk banner that read: Welcome Doctor Elena (Please take care of my stupid son).

"Look at her! Look at this angel!" Aurelia bypassed Riven entirely, lunging straight for Elena.

She didn’t offer a polite handshake or a stiff curtsy. Instead, she pulled the doctor into a bone-crushing embrace. Elena, stiff with shock, found herself buried in the Duchess’s jasmine-scented silk.

Aurelia pulled back just enough to hold Elena’s face between her palms, her eyes sparkling with manic delight. "Oh, you’re gorgeous! Such clean skin! Intelligent eyes! And your hips..." Aurelia’s hands migrated to Elena’s waist, squeezing firmly. "Magnificent! Sturdy! These are the hips of a woman destined to produce a line of superior heirs!"

"Mother!" Riven roared, his face flushing a deep crimson. "Stop manhandling the woman! She’s a doctor, not a prize-winning heifer at a livestock fair!"

Aurelia finally released her grip, patting Elena’s cheek with maternal affection. "Forgive me, darling. I’m just a little over-excited. You see, with Riven, I didn’t think I’d ever see the day he’d bring a woman home. I thought he’d bring home a stray cat first. I honestly expected him to remain a bachelor until the heat death of the universe."

Elena, who had been momentarily paralyzed by the aggressive warmth, found herself smiling. There was a sincerity in Aurelia’s intensity that was hard to resist. "Good evening, Duchess Aurelia. I am Elena. I apologize for the late-night intrusion."

"Intrusion?! Nonsense! It’s a celebration! Come inside, I’ve been in the kitchen for six hours!"

The Grand Dining Room.

The long mahogany table was a battlefield of culinary excess. This wasn’t the refined, sparse French-style dining common in the capital. This was Sudrath-style "Barbarian" feasting, heavily influenced by Aurelia’s heritage.

There was a whole roasted honey-glazed chicken, a towering cone of yellow turmeric rice (Nasi Kuning), beef Rendang that had been slow-cooked until the meat fell apart at the touch of a fork, and a bowl of goat curry whose aroma was so potent it could probably raise the dead.

Riven sat beside Elena, feeling like a nervous cadet. Opposite them sat Rhea, who was currently sharpening her steak knife with a whetstone as if it were an assassin’s blade, and Rianor, who had—unbelievably—brought a brass microscope to the dinner table.

"So," Rhea began the interrogation, her eyes narrowing as she scrutinized Elena. "Doctor Elena. What exactly do you see in my brother? He is eighty percent muscle, ten percent iron-scent, and the remaining ten percent is just a very loud snoring mechanism that sounds like a tank engine."

"Rhea!" Duke Lucian scolded softly, though his attention was focused on cutting his steak.

Elena didn’t flinch. She met Rhea’s gaze with the steady eyes of someone who had operated on hearts. "Riven is indeed noisy when he sleeps," Elena replied casually, taking a sip of water. "And he’s reckless. His cholesterol levels are a medical disaster. But... he has a very sturdy back. It’s a back you can hide behind when a monster is charging, and it won’t move an inch."

Rhea stopped sharpening her knife. A slow, predatory smirk spread across her face. "A good answer. You passed the first test."

Rianor, who was currently peering through his microscope at a smear of chili paste, suddenly spoke without looking up. "Doctor, from a biological standpoint, Basilisk venom is designed to paralyze the central nervous system. How was Riven able to maintain motor function after the bite? Did the ’adrenaline of love’ trigger a surge of endorphins that effectively blocked the pain receptors?"

Elena turned to Rianor, her eyes lighting up with intellectual curiosity. "An intriguing analysis, Master Rianor. I suspect it was a combination of high-stress adrenaline and Riven’s sheer muscular density—the toxin’s diffusion was physically slowed by the lack of fatty tissue. I actually have a blood sample in my bag if you’d like to run a spectral analysis."

"Really?!" Rianor’s eyes widened behind his glasses, his excitement reaching level 45. "We go to the lab immediately after dessert!"

"Hey!" Riven slammed his hand on the table. "My blood is not a science experiment!"

As the siblings bared their teeth at each other, Aurelia continued to pile food onto Elena’s plate. "Eat more, darling. You’re far too thin. A doctor needs energy to deal with patients. Here, try the Rendang. I personally massaged the beef before it went into the pot."

Elena stared at her plate, which now resembled a small mountain of spices and meat. She offered a strained, polite smile.

Suddenly, Riven’s hand crept toward the bowl of goat curry. His eyes were fixated on the rich, oily gravy. "Just a little bit..." Riven muttered, his fork inching closer.

SLAP!

A sharp, ringing sound echoed through the room.

Elena had struck the back of Riven’s hand with her silver spoon. Hard.

The entire table went silent. Duke Lucian stopped chewing. Rhea’s jaw dropped. Aurelia froze mid-pour. No one had ever—ever—physically disciplined the General, the strongest man in the North, at the dinner table.

"Riven," Elena’s voice was as cold and sharp as a surgical scalpel. "We discussed this. You have already reached your ’Red Meat’ quota for the week."

Riven rubbed the back of his reddening hand, his expression shifting into that of a kicked puppy. "But El... it’s my mother’s curry... it only happens once a year..."

"No ’buts.’ Look at the coconut milk content. It’s pure saturated fat," Elena reached over, grabbed the curry bowl, and moved it to the far side of the table, out of Riven’s reach. "You will eat the roasted chicken. The breast portion. No skin."

Riven slumped in his chair, his shoulders dropping in total defeat. "Yes, Doctor..."

The silence stretched for three more seconds.

Then, suddenly, Aurelia stood up. Her eyes were welling with tears. For a moment, Riven feared his mother was offended that her cooking was being rejected.

"OH MY GOD!" Aurelia clapped her hands together hysterically. "IT’S PERFECT! IT’S ABSOLUTELY PERFECT!"

Aurelia pointed a trembling finger at Riven. "Look at him! Finally! Someone who has the guts to tell him ’no’! Even I gave up trying to stop him from eating fried innards! You are magnificent, Elena! You are the General of the General!"

Aurelia marched over and handed the large rice ladle to Elena as if it were a ceremonial mace. "From this moment forward, I officially surrender this idiot’s health to you. If he’s stubborn, you have my permission to inject his backside with the largest needle you can find!"

Elena laughed, this time more freely, a genuine sound of warmth. "Understood, Duchess. I shall carry out my duties with precision."

The Castle Balcony – After Dinner.

Riven and Elena stood side-by-side on the balcony, leaning against the cold stone railing. Below them, the streetlights of Northreach sparkled like a fallen galaxy—the result of Rianor’s genius. The winter air was crisp, but the atmosphere between them was warm.

Riven let out a long, relieved breath. "I’m sorry, El. That was... a lot, wasn’t it?"

"It was noisy," Elena admitted, a soft smile playing on her lips. "And chaotic. Your mother tried to make me taste five different types of sambal. Rhea invited me to an arm-wrestling match. Rianor tried to pluck a hair from my head for ’DNA sequencing’."

"I can take you back to the dorms right now if you have a headache..."

"No," Elena interrupted him. She rested her elbows on the railing, looking out at the glowing city. "This house... it feels alive. In the military dorms, everything is quiet. Everything is sterile and lonely. Here... it feels like a home."

Elena turned her head to look at Riven. "And I like seeing you here. You aren’t the ’War Lion’ or the ’Iron Protector.’ Here, you’re just... a son who loves his mother. It’s a good look on you."

Riven blushed, scratching the back of his neck where the hair was short. "So... you aren’t traumatized? You’ll come back?"

"That depends," Elena smirked. "If tomorrow’s menu is sour vegetable soup (Sayur Asem), I’ll be here. If it’s goat curry again, I’m going on strike."

Riven laughed, the sound deep and resonant. He felt a surge of courage. He slowly moved his massive hand across the railing, inching toward Elena’s delicate fingers.

Just a little closer... almost there...

BLARRR!

Another firework exploded in the sky directly in front of them.

This time, the sparks formed a new set of words: "OOHHH! THEY’RE HOLDING HANDS! CIEEEE!"

Riven and Elena snapped their heads up in shock. In the tower above, they could see the silhouettes of Rianor and Rhea peeking over the edge, giggling uncontrollably as they held the launcher.

"HEY! GET A LIFE, YOU TWO!" Riven roared at the sky, shaking his fist.

"YOU’RE TAKING TOO LONG, BROTHER! YOU’RE NOT GETTING ANY YOUNGER!" Rhea’s voice drifted down, followed by more laughter.

Elena burst into a fit of giggles, watching the most feared General in Aethelgard scream at his siblings in the dark. In the midst of the chaos, the explosions, and the childish shouting, Elena realized she had found more than just a boyfriend. She had found a tribe.

That night, Aurelia’s "Project Daughter-in-Law" was a resounding success. The fortress walls of Doctor Elena had been completely breached by the overwhelming warmth—and insanity—of House Sudrath.