Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 64: Operation Daughter-in-Law (Wedding Preparations)
Iron Hearth Castle – Main Hall. T-Minus 3 Days to the Wedding.
If anyone were to ask who the true sovereign of House Sudrath was, the answer would not be Duke Lucian, the iron-willed patriarch. It wouldn’t be General Riven, the legendary war hero, nor would it be Sir Roland, the sharp-tongued diplomat.
The absolute ruler of the North, especially during this week, was a woman named Duchess Aurelia.
Today, Aurelia had ascended to her highest combat form: the Event Organizer (EO) Mode.
The main hall of Iron Hearth Castle, which usually radiated a cold, imposing aura of military discipline and ancient stone, had been transformed into a chaotic sea of premium silks, thousands of imported roses, and mountains of meticulously wrapped gifts. The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and the frantic energy of a hundred servants running as if their lives depended on it—because, in a way, they did.
"WRONG!" Aurelia’s voice boomed through the hall, echoing against the high vaulted ceilings without the need for a megaphone.
She pointed a sharp, jewel-encrusted finger at a trembling servant who was currently hanging a silk curtain on a golden rod.
"That is Dusty Pink! I specifically requested Salmon Peach! The difference is monumental, you fool! One is the color of stale dust, the other is the vibrant hue of a premium deep-sea fish! Change it immediately before I lose my patience!"
"Y-Yes, Your Grace! At once!" The servant scrambled down the ladder, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to escape the Duchess’s scrutinizing gaze.
Aurelia turned around, her crimson batik gown billowing behind her like a war banner. She clutched a thick leather-bound clipboard containing the minute-by-minute rundown of the wedding ceremony. She looked like a general preparing for an invasion of a neighboring continent.
"Rianor!" Aurelia called out, her voice cutting through the noise of hammers and chatter.
Sir Rianor Sudrath emerged from behind a massive stack of velvet-covered chairs. His face was smudged with black grease and mana-oil, and he held a specialized wrench in his hand.
"Yes, Mother?"
"How is the sound system coming along? I will not have Riven’s vows interrupted by static or crackling noises like some broken radio from the slums. This is a sacred moment for House Sudrath!"
"It’s perfectly calibrated, Mother," Rianor replied, wiping his brow and giving her a confident thumbs-up. "I’ve installed Magitech Amplifiers in every corner of the courtyard. I guarantee Riven’s voice will be heard as far as the neighboring fishing villages. I’ve also finished the programming for the automated flower-petal-showering drones."
"Good. But make sure the drones don’t crash into the guests. If a single petal-dropper hits a foreign diplomat, I’m holding you personally responsible."
Suddenly, the massive front gates of the castle swung open.
A luxurious carriage bearing the Royal Seal of Aethelgard—a diplomatic courtesy from the King—rolled into the courtyard, followed by a sleeker, more "sporty" carriage designed in Northreach.
Sir Roland, Raphael, and Raveena had finally returned from the capital.
Roland was the first to step out, looking as dapper as ever in a tailored charcoal suit and dark sunglasses. He stopped at the edge of the courtyard, lowering his glasses to take in the sheer scale of the chaos.
"Well," Roland murmured, a playful smirk touching his lips. "Are we hosting a wedding or are we preparing for a full-scale invasion of the Iron Empire?"
Raphael and Raveena stepped out behind him, both still wearing their prestigious Royal Academy uniforms, having rushed back the moment their leave was approved.
"Insane..." Raphael muttered, looking at the floral arrangements. "The castle looks like a giant, overgrown flower shop."
"RAVEENA! RAPHAEL! ROLAND!" Aurelia shrieked with delight.
The Duchess abandoned her clipboard and ran toward her three children, catching them in a fierce, suffocating embrace one by one.
"My children are home! Finally, the formation is complete!"
"Mother... can’t... breathe..." Raveena gasped, her navy-blue cloak being crushed against Aurelia’s jewelry.
"How was school? Raphael, you’ve lost weight! Are they feeding you enough in that Knight’s dorm? Raveena, you’ve become so beautiful! And Roland, did you bring the silk I ordered from the capital’s central boutique?"
"It’s in the trunk, Mother. The highest grade of Sol-Regis silk," Roland replied, chuckling as he straightened his collar. He leaned in and whispered, "So, Mother, where is the Groom? I haven’t seen him lurking around."
Aurelia’s expression shifted into a cunning, almost wicked grin.
"Riven? He’s currently in the ’Torture Chamber.’ By which I mean, the fitting room."
The Guest Suite – Converted into a Dressing Room.
On a small wooden dais in the center of the room, General Riven Sudrath stood as stiff as a stone statue.
His face was a picture of absolute misery. Sweat trickled down his temples, and his jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it might snap. Around him, three of Northreach’s finest tailors were buzzing like agitated hornets, sticking pins into fabric, measuring his waist, and yanking on sleeves.
"General Riven, please, you must relax your muscles!" the head tailor pleaded, looking at his bent measuring tape. "My needles keep snapping. Your skin is as hard as adamantite!"
"I am relaxed!" Riven argued, his voice a low growl. "It’s this suit! It’s too small! What kind of model is this? It’s strangling my armpits!"
"This is the European ’Slim Fit’ model, Sir. It is designed to accentuate your physique and expose your muscularity in an ’aesthetic’ manner," the tailor explained, tugging on the shoulder pads.
The door swung open, and Roland, Raphael, and Raveena burst in, immediately erupting into fits of laughter at the sight of their formidable older brother being treated like a giant dressmaker’s dummy.
"My word, you look magnificent!" Roland teased, circling the dais. "Is this General Riven or have we successfully domesticated a giant penguin?"
"Shut up, Roland!" Riven glared at his brother, though he didn’t dare move for fear of being pricked by a needle. "Help me! I’m being held hostage! I would rather fight a thousand Orcs with my bare hands than spend another fifty hours trying on suits!"
"Patience, Brother," Raphael said, patting Riven’s leg since he couldn’t reach the shoulder while Riven was on the dais. "This is for Sister Elena. Do you really want to look like a common mercenary on the day she walks down the aisle?"
At the mention of Elena’s name, Riven’s massive shoulders instantly slumped. His expression softened, and the fire in his eyes died down into a warm, sappy glow. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖
"Right... Elena... she’s going to be the most beautiful woman in the world... I can’t look like a thug next to her."
"Spoken like a true ’Bucin’ (slave to love)," Raveena teased, poking her brother’s arm. "By the way, Brother, where is Sister Elena? I want to see my future sister-in-law!"
Riven began to step down from the dais. "I’ll take you to her dormitory, she’s currently—"
"EITS! DON’T YOU DARE MOVE!"
Aurelia’s voice thundered from the doorway. The First Lady entered the room, snapping her silk fan shut with a sharp clack.
"Riven Sudrath! Have you forgotten my rules already?"
"What rules now, Mother?" Riven whined, looking like a teenager again.
"PINGITAN!" Aurelia declared with absolute finality.
"The ancient tradition of separation! For the three days leading up to the wedding, the groom is STRICTLY PROHIBITED from seeing the bride! It is taboo! It brings bad luck! If you see her now, the ’aura’ of the wedding will vanish!"
"Mother, that’s just a superstition!" Riven protested. "We live in the Magitech era! We have electricity, tanks, and drones! Why are we following ancient tribal customs?"
"I don’t care if we live in an era of space travel! Tradition is tradition!" Aurelia stood her ground, hands on her hips. "You will not see Elena, you will not call her, you will not send letters, and you will certainly not send her any encoded Morse signals!"
"THREE DAYS?!" Riven looked hysterical. "Mother, if I don’t see her for three hours, I start to feel like my heart is stopping! What if she forgets what I look like?!"
"Don’t be so dramatic! It’s final! Rhea!"
Rhea Sudrath materialized from the shadows in the corner of the room like a ninja, calmly chewing on an apple.
"Yes, Mother?"
"Watch your brother. If he even attempts to sneak out of the castle to find Elena... tie him to the flagpole in the courtyard."
Rhea offered a wicked, predatory smirk toward Riven. She pulled out one of her throwing knives and began spinning it with terrifying proficiency.
"Understood, Big Boss. Don’t worry, Brother. I’ll be the best prison warden you’ve ever had."
Riven slumped back onto the dais, his spirit broken. "My life is over..."
The Balcony of Riven’s Room – Night. T-Minus 2 Days.
The night was deep. The castle had finally fallen silent, save for the rhythmic chirping of crickets and the soft, distant snoring of the guards.
Riven crept onto his third-story balcony, moving with a stealth that was impressive for a man of his size. He had swapped his pajamas for an all-black tactical outfit and carried a heavy coil of rope.
"Forgive me, Mother," Riven whispered to the night air. "But love requires sacrifice and infiltration."
Riven tied the rope to the stone railing, intending to rappel down secretly and sneak into the Medical Dormitory just to catch a five-second glimpse of Elena through her window. He just needed to see her face to calm the storm in his chest.
He swung one leg over the railing.
SRET.
A black-bladed dagger thudded into the wooden post inches from Riven’s nose.
Riven froze mid-climb.
"Going somewhere, Romeo?"
Riven looked up toward the roof tiles. There, sitting comfortably on the edge of the gable, was Rhea. She was spinning a second knife between her fingers. Beside her sat Raphael, who was calmly drinking a carton of milk through a straw.
"Rhea... Raph..." Riven offered a weak, sheepish grin. "I was just... looking for some fresh air. It’s a bit stuffy in the room."
"Looking for air with a tactical rope?" Raphael asked, his voice deadpan. "Brother, just go back inside before Sister Rhea starts shouting. You know Mother is sleeping with one eye open."
"Please, guys," Riven pleaded, his voice cracking. "I just want to see her. I won’t even talk to her! I’ll just watch her from a distance through my binoculars!"
"No can do," Rhea said firmly, jumping down from the roof and landing silently on the balcony next to him. "Mother’s orders are absolute. Besides, Brother, can’t you just endure it for forty-eight more hours? You’ll see her at the altar."
"But I’m nervous, Rhea!" Riven finally admitted, sliding down to sit on the balcony floor in frustration. "I’m terrified that on the big day, I’ll say the wrong words. Or I’ll trip and step on her dress. Or I’ll just pass out from the pressure. I need to see her face to ground myself."
Rhea and Raphael exchanged a long look. They saw their eldest brother—the man who was usually an unstoppable force of nature—looking so incredibly fragile because of a woman.
Rhea sighed, reached into her pocket, and pulled out a small object.
It was a fresh Magitech Photo (Polaroid).
In the photo, Elena was seen trying on her wedding gown in her dormitory. She was smiling warmly at the camera, her face radiating a soft, expectant glow that made her look like a goddess.
"I went to see her this afternoon to drop off some catering from Mother," Rhea said, handing the photo to Riven. "She told me to give you a message. She said: ’Stop being a brat. Get some sleep. I’ll be waiting for you at the altar.’"
Riven took the photo with a trembling hand. He stared at Elena’s smile, and a slow, idiotic grin of pure happiness spread across his face. The weight on his shoulders vanished instantly.
"She’s... she’s waiting for me," Riven murmured, mesmerized.
"Yes, you ’Bucin’," Raphael said, patting his brother’s shoulder. "Now go inside and sleep. If you have bags under your eyes tomorrow, Elena will be the one who’s angry."
Riven hugged the photo to his chest. "Thanks, you two. You guys are the best."
Riven retreated into his room with a light step. Rhea plucked her dagger from the post.
"Love really does turn people into fools," Rhea commented.
"Good thing we’re single, Sister," Raphael replied.
"Shh. Don’t say that too loud. If Mother hears you, we’ll be her next ’projects’."
T-Minus 1 Day – Duke Lucian’s Study.
Roland entered the room carrying two glasses of the North’s finest vintage wine. He saw his father, Duke Lucian, sitting quietly in his armchair, staring at the portrait of the Sudrath ancestors hanging on the wall.
"Father," Roland greeted.
"Roland," Lucian smiled, his eyes softening. "Sit, my son."
"Tomorrow is the big day," Roland said, handing over a glass. "Your eldest son is getting married. The heir of House Sudrath."
Lucian took a slow sip of the wine, his gaze distant. "It feels like only yesterday that I was carrying a young Riven in my arms while running from debt collectors in the capital. Back then, I was terrified... terrified that I couldn’t provide a future for any of you."
Lucian looked at Roland, his voice thick with emotion.
"But look at us now. Riven is a General. You are a brilliant Diplomat. Rianor is a genius Inventor. Rhea is a master of the shadows. And your younger siblings are attending the most prestigious academy in the kingdom."
The old Duke’s eyes were misty.
"I am so proud. You children didn’t just save this family. You made this family shine brighter than it ever has in our history."
Roland offered a warm, sincere smile. "It was only possible because you and Mother never gave up on us, even when the world had."
"Roland," Lucian reached out and squeezed his son’s hand. "Look after your siblings. Riven may be the head of the house one day, but you... you are the backbone that keeps us whole from the shadows."
"Always, Father. Always."
Suddenly, the door was kicked open with a bang.
Riven burst in, his face pale with panic, and his hair currently in rollers—another one of Aurelia’s "groom-prep" mandates.
"FATHER! ROLAND! WE HAVE A CATASTROPHE!"
"What is it, Brother? Is the Iron Empire attacking?" Roland stood up, his hand reflexively going to the concealed dagger in his sleeve.
"NO! THE RINGS! I forgot where I put the rings! I thought they were in my trouser pocket, but the trousers have already been sent to the laundry!"
Lucian and Roland exchanged a glance, and then both erupted into a fit of laughter. The Great General Riven Sudrath, defeated by a tiny pair of rings.
"Relax, Brother," Roland said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small red velvet box. "I secured them this morning while you were in the shower. I knew you’d lose your head the moment the pressure hit."
Riven collapsed onto the floor in relief. "Thank the Gods... thank you, Roland. I nearly had a heart attack."
Tomorrow was the day.
The day the Northern Lion would finally be tamed in a sacred bond.
And the entire continent of Aethelgard would be there to witness it.
