Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 68: The Summer Tournament (Preparation of the Underdog)
Sol-Regis Royal Academy – Main Courtyard. Morning – Summer Festival Opening.
The atmosphere of this year’s Summer Festival was fundamentally different from the decadent, disorganized spectacles of years past.
Traditionally, the Academy’s festival was little more than an arena for the high nobility to flaunt their excess. It was characterized by winding, hour-long queues for overpriced delicacies, overflowing and neglected sanitation facilities, and an "aristocratic schedule" that viewed punctuality as a secondary concern. It was a week of beautiful chaos, but chaos nonetheless.
However, this year, under the iron-fisted yet surgical management of the Head of Logistics, Raphael Sudrath, the festival operated with the terrifying precision of a high-grade mechanical watch.
"Sanitation Zone B reports clear! Toiletries have been restocked to maximum capacity!" a scholarship student reported into a small, copper-wrapped device. It was a "Mana-Can"—a prototype walkie-talkie developed by Rianor, using enchanted silver threads to transmit vibrations over long distances.
"Food Stall Zone C is operational! Roasted monster-beef sausage stock is secure and at optimal temperature!" another voice chirped through the receiver.
Raphael Sudrath stood atop a temporary wooden observation tower, his silhouette framed against the rising summer sun. He clutched a reinforced leather clipboard, his eyes scanning the bustling courtyard like a general overseeing a deployment. Over his standard black Academy uniform, he wore a vibrant orange vest—the official "Logistics Commander" attire.
"Excellent," Raphael commanded, his voice carrying a calm authority that belied his fourteen years. "Sanitation Team, perform a sweep of the VIP tribunal every thirty minutes. I will not have a single speck of dust settling on the Prince’s polished boots. Efficiency is our primary product today."
"Understood, Boss!"
Beside him, Lily—the group’s intelligence specialist—leaned against the railing, casually chewing on a piece of mana-infused gum. She watched the scholarship students move with a purpose they had never shown before.
"You’re a madman, Boss," Lily remarked, a grin tugging at her freckled face. "You’ve turned the ’errand boys’ of the school into a disciplined labor force. And the craziest part? They actually look happy about it."
"It’s not forced labor, Lily. It’s an economy of incentives," Raphael replied, a faint, calculating smile touching his lips. "I’m paying them in extra credit points, high-quality rations, and exclusive access to the VIP canteen during off-hours. People don’t work for titles; they work for progress and full stomachs. It’s a basic Sudrath principle."
Suddenly, the blare of royal trumpets cut through the morning air, a sharp, brassy sound that demanded immediate attention.
TET... TERETET... TET!
The bustling activity in the courtyard slowed as students moved to the edges of the boulevard, clearing a path for the royal arrival. Prince Caelus entered the arena grounds, flanked by a retinue of armored guards and a flock of fawning sycophants. His ceremonial golden armor shimmered under the sun, polished to such a high sheen that it was almost blinding.
Caelus came to a halt directly beneath Raphael’s observation tower. He looked up, his jaw tightening as he saw Raphael looking down at him. Even from this distance, the Prince could sense the shift in the social dynamic. Raphael wasn’t just a "trash collector"; he was the architect of this entire flawless event.
Deep inside, Caelus felt a gnawing conflict. "Even if I desire his sister’s favor, I cannot allow this boy to dominate me within these walls. I must break him, so that I may stand before Raveena as a conqueror, not a peer."
"Come down from your perch, Janitor," Caelus shouted, his voice carrying a practiced, royal arrogance. "The Council has a word for you."
Raphael let out a quiet, tired sigh. He handed his clipboard to Lily and descended the wooden stairs with a relaxed, steady gait. When he reached the bottom, he stood eye-to-eye with the Seventh Prince.
"A tidy festival," Caelus commented, his gaze sweeping over the organized stalls. "I suppose you’ve finally found a use for your ’Northern skills.’ You make an adequate servant."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Raphael replied with a flat, neutral tone. "Did you have a specific request? Perhaps a solid gold waste bin for your suite?"
"Do not test my patience, Sudrath," Caelus said, stepping closer. "I saw your name on the registration list for the Combat Tournament. Junior Category."
"That is correct."
"Withdraw it," Caelus ordered, his voice dropping into a cold monotone.
Raphael tilted his head slightly, an eyebrow arching in curiosity. "Why? Are you afraid the ’Janitor’ might accidentally trip you on the stage?"
Caelus’s guards erupted into mocking laughter. "Ha! Afraid? The Prince simply doesn’t want to stain his legendary blade with the grease of a logistics clerk!"
"I am being serious, Sudrath," Caelus said, his blue eyes narrowing. "This is a physical tournament. It isn’t a debate about paperwork or supply chains. Your brother, the General, is not here to pull you out of the mud this time. If you step into that arena against me... I cannot guarantee the integrity of your bones."
Raphael offered a thin, sharp smile—one that carried the predatory edge of the Sudrath lineage.
"I appreciate the ’concern,’ Your Highness. Truly. But a Sudrath male does not retreat once his name is written in blood—or ink. I will see you in the brackets."
A flash of genuine anger crossed Caelus’s face. He felt his "benevolent" warning had been spat upon. "Very well. If it is public humiliation you crave, I shall grant it."
Caelus turned to face the growing crowd of onlookers, his voice booming across the courtyard to ensure maximum audience.
"LISTEN WELL!"
The courtyard went silent.
"In the Final Round of the Junior Category, if Raphael Sudrath manages to touch me even once with his blade... I shall grant him any one wish within my power!"
A roar of excitement went through the students. A Royal Bet!
"BUT!" Caelus pointed a gauntleted finger at Raphael. "If he loses without landing a single strike... Raphael Sudrath shall become my personal valet for an entire semester! He will wash my horses, polish my boots, and carry my bags through the halls for all to see!"
Caelus stared at Raphael, a challenging smirk on his face. "Do you have the spine to accept, Sudrath?"
Raphael looked at Caelus. He saw the trap, the calculated attempt to crush his family’s pride. If he refused, the Sudrath name would be branded with cowardice. If he accepted, he was gambling with his freedom.
Raphael took a deliberate step forward.
"Deal. But let us add one more condition to the wish." 𝗳𝚛𝚎𝚎𝘄𝕖𝕓𝕟𝕠𝚟𝚎𝕝.𝗰𝕠𝐦
"Speak," Caelus replied.
"If I win," Raphael’s gaze turned into a blade of cold steel, "you will cease bothering my sister, Raveena, for any reason whatsoever. No more ’consultations,’ no more ’royal requests.’ If you wish to see her, you will approach her as a man, with her consent, not as a coward hiding behind bureaucracy."
Caelus’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. "Insolent brat! Fine! DEAL!"
They shook hands, the grip so tight their knuckles turned white. The aura of hostility between them was so thick that the surrounding students instinctively stepped back, sensing the coming storm.
The Logistics Warehouse – Secret Workshop. Midday – 2 Hours Before the Finals.
The interior of the warehouse had been transformed into something resembling a Formula 1 pit garage. High-intensity mana-lamps illuminated a cluttered workbench, and the air was thick with the scent of ozone and cooling oil.
Vance, the group’s strategist and amateur mechanic, was hunched over a pair of boots, a specialized screwdriver in his trembling, sweat-slicked hand.
"Boss, this is madness," Vance muttered, wiping his brow. "These boots... are you absolutely sure your shins won’t shatter on impact?"
On the table lay a pair of heavy military-grade combat boots, but they had been modified beyond recognition. The soles were reinforced with multi-layered steel plates, and hidden within the thick heels were compressed hydraulic springs salvaged from the suspension of a Northern cargo train.
"It’s Brother Rianor’s design," Raphael said, calmly wrapping medicinal bandages around his ankles to provide extra support. "The theory is sound. As long as I land at a forty-five-degree angle, the kinetic dampeners should absorb the shock of a three-meter leap."
"And this shield..." Vance gestured to a small, circular buckler. Its surface had been polished to a mirror finish, but it felt unusually heavy. Embedded in the back was a high-capacity Mana Battery connected to a series of copper coils.
"Is this even legal, Boss?" Lily asked, looking worried.
"According to the Academy Tournament Rulebook," Raphael recited from memory, "participants are permitted to bring any weapon or defensive equipment of their choice, provided it does not contain ’Offensive Magic’—such as fireballs or lightning—and does not utilize poison. This buckler contains no offensive spells. It is simply... Magnetism. Basic physics. Completely legal."
The warehouse door creaked open, and Raveena walked in, her face etched with anxiety. She carried a small tiffin box.
"Raphael," she called softly.
Raphael quickly threw a tarp over his blueprints. "Ah, Sister. Is that lunch? I was just getting hungry."
"Don’t try to change the subject, Raph," Raveena said, walking closer and placing her hands on his shoulders. She looked at the heavy gear scattered around him. "Are you really going through with this? Caelus is the star pupil of the Royal Blademaster. He can disarm an opponent in a heartbeat. You’re playing a dangerous game."
"I know, Sister."
"Then why? Why risk this humiliation? Is it for me?" Raveena’s eyes were misty. "You don’t have to do this, Raph. I can handle the Prince. I can cast a silence spell on him if he gets too loud."
Raphael offered a soft, reassuring smile. He took his sister’s hands in his, noting how much smaller they were than his own increasingly calloused palms.
"Sister, for as long as I can remember, you’ve been the one protecting me. In that canteen, you humbled yourself before him to save me from a beating. That... that hurt more than his boot on my face, Raveena."
Raphael’s expression turned solemn, his eyes reflecting a resolve that mirrored Riven’s.
"I am a Sudrath man. Brother Riven always told me that a man’s primary duty is to be the shield for the women of his house. Today, I am proving that I can protect you. Not with Riven’s strength. Not with Father’s titles."
"Just me. In my own way."
Raveena went silent. She looked at her younger brother and realized he was no longer the crying boy who used to hide behind Aurelia’s skirts. She saw a spark of iron in his gaze—the unmistakable fire of their lineage.
She let out a long, shaky breath and smiled through her worry. She opened the tiffin box.
"Fine. But if you lose, I’m the one who will never let you hear the end of it. Here. Extra-protein beef sliders. Eat. If you faint in that arena because of low blood sugar, I will disown you."
Raphael laughed, taking a large bite of the slider. "Thanks, Sis. I needed the fuel."
The Tunnel to the Arena – Late Afternoon.
The roar of the crowd outside was deafening, a rhythmic thumping of thousands of feet that sounded like waves crashing against a cliffside.
RAPHAEL! CAELUS! RAPHAEL! CAELUS!
Raphael stood in the dim, cool shadows of the entrance tunnel, adjusting his combat gear.
He wore a suit of matte-black tactical leather, designed for mobility rather than heavy protection.
He adjusted his dark, anti-glare Goggles.
He tested the tension in his heavy hydraulic boots—Hiss-clank.
He strapped the mirror-shield to his left forearm.
Vance stood beside him, holding a water bottle and a towel, looking like a nervous boxing coach.
"Final check, Boss. Magnetic battery at 100%. Hydraulic pressure at 80 PSI. Smoke pellets are secure in the waist pouches."
"Good," Raphael took a long, deep breath, exhaling slowly to steady his racing heart.
"Boss," Vance said quietly.
"Yeah?"
"In all honesty... why didn’t you just ask Brother Riven for help? He could have taught you a move that would end this in a second."
Raphael tightened his gloves, his eyes fixed on the light at the end of the tunnel.
"Because Brother Riven is a Force of Nature, Vance. His style of fighting is built for monsters; it breaks a normal human body. My bones aren’t made of adamantite yet."
Raphael offered a dark, determined smirk in the shadows.
"And besides... I want to defeat that arrogant Prince with the one weapon he despises most: Science."
"I’m going to show this entire Academy that a Mind can always outplay a Blade."
The massive iron gates at the end of the tunnel groaned open.
Blinding afternoon sunlight flooded the corridor, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. The referee’s magically amplified voice thundered across the stadium.
"AND NOW... THE CHALLENGER FROM THE NORTH... RAPHAEL SUDRATH!"
Raphael stepped out of the shadows and into the light.
He was not a knight in shimmering gold.
He was a War Technician.
Across the dirt of the arena, Prince Caelus was already waiting, his sword drawn and gleaming with a terrifying blue aura.
The battle between Tradition and Innovation... was about to begin.
