Chapter 201: NORTHREACH PREPARES
Night in Iron Hearth was never truly dark.
The mana-electric streetlights flickered to life in unison as the sun dipped below the horizon, bathing the black asphalt in a cool, bluish-white glow. But tonight, it wasn’t just the streetlights that were burning. The factory chimneys in the industrial district exhaled thick, relentless plumes of smoke, and the windows of the Alpha Building glowed brightly—a sign that inside, people were working long into the night.
War was coming in less than a month. And Northreach had no time for sleep.
On the third floor of the Alpha Building, in a room converted into a makeshift laboratory, Rianor Sudrath stood before a massive chalkboard covered in equations. His hand held a piece of chalk, yet he wasn’t writing. His eyes were fixed on the rows of numbers and symbols he had crossed out repeatedly, searching for a solution he hadn’t yet found.
Behind him, Elara sat in her wheelchair, a crystal tablet resting on her lap displaying the Mana Laser’s diagram. Her face was weary—dark circles beginning to form under her eyes—but her gaze remained as sharp as ever.
"Have you tried increasing the crystal frequency?" Elara asked, her voice raspy from a full day of talking.
"I have." Rianor tapped one of the formulas on the board. "But the lens can’t handle it. It melts after three seconds. We need a material with higher thermal resistance."
"Adamantite?"
"Too heavy. And too expensive for mass production." Rianor exhaled, tossing his chalk onto the table. "We need something between glass and Adamantite. Something that can withstand extreme heat while remaining lightweight."
The laboratory door creaked open. Arvid walked in with a weary gait, carrying a tray with three cups of black coffee. His hair, already messy, was now a complete disaster, and his shirt was wrinkled in several places—a tell-tale sign that he hadn’t slept in God knows how long.
"I heard someone mention heat-resistant materials." Arvid set the tray on an empty table, then handed a cup to Elara and another to Rianor. "I have an idea."
Rianor took his cup, sipping the bitter coffee without sugar. "Speak."
"Volcanic glass." Arvid sat on a chair near the window. "On the border of Draconia, there’s an ancient volcano. The rocks there contain silica that has been exposed to extreme temperatures for thousands of years. Its molecular structure is different from ordinary glass. Denser, more heat-resistant."
Rianor stared at Arvid, then back at the chalkboard. "Volcanic glass... can it be used as a lens?"
"I’m not sure yet. But we can test a sample." Arvid took a swig of his coffee. "Countess Mira Frost of Frostmere has access to the mines on that border. If you ask, she’ll surely send a sample."
"Send the message now." Rianor was already turning back to his desk. "I need that sample by tomorrow morning."
Arvid nodded, but before he could stand, the laboratory door opened once more.
This time, it was Raveena Sudrath who entered.
The black-haired girl wore a simple lab coat, and in her hand was the small notebook—the same one she carried everywhere. Her face was slightly pale, but her eyes shone with the same fire as her brother’s.
"I heard you needed help with the crystal frequency, Brother?" she asked, her voice soft but filled with conviction.
Rianor turned, his eyebrows arching. "You’re not sleeping?"
"I can’t." Raveena approached the chalkboard, her eyes scanning the formulas Rianor had written. "Every time I close my eyes, I see numbers. So I’d rather be here."
Elara offered a faint smile. "She truly is your sister."
Raveena didn’t reply. She was already immersed in the equations on the board. Her fingers brushed a line of the equation, then she picked up a piece of chalk and began writing beneath it.
"If we increase the frequency here..." she crossed out a variable and replaced it with a new number. "...and lower the resistance here... the destructive power could double without melting the lens."
Rianor read what his sister had written. His eyes moved rapidly, calculating in his head. Then, for the first time that night, he smiled.
"You’re a genius."
Raveena smiled back, her cheeks flushing slightly. "I learned from you, Brother."
Arvid stood up, observing the new formula from behind Rianor. "This... this could actually work. But we need to test it with the volcanic glass sample first."
"Tomorrow." Rianor looked at his sister. "Raveena, will you help with the testing?"
Raveena nodded quickly. "Of course."
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, the military training grounds at the South Paddock were still filled with the sound of marching feet and the clatter of weapons.
Raphael Sudrath was running on a dirt track that had hardened in the cold weather. His breath was ragged, sweat soaked his shirt, but he didn’t stop. Beside him, a dozen other young men—mostly new recruits—ran at the same pace.
"Two more laps!" Commander Thorne shouted from the sidelines. His voice was loud but not harsh. "Anyone who stops before finishing starts over from the beginning!"
Raphael gritted his teeth. His legs felt like they were on fire, his lungs as if they were filled with sand. But he kept running. He had made a promise to himself—he wouldn’t complain anymore. Back at the Academy, he had been a hot-tempered boy, always causing trouble. But now, here on the brink of war, he had no room for that.
One last lap. Raphael forced his legs to move faster. He crossed the finish line gasping for air, then collapsed onto the ground, staring up at the star-filled night sky.
Thorne approached, standing over him. "You’re stubborn."
Raphael turned, looking up at his commander. "Is that a compliment?"
"It’s an observation." Thorne handed him a water bottle. "Drink. Then stand up. Training isn’t over."
Raphael took the bottle, gulping the water greedily. "I’m going to the war, right?"
Thorne was silent for a moment. "That’s Duke Lucian’s decision. Not mine."
"But I’ve practiced every day. I can fight."
"Being able to fight and being ready to fight are two different things." Thorne crouched down, meeting Raphael’s eyes. "I understand you want to prove yourself. But war isn’t just about courage. It’s about survival. And I won’t send you to the battlefield until you’re truly ready."
Raphael wanted to argue, but he held back. He knew Thorne was right. He had seen for himself what happened to those who weren’t ready—the young soldiers who died in Torshavn, trampled by monsters or cut down by Highgarden knights. He didn’t want to be one of them.
"I’ll be ready," he finally said. "I promise."
Thorne stared at him for a long time, then nodded. "I know."
In Iron Hearth Castle, the Treasurer’s Office was still brilliantly lit, even though the clock had passed midnight.
Rumina Sudrath sat behind her desk, surrounded by mountains of paper. Before her, Silas stood with a tablet in hand, reading out the latest expenditure list.
"Steel from Ironhold: the first stage payment has been made. But they’re asking for a 5% price increase for the next stage. Reason: transportation costs have risen due to the threat of war."
Rumina snorted. "Refuse. Tell them if they don’t want to ship at the old price, we’ll find another supplier. Frostmere and Qaqortoq can ramp up production."
Silas made a note. "The weapons factory in Northveil reports Sudrath Spear production is up 20% this week. Count Hektor is working non-stop."
"Good. Send a bonus to the workers. They need the morale boost."
The door opened. Aurelia entered with a tray containing a teapot and two cups. She wore a simple nightgown, her hair left loose. Despite the late hour, she still looked fresh—a mother who couldn’t sleep before ensuring her children were all right.
"You’re still not sleeping," Aurelia chided gently, placing the tray on an empty corner of the desk.
"I can’t, Mother." Rumina rubbed her eyes. "There’s just too much to manage."
Aurelia poured tea into two cups, then sat in the chair beside Rumina. Silas understood the cue—he bowed and stepped out, leaving the mother and daughter alone.
"I heard you rejected the price increase from Ironhold," Aurelia said, sipping her tea.
"They’re trying to take advantage of the situation. I won’t allow it."
"Good." Aurelia smiled. "You’re a fast learner."
Rumina looked at her mother. "I just... I don’t want us to run out of money in the middle of the war. I don’t want Brother Rianor to run out of materials for his weapons. I don’t want our soldiers to go hungry."
Aurelia set her cup down, then took Rumina’s hand. "You know, your father was just like this. Every night before a big presentation, he’d sit in his study, calculating numbers over and over. I couldn’t help him with those figures. But I was always by his side, bringing him tea, reminding him to rest."
Rumina bit her lip. "I’m scared, Mother."
"That’s natural."
"Not scared of losing. But scared... that it won’t be enough. Not enough money, not enough time, not enough of anything."
Aurelia squeezed her daughter’s hand tighter. "You’ve done your best. More than could be expected of someone your age. And whatever happens, you aren’t alone. We are all here. Together."
Rumina lowered her head, her tears falling onto the stack of papers. "I just want to protect everyone."
"You already are." Aurelia stood up, hugging her daughter from the side. "Now, finish your tea. Then sleep. There will still be time to calculate tomorrow."
Rumina laughed softly through her sobs. "Mother, you always know how to calm me down."
"That’s my job." Aurelia kissed the top of her daughter’s head. "I am your mother."
On the balcony of the Alpha Building, Rianor stood alone, gazing at the city that never slept. The factory chimneys were still billowing smoke. The streetlights were still glowing. In the distance, the sound of a freight train passing on the magnetic rails echoed.
Elara pushed her wheelchair closer, stopping beside Rianor. "Aren’t you exhausted?"
"Exhausted." Rianor didn’t turn. "But I can’t sleep."
Elara followed his gaze, looking out at the same city. "Will we survive?"
Rianor was silent for a moment. Then he reached for Elara’s hand, gripping it firmly.
"We have no other choice."
They stood there, on the cold laboratory balcony, gazing at a city fighting to stay alive. Below them, on the streets, night-shift workers walked toward the factories. In the distance, the faint sound of military drills could still be heard.
One month.
Northreach would be ready. Or die trying.