Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 120: MEETING AT THE SKYWARD TERRACE

​The path beyond the Dragon’s Fang Pass was no ordinary mountain trail. Draconia did not recognize the utility of asphalt or the cold rigidity of human concrete. Instead, the path was constructed from ancient granite slabs, each laid with a precision that defied the passage of eons, winding along the jagged spine of the mountains like the scales of a dormant titan. To the left, a precipice plummeted thousands of meters into a swirling sea of clouds—a vast, white ocean that ebbed and flowed like waves of cotton. To the right, the sheer cliff faces were adorned with monolithic carvings depicting the storied history of the dragon-kin. These were silent chronicles of a time when dragons ruled the skies long before humans had even learned the secret of kindling fire.

​Roland Sudrath raised a gloved hand, bringing the convoy to a disciplined halt at a wide, open plateau at the foot of the primary peak. The air here was thin, carrying the metallic scent of ozone and the heavy weight of ancient mana. Through his Vibro-Comm, he issued a command that left no room for debate.

​"Captain Elian, have the hundred infantrymen establish a fortified camp here. Do not advance a single inch beyond this point unless the command comes directly from me. Marching a hundred armed soldiers into the heart of the Emperor’s residence is no longer diplomacy; it is a declaration of war. We need them here as our rearguard, a silent promise of our resolve," Roland’s voice was as steady as the granite beneath his boots.

​"Understood, Sir Roland," Elian replied, his response short and professional. Within seconds, he began deploying his troops into a circular defensive perimeter, their Magitech spears forming a bristling wall of blue-tinted steel against the encroaching mists.

​Only Roland, Rumina, Captain Elian, and the five members of the Ghost Squad—including the ever-vigilant Dom—continued the ascent. This time, the Ghost Squad did not skulk in the shadows; they walked in an elite escort formation, their gray camouflage cloaks blending seamlessly with the weathered granite of the peaks. Their Gauss Rifles were slung low across their chests, radiating an aura of quiet, lethally efficient menace that even the mountain winds seemed to respect.

​After an hour of grueling ascent through the thinning air, they reached the Skyward Terrace. It was a gargantuan platform that jutted out from the cliffside like a massive, petrified tongue. This was where the dragons usually landed to rest, a sacred stage between the earth and the heavens. At the center of the terrace stood colossal pillars that radiated a constant, pulsing warmth—a marvel of Draconian geothermal engineering that siphoned heat from the volcanic core of the mountain to maintain a habitable temperature at this lethal altitude.

​There, beneath the long shadow of the central pillar, a group of dragons in their humanoid forms awaited them.

​However, Roland’s attention was instantly captured by a single figure standing at the center of the delegation. She wore a gown of scale-woven silk, white and iridescent, reflecting the pale sunlight like fresh snow. Her silver hair flowed freely, caught in the fierce Draconian winds that seemed incapable of disturbing her innate grace. At her back, ivory wings folded neatly against her spine, occasionally twitching with an authority that was beyond dispute. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

​Princess Seraphina Draconia.

​Roland stepped forward. The dried blood on his boots and the sharp, predatory aura radiating from his face—the lingering marks of Prince Marcus’s slaughter—made him appear far more dangerous than the last time Seraphina had seen him. He no longer looked like the refined diplomatic student she once knew; he looked like a political predator who had recently tasted blood and found it to his liking.

​Seraphina’s gaze locked onto his. As a dragon-kin with senses far beyond those of any human, she could smell the thick, metallic scent of regicide clinging to Roland. Yet, instead of the revulsion Ragon had shown, her crimson eyes flickered with a hidden, smoldering admiration. Finally... he has truly become the knight he promised he would be, she thought, her heart quickening despite herself.

​However, the fragile moment was shattered by a low, vibrating growl from Seraphina’s side. An elderly dragon with dull, silver scales covering his forearms stepped forward. His face was a map of deep wrinkles, testament to centuries of watching the world turn. This was Azharyx, one of the three Elder Wardens and the most vocal skeptic of human affairs.

​"Halt where you stand, creature of the dirt," Azharyx’s voice was raspy, filled with a visceral contempt. "The foul stench of your human kingdoms taints the sacred air of the Skyward Terrace. Why must the Crown Princess debase herself to meet an insect who has just washed his hands in the blood of his own kin?"

​Rumina Sudrath, standing beside Roland, furrowed her brow. She glanced at her brother, then at Seraphina, and back to Roland. As a woman of sharp intuition, she sensed something profoundly strange in the way Seraphina looked at Roland—and the way Roland stood before her. Wait... that look... don’t tell me Brother Roland and this Dragon Princess... Rumina froze for a second, feeling like a sudden intruder in a drama she hadn’t been invited to watch.

​Roland ignored Azharyx for a moment, his focus solely on the princess. His hand slipped into his vest pocket, touching the Encrypted Communication Crystal he kept there. Beneath the heavy fabric of his cloak, he tapped out a short, rhythmic code.

​At Seraphina’s wrist, a silver bracelet vibrated subtly—a phantom touch against her skin. It was the code they had established: ’I missed you, but play your part.’

​Seraphina took a deep, steadying breath, suppressing the surge of emotion that threatened to break her composure. She donned a mask of perfect, crystalline coldness.

​"Elder Azharyx, allow me to handle this," Seraphina said, her voice ringing with undisputed authority. She stepped forward, stopping a mere two meters from Roland. "Human. You come without an official summons, you carry weapons into our domain, and you reek of your own kind’s blood. Give me one reason why I should not command the guard to cast you from this terrace this very instant."

​Roland offered a shallow bow—a gesture that was polite but devoid of any submission. "Because the blood you smell is the blood of our common enemy, the blood of a prince who sought to enslave. And the weapons we carry are not intended to conquer Draconia, but to ensure that anyone who dares to interrupt our conversation today will never see the sun rise again."

​Azharyx snorted, embers dancing in his eyes. "Human arrogance truly knows no bounds. Do you honestly believe your primitive strength can match the might of dragons?"

​"We are not here to match your strength, Elder Azharyx," Rumina intervened, finding her voice as she stepped forward, holding aloft the leather case containing the mana crystal. "We are here to offer something that even the raw power of dragons cannot replicate: Energy Harmony. This is a Pure Mana Crystal Sample from Sudrath. It is clean, devoid of environmental pollution, and possesses a stability ten times greater than traditional human sorcery."

​Azharyx narrowed his eyes, mesmerized by the violet glow emanating from the crystal. He remained silent for a heartbeat. Dragons valued the purity of energy above all else, and what Rumina presented was undeniably superior.

​Seraphina seized the moment of the Elder’s hesitation. "Elder, the crisis at the Eastern border is intensifying. My father, the Emperor, is weighing many paths. If these people have truly dared to slay a prince of Aethelgard, then they have severed their ties with the old kingdom. They are no longer our ancient enemy, but a fascinating new variable."

​Seraphina turned back to Roland, her eyes flashing with a challenge. "Follow me. I will vouch for your entry into the inner sanctum. But remember... if you commit even the slightest error in the presence of the Emperor, not even I can save you."

​"I did not come to be saved, Princess," Roland replied with a thin, lethal smile. "I came to build a bridge."

​Seraphina turned on her heel, leading the way toward the Skyward Gate—the primary entrance to the subterranean palace complex. Roland followed closely, while Rumina walked beside him, her face a storm of unspoken questions.

​"Brother," Rumina whispered, ensuring her voice was masked by the howling wind and the rhythmic clatter of their boots. "Since when did you... have ’business’ with the Crown Princess of Draconia?"

​Roland kept his gaze fixed on the path ahead. "Focus on your crystal, Rumina. Diplomatic affairs occasionally require... a deep level of personal proximity."

​Rumina let out a muffled snort, nearly laughing despite the gravity of the situation. "Personal proximity? You really are a mad fox, Brother."

​In front of them, Dom and the Ghost Squad remained on high alert. Dom’s eagle eyes tracked Azharyx, who followed at the rear of the group. He noticed that these dragons possessed a body temperature significantly higher than ordinary humans, particularly in the chest area—where the dragon’s heart pumped pure, raw mana through their veins.

​They entered a long corridor illuminated by the Dragon’s Heart Pulse—a geothermal heating system siphoned through crystal pipes embedded in the walls. Draconia was a masterful fusion of natural grandeur and ancient wisdom, a stark contrast to the soot-stained steam technology of the Iron Empire or the excessive opulence of Sol-Regis. Everything here felt solid, calm, and eternal.

​Roland knew that this journey had only just begun. He was still unaware that Northveil was currently being consumed by fire, and he did not know that Elara, Rianor’s betrothed, was currently fighting for her life on a blood-soaked shore. In his mind, there was only one objective: to win the heart of the Dragon Emperor, for the sake of his family, and for the woman walking just a few steps ahead of him.