Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution

Chapter 78: Chapter 78: Demon Mode Rhea (Anatomy Lesson of Pain)

The Silent City – Central Sector, Collapsed Building. Midday – Post-Skirmish.

A heavy, suffocating silence once again descended upon the ruins of the Silent City. It was a silence that felt heavy, as if the very air was weighted down by the ghosts of a civilization that had once touched the stars. But this time, the silence carried a new, pungent scent: the metallic, copper tang of fresh blood mixed with the acrid, sulfurous stench of spent gunpowder.

On the cracked asphalt of the street below, four elite mercenaries of the Iron Empire lay in grotesque, unnatural positions. Their deaths had been clinical—necks snapped at impossible angles, ribcages crushed by superhuman force, and Achilles tendons severed with such precision that they hadn’t even had time to scream. They had been erased from existence in mere seconds, victims of an efficiency that was more demonic than human.

On the second floor of a skeletal office building, leaning precariously over the street, Dr. Vargus was scrambling backward across the dusty concrete floor. The man who had once been a respected academic at the Imperial History Academy was now a pathetic sight, his face a mask of deathly pallor and frantic desperation.

His right hand was a ruined mass of shredded meat and bone. When Rhea had thrown her dagger to plug the barrel of his musket, the resulting back-blast had turned the weapon into a pipe bomb. It had taken three of his fingers with it, leaving only jagged, pulsing stumps that spurted crimson blood with every frantic beat of his heart.

”ARGHH... Dammit... Gods damn it all!” Vargus wheezed, his vision blurred by a cocktail of tears, sweat, and mucus. His once-arrogant posture, characterized by his gold-rimmed monocle, was now replaced by a primal, animalistic crawl. ”What kind of monster... that isn’t a human... no mortal woman moves like that...”

Vargus clawed at the floor with his remaining hand, trying to find the strength to stand. He knew he had to flee. He had to reach the extraction point and report this massacre. He had to tell the Emperor that the Sudraths had sent a literal devil into the forest.

But his legs felt like they were made of lead.

It wasn’t because of a physical injury. It was because of the Fear Aura—a psychological pressure so thick and suffocating that it seemed to crawl up the stairwell like a tangible entity, paralyzing his motor functions. It was the aura of an apex predator that had finally decided to stop playing with its prey.

TAK. TAK. TAK.

The rhythmic, measured click of tactical boots echoed through the hollow hallway.

The sound was slow.

Deliberate.

Entirely devoid of hurry.

It was the gait of a hunter who knew that the prey was cornered, that every exit was a dead end, and that time was now a luxury only the victor possessed.

”Vargus...”

The voice resonated through the empty corridor, vibrating against the rusted steel beams with a chilling clarity. It was a woman’s voice, melodic and sharp, but the tone was as ice-cold as the blizzards that ravaged the Northreach peaks.

”Do you know the first rule of being a hunter?”

Vargus shivered violently, his teeth chattering so hard he nearly bit his tongue. He fumbled in his inner coat pocket with his remaining left hand, his fingers slick with blood as he searched for his emergency backup pistol.

The figure appeared in the doorway, framed by the harsh midday sun leaking through the collapsed roof.

Rhea Sudrath—the ghost known as Red.

She had already discarded her charcoal-grey cloak, revealing her form-fitting black tactical suit that shimmered like a raven’s wing. Splatters of dark, drying blood decorated her cheeks and throat like macabre war paint—the lifeblood of Vargus’s subordinates. Her short black hair was messy, strands falling over her eyes, but they couldn’t hide the gaze within.

Those eyes... they didn’t project human emotion. They weren’t filled with hatred, nor were they filled with triumph. They were hollow. Dark. And terrifyingly hungry.

In her right hand, she held the dagger Claw in a reverse grip, the black blade still wet with a fresh, crimson sheen.

”The first rule...” Rhea said, stepping into the room. Her presence seemed to suck the very warmth out of the air. ”...is to never, ever touch the property of another hunter.”

”STAY BACK! DON’T MOVE!” Vargus finally managed to yank a small, two-shot derringer pistol from his pocket. His hand shook so violently that the barrel traced erratic, frantic circles in the air.

He pulled the trigger. DOR!

Rhea didn’t dive for cover. She didn’t even flinch. She simply tilted her head a fraction of an inch to the side. The bullet whistled past her ear, missing her by a hair’s breadth, and buried itself in the crumbling brick wall behind her with a dull thud.

Rhea didn’t even blink.

”Missed,” Rhea whispered, her voice a low, lethal hum.

In the time it took for Vargus to draw a breath for his next scream, the five-meter gap between them was deleted.

Vargus didn’t see her run. He only felt a sudden, violent rush of air, followed by a blinding, white-hot explosion of pain in his left wrist.

KRAK!

”AAARGGGHHH!” Vargus screamed as Rhea’s boot connected with his wrist, shattering the radius and ulna instantly with the force of a hammer. The small pistol flew across the room, clattering into the shadows of a fallen cabinet.

Vargus fell onto his back, gasping for air as if he were drowning. Rhea was on him in a heartbeat, pinning his chest down with her knee. Her physical weight wasn’t immense, but the pressure she exerted felt like being crushed by a falling monolithic slab. Vargus’s ribcage groaned in protest, the air being forced from his lungs in ragged wheezes.

Rhea leaned down, her face inches from his. The scent of lavender perfume and gunpowder radiated from her—a contrast that made his mind spin.

”You shot him,” she hissed, her voice a low vibration that felt like a blade against his throat.

”H-He’s just a stupid student! A redundant academic!” Vargus pleaded, his words tumbling out in a frantic, spit-flecked mess of desperation. ”He was in the way of progress! I was paid! I was just a consultant following orders from the Empire’s Research Division! Business! It was just business!”

”I don’t give a damn about your politics. I don’t care who signed your paycheck. I don’t even care about the ’progress’ you’re so obsessed with.”

Rhea pressed the cold, flat side of her blade against Vargus’s cheek. Slowly, with agonizing precision, she began to drag the edge across his skin. She didn’t cut deep enough to kill, but she cut just enough to split the dermis, letting the stinging pain seep into his raw nerves.

”You made him bleed,” Rhea said softly, her eyes narrowing into feral slits. ”My client. My Bookworm. He is weak. He gets out of breath after a ten-meter jog. He doesn’t know how to throw a punch. He spends his life surrounded by paper and ink.”

A dark, predatory light flashed in her eyes.

”And you... with your high-velocity weapons and your tactical squads... you shot a man who couldn’t even fight back?”

”It... it was a tactical necessity to disrupt the Sudrath influence!”

”No. It was cowardice,” Rhea interrupted, her voice dropping into a flat, terrifying monotone.

She moved the blade to Vargus’s left hand, which was pinned to the floor. She hovered the point over his intact index finger.

”Arvid mentioned he likes history, didn’t he? He likes data. He likes facts. He likes the ’why’ and the ’how’.”

”So, Vargus... let’s play a little history trivia game.”

Rhea pressed the needle-sharp point of Claw beneath Vargus’s fingernail. The man’s eyes bulged, his mouth opening in a silent scream of anticipation.

”Who sent you here? How many ships are in your staging area? Answer truthfully, or I remove one segment of your fingers. Every lie equals one joint. Let’s see how much ’history’ your body can survive before you run out of digits.”

”I-I can’t say! The Emperor... his secret police... they will have me flayed!”

CRES.

”AAHHHH!”

Rhea sliced off the tip of Vargus’s pinky without a moment’s hesitation. The cut was so clean that the blood didn’t even start flowing for a full second before it sprayed across her black tactical suit.

Vargus howled in absolute agony, his body arching and convulsing beneath Rhea’s knee.

”Wrong answer,” Rhea said tonelessly. Her total lack of enjoyment or disgust made the act ten times more terrifying. She was simply performing a task, like a carpenter driving a nail into wood. ”Your Emperor might kill you later. But I am here right now. And I can assure you, I am far more creative with a blade than any imperial executioner.”

Rhea positioned the knife over his ring finger, her hand as steady as a surgeon’s. ”Second question. What is the Iron Empire’s endgame in Northreach?”

”OKAY! OKAY! I’LL TALK! STOP, PLEASE! GODS HAVE MERCY!” Vargus sobbed hysterically. His ego, his loyalty, his academic pride—it had all been pulverized by the sheer physical and psychological terror of the woman holding him down.

”T-The ships... the fleet...” Vargus wheezed, gasping for breath between sobs. ”The Emperor has deployed the Black Fleet! Two hundred iron-clad warships! They are already stationed in the permanent fog banks along the Northern Sea border!”

Rhea’s gaze sharpened. ”Two hundred ships? That’s an invasion force, not a blockade. When is the strike scheduled?”

”Next month! During the Northreach City Festival! They plan to strike while your family is celebrating and the city’s defenses are relaxed for the parade! The primary objective... is not the city itself. It is to kidnap Rianor Sudrath and seize his technological blueprints! The Emperor wants the mana-reactors!”

Rhea went silent for a moment. The information was vital. Lethal.

The Iron Empire wasn’t just playing at border skirmishes anymore. They were coming for Rianor—the brain of the family. And they were going to do it when the whole Sudrath clan was gathered together, vulnerable in their joy.

”And why are you here?” Rhea asked, her voice dropping an octave, becoming a dangerous growl. ”What does the Silent City have to do with this invasion?”

”The... the Key...” Vargus gestured weakly toward his discarded satchel. ”The Emperor is seeking the ’Core’ of the Silent City. The legends say it’s a source of infinite, self-sustaining energy from the Golden Age. If the Iron Empire secures it, their prototype Railguns will be able to fire indefinitely. No fortress in Aethelgard will be able to stand against them.”

Rhea nodded slowly.

Arvid was right. This mission wasn’t just an archaeological curiosity. It was a high-stakes arms race.

Rhea stood up, releasing the pressure on Vargus’s chest. The man rolled onto his side, coughing violently and clutching his mangled hands to his chest. He looked up at Rhea with a pathetic, desperate hope in his eyes—the look of a dog hoping it won’t be kicked again.

”I... I told you everything... You’ll let me go now, right? The mercenary code... the rules of engagement...”

Rhea looked down at him with a gaze of pure, unadulterated loathing.

”Rules of engagement?”

Rhea sheathed her dagger with a sharp, metallic click.

”I am not a mercenary, Vargus. I am a Sudrath. And my family’s rule is very simple: Anyone who harms what belongs to us pays the debt in full. There is no bankruptcy in our court.”

”But you’re in luck,” Rhea continued, her tone becoming chillingly calm. ”My Bookworm down there doesn’t like the sight of messy corpses. He finds them ’unhygienic’ and a waste of biological data.”

Vargus’s eyes brightened. ”So... you’re letting me walk away?”

”Walk away? By all means. Feel free.”

Rhea pointed toward the jagged silhouette of the metallic forest outside the city gates.

”But I’m taking your weapons. I’m taking your boots. And I’m breaking one of your legs. I like to keep the odds fair.”

Before Vargus could even process the words, Rhea’s boot descended onto his right knee with the crushing force of a hydraulic press.

KRAKK!

”AARRGHHH!” Vargus screamed one last time, a sound that tore through his throat, before his eyes rolled back into his head and he lost consciousness from the sheer shock of the pain.

”The Forbidden Forest is full of predators, Vargus,” Rhea whispered to his prone, unconscious form. ”If you can crawl out of this hell alive with one leg, no shoes, and no weapons... then fate has decided you deserve a second chance at life. If not... well, the Acid Spiders were looking for a snack after their afternoon nap.”

Rhea turned and walked away without looking back. A quick death was a mercy he didn’t earn. Letting nature decide his fate was the most brutal, and most appropriate, judgment she could offer.

The Street Below – Ten Minutes Later.

Rhea descended the skeletal remains of the building’s stairwell. As she stepped back into the open air of the dead city, the high of the battle began to recede, replaced by a cold, alien knot of worry in her stomach that she didn’t know how to handle.

She ran toward the wreckage of the car where she had left Arvid.

”Professor?” Rhea called out, her voice losing its edge and becoming soft, almost fearful.

Arvid was still there. He was leaning against the flat, rusted tire of the car, his face as white as bleached parchment. His right hand was clamped tightly over the gunshot wound in his left shoulder, but dark, thick blood was still seeping through his fingers, staining his white shirt a deep, morbid crimson.

Hearing her voice, Arvid tried to offer a smile. It was a weak, trembling thing, but it was genuine.

”Red... you’re... you’re covered in blood. Are you... statistically speaking... alright?”

Rhea dropped to her knees beside him. She ignored the blood on herself, her hands moving with a frantic, desperate precision as she inspected his wound.

”Not my blood. Trash blood,” Rhea answered quickly. She reached up and tore a large strip from the hem of her expensive tactical cloak—the reinforced silk was the only thing clean enough to use as an emergency bandage.

”How is... Vargus?” Arvid asked, his voice weak and airy, his eyes struggling to stay focused behind his cracked glasses.

”He’s entered ’early retirement’,” Rhea replied shortly, her focus entirely on stanching his bleeding. ”He won’t be bothering you, or history, ever again. Forget about him.”

Arvid let out a long sigh of relief, then winced and hissed through his teeth as Rhea applied firm pressure to the wound. ”Sshhh... easy... your hands are remarkably rough for a lady of your standing...”

”Shut up. I’m saving your life, you ungrateful nerd,” Rhea scolded, though her movements immediately slowed, becoming uncharacteristically gentle.

Once she had managed to stop the primary bleeding, Rhea looked Arvid directly in the eye.

”Can you walk?”

Arvid tried to shift his weight, groaning as the movement tugged at the torn muscle. ”I... I think so... if the gravitational constant remains stable...”

He attempted to push himself up using his good arm, but his knees buckled the moment they took his weight. ”Ah... vertigo. Significant blood loss. Likely the onset of mild shock...”

Arvid started to tip forward, his vision swimming, but Rhea caught him before his face could hit the asphalt.

”Enough. Stop trying to be a hero. You already used up your quota for the year,” Rhea said firmly.

Without a word of warning, Rhea leaned down. She slid one arm firmly behind Arvid’s back and the other beneath his knees.

With a single, effortless surge of strength that made her muscles ripple beneath her suit, Rhea hoisted the scholar into the air.

Bridal Style.

Arvid’s eyes nearly popped out of his head, his pupils dilating behind his cracked spectacles.

”R-Red?! What on earth are you doing?!” His pale face suddenly flared a brilliant, alarmingly bright crimson that reached all the way to the tips of his ears. ”Put me down! This is... this is highly irregular! I am a man! A scholar! This violates every social norm in the kingdom!”

”You are a man who is currently bleeding and walking like a paralyzed snail,” Rhea said casually, her pace steady and unwavering as she began to carry him as if he were nothing more than a bag of expensive groceries. ”I was paid a hefty deposit to bring you back in one piece. If I let you walk, you’ll be dead by sunset.”

”B-But... at least carry me on your back! Like a soldier! Do not carry me like a captured princess!” Arvid protested, covering his face with his one good hand to hide the sheer, soul-crushing embarrassment.

”A piggyback ride would irritate your shoulder wound and potentially cause a secondary hemorrhage. Stay still or I’ll drop you into the nearest gutter,” Rhea threatened.

Arvid went rigid, immediately silenced by the threat. He knew she was capable of doing it.

He found himself resting against Rhea’s chest. He could smell the scent of her sweat, the sharp tang of burnt gunpowder, and a faint, lingering aroma of lavender perfume that she must have used back at the castle. He could feel the powerful, steady thumping of her heart against his own—it was slow, rhythmic, and incredibly grounding.

The woman’s arms were like bands of cold steel. Solid. Unyielding. Far stronger than his own would ever be.

Arvid looked up at Rhea’s face from below.

He saw her sharp, defined jawline. Her focused gaze as she scanned the road ahead for any remaining threats. The tiny, shallow scratch on her cheek where a metal fragment had grazed her.

This woman just slaughtered an entire elite squad to protect me, Arvid thought, his heart doing a strange, fluttering dance that had absolutely nothing to do with blood loss or shock. And now she’s carrying me out of the abyss.

She was... magnificent.

Rhea felt his gaze and glanced down for a split second, her expression softening just a fraction.

”What are you staring at, Bookworm?”

”Nothing,” Arvid quickly turned his head away, his blush deepening if that were even possible. ”Just... thank you. That was... an incredibly efficient and statistically improbable rescue operation.”

Rhea offered a thin smile. It was microscopic, a mere twitch of her lips, but it was there, and it was surprisingly sweet.

”You’re welcome, Bookworm. And thank you, too.”

”For what? For being shot?”

”For acting as the bait. That was the most idiotic, reckless, and brave thing I’ve ever seen a civilian do. You’ve got more spine than most knights I know.”

Rhea tightened her grip on him, pulling him slightly closer to her chest as they entered the shadow of a large, tilted skyscraper.

”You’re safe now. I’m taking you to a concealed cave I spotted earlier. You need to rest, and I need to make sure those stitches hold.”

They moved through the ruins of the dead city, a strange, inverted pair. An elite female assassin carrying a wounded male historian in her arms. It was a sight that defied the laws of the world they lived in, yet in the shadows of the Silent City... it felt like the only thing that made sense.

The Lioness was taking her prize home.