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

​The journey back felt far shorter than when they had crawled down days ago.

​Perhaps it was because no hearts were pounding in anticipation of a sudden ambush. Perhaps it was because no strange whispers emanated from the shadows. Or perhaps, every soul there simply yearned to see the sun once more. Ngguuuung... The elevator ascended past The Core in a solemn silence. The Annihilator still lay there, a giant heap of scrap metal that now served as a headstone for Elias. The Lost City remained mute; its skyscrapers stood tall like a row of nameless monuments. The Juggernaut in the laboratory, the now truly empty Silent Void, and the Old Mines that held only the remains of ancient miners—they passed them all without a word.

​Yet, their steps were not light. In the middle of the line, Thorne and two soldiers carried an improvised stretcher made of metal pipes and tattered cloth. Krit... krit... the pipes groaned with every step they took. Upon it lay the stiff body of the infantryman killed by the plasma sword. His face was covered with a cloth, but the burden on Thorne’s shoulders felt far heavier than just the weight of a human body.

​”I’ll be the one to speak to his family later,” Thorne whispered as Rianor walked by his side. His hands gripped the edge of the stretcher until his knuckles turned white. ”That is my duty.”

​Rianor didn’t answer. He only gave a slow nod, his fingers briefly touching Thorne’s shoulder. Ahead of them, Kell walked with a limp, his shoulder leaning on a comrade. The wound on his arm—a scratch from a Stray Crawler that had initially been dismissed as trivial—was now swollen, red, and hot. Ck, Rianor noticed Kell repeatedly wiping cold sweat from his temples as a fever began to set in.

​”Hey, don’t push yourself. Want a carry?” the soldier beside him asked.

​”Hah... I can still walk, sir,” Kell refused in a raspy voice, trying to straighten his trembling back.

​”Suit yourself,” Thorne snapped without looking back, his voice heavy. ”But if you faint, don’t expect any pity. I’ll drag you the rest of the way myself.”

​Kell gave a faint, weak smile. ”Understood.”

​Finally, a sliver of light began to pierce through the end of the tunnel. The narrow passage that had once swallowed them into the dark now spat them back into the world. One by one they stepped out, then froze. The evening sun hung low on the western horizon, casting a golden-orange glow so sharp it stung their eyes, which had grown accustomed to absolute darkness. The cold Northreach air, which usually felt biting, now felt like a refreshing embrace.

​Several soldiers immediately collapsed to their knees. Not just out of exhaustion, but because they needed to feel the earth, the wind, and the light that didn’t come from the glow of ancient machines. Hah... sighs of relief echoed everywhere.

​Rianor stepped out last. He squinted his eyes, letting the warmth of the sun touch his pale skin. He turned back, staring into the gaping dark maw of the cave.

​”Bring him here,” Rianor ordered softly. ”We will bury him with honor.”

​They dug a grave beneath an old pine tree whose roots gripped the mountain rock. The ground there was hard and half-frozen, making the sound of the shovels hitting the earth ring out—Clang! Clang! No one complained. Thorne himself lowered the body into the pit. He placed a short sword across his comrade’s chest—not a standard military issue, but the soldier’s own spare blade that he had sharpened every night.

​”You did not die in vain,” Thorne said hoarsely, his voice trembling. ”You died for the truth. And that truth... we will ensure it reaches home.”

​They closed the grave in silence. One by one, the soldiers threw a handful of dirt. Prayers were offered—not to a grand goddess, but to the sky and earth that had allowed them to return.

​After the grave was settled, Rianor walked toward the Adamantite Gate. He pulled The Sentinel’s Mana Core from his bag. The stone still pulsed with a slow blue light. As soon as he touched it to the control panel, the carvings on the gate glowed brightly. RUMBLE... A low thunderous sound echoed as the massive gate slid shut. Tight. Permanent.

​”One day, we will return here,” Rianor murmured. ”But not now. There is still much to prepare.”

​Arvid stood beside him, wiping dust from his cracked glasses. ”Elias, Orion, the scientists, even E. Vance... they’ve all been trapped in the dark for too long.”

​”They will get their justice.” Rianor felt the tablet in his pocket. ”I promise.”

​The small convoy cut through the melting snow—a sign that spring was finally peeking through in Northreach. Inside the command vehicle, Rianor sat in silence, staring at his crystal tablet screen. The data they carried—Orion’s recordings, Elias’s notes, the system logs—were all a time bomb ready to blow the world’s history apart.

​Arvid sat across from him, looking exhausted. ”This will change everything, Rianor. The history we were taught since we were kids... it’s all just a pile of lies.”

​”I know.”

​”The Church... Aethelgard... those who call us demons, yet they were the ones who drew the dagger from behind.”

​”I know, Arvid.”

​”Then why are you so quiet?”

​Rianor looked sharply at Arvid. ”Because this truth is too heavy to just throw around. This isn’t just about us; it’s about the honor of those who have become bones down there. I won’t let Orion’s sacrifice be in vain because we acted recklessly.”

​Arvid was stunned, then nodded slowly. ”You’re right. We need a plan.”

​Iron Hearth welcomed them without grand fanfare. There were no parades, only rows of mana-electric lights flickering on at dusk. But at the castle gate, a sight made Rianor’s breath hitch.

​Elara sat in her wheelchair, pushed by Raveena. Her face was deathly pale, her eyes bloodshot—she clearly hadn’t slept for days. As soon as their eyes met, a look of profound relief spread across her face.

​”You’re home,” she whispered.

​Rianor hurried down, knelt in front of the wheelchair, and pulled his wife into a tight embrace. He could feel Elara’s body trembling violently beneath her cloak. ”I’m home, Elara. I’m here.”

​On the other side, Rhea stood holding Ana. The baby stared at the world with clear, pale blue eyes. Arvid stepped down with a sluggish gait, his robe torn and his face grimy.

​”You’re late,” Rhea said flatly, though her eyes couldn’t hide the spark of relief.

​”I... mmm... uh...” Arvid stammered.

​”Ana can already roll over on her stomach,” Rhea interrupted.

​Hearing that, Arvid’s defenses crumbled. The man who was usually full of theories suddenly broke down, sobbing like a child. His shoulders shook. Rhea didn’t hug him, but she stepped forward until their shoulders touched—a silent support that meant the world to Arvid.

​That night, Rianor stood outside Lucian’s study. Knock, knock.

​”Enter.”

​Lucian sat behind a large desk, a glass of whiskey in his hand. On the table, another glass was already filled, as if he had been waiting.

​”Sit,” Lucian said calmly.

​Rianor sat, sipping the whiskey that felt like fire in his throat. And there, he poured it all out. About Project Legion, about the betrayal of the mana-blessed races, about Satan, and about Orion weeping inside his giant cockpit.

​The night grew late. The whiskey glasses were empty.

​”So...” Lucian stared out the window, ”The Church created the ’Demon’ label just to cover up the filth of their own ancestors?”

​”Yes.”

​”And the Iron Empire... it turns out they are our lost kin?”

​”Correct, Father.”

​Lucian stood, staring at the twinkling city lights below. ”This changes the map of the war. We cannot continue killing those who are actually victims, just like us.”

​”But we can’t speak out just yet,” Rianor interjected. ”Too much blood has been spilled. Their wounds haven’t dried.”

​Lucian nodded. ”Keep this well. Until we are strong enough to slam this truth into the face of the world.”

​Rianor bowed his head, feeling the grief slowly turn into resolve. ”I promised Orion, Father. Someday, that place will be a museum of honor, not a dark graveyard.”

​Lucian gave a thin smile—something he rarely did. ”You did something great, Rianor. You didn’t just bring back technology; you brought back stolen honor. Now, rest.”

​Rianor stepped out, but he didn’t go straight to his room. He walked to the balcony of the Alpha Building. The Northreach night wind brushed against his face. Krit... krit... the sound of wheelchair wheels approached behind him. Elara appeared at his side.

​”Still thinking about them?” Elara asked softly.

​”Orion... Elias... even an administrator like E. Vance,” Rianor murmured. ”The world forgot them, Elara. As if they never existed.”

​”But you remember,” Elara squeezed her husband’s hand, looking at his red hair fluttering gently. ”You remember, Arvid remembers, and we all remember. That is enough to start a change.”

​Rianor squeezed his wife’s hand gently. In the distance, beyond the snowy mountains, he knew the dawn would soon arrive. And this dawn carried a truth that would burn the old history to ash.

​”Their sacrifice will not be in vain,” Rianor whispered into the darkness of the night.

​Elara leaned her head on his shoulder. ”I know.”