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

​Krieeet...

​The iron gates of Seruni School creaked open, welcoming a crowd that had swarmed even before the sun had fully revealed itself. The sky over Iron Hearth was still a pale gray, the air bitingly cold against the nose—a blend of damp earth and the scent of factory chimney smoke beginning to billow in the distance. Factory workers, farmers in faded shirts, and former soldiers in patched leather jackets stood shoulder to shoulder. Some held the hands of sleepy children, while others came alone, carrying hope in the pockets of their worn-out clothes.

​Along the pathway, four personnel from the Nightshade Sentinels stood tall. Their black uniforms contrasted sharply with the shabby crowd. Their expressions were cold, but occasionally their hands moved fluidly, signaling the line to remain orderly.

​”Listen up! Queue on the left for Basic registration. Those who can already read and write, go straight to the right for Advanced. Don’t push—everyone will be served,” one Sentinel called out, his voice calm yet authoritative, cutting through the morning clamor.

​At the registration desk, Raphael Sudrath sat before a mounting pile of forms. Sret... sret... the sound of his pen racing across paper filled the air. He paused briefly, rubbing his weary eyes before dipping his pen back into the ink bottle. Beside him, Mael was busy sorting documents with nimble movements.

​”Name?” Raphael asked without looking up as a sixteen-year-old youth stepped forward.

​”Kell.”

​Raphael’s pen halted. He looked up. ”Hmm? Kell? Like the Kell who... was on that expedition?”

​The youth gave a faint smile. He wore a grimy shirt, and his arm was still wrapped in a slightly dirty bandage—remnants of the battle in The Vault. ”The one who served under Captain Thorne. Yes, that’s me, sir.” He scratched the back of his neck. ”The Captain said if I could survive that hellhole, I should be able to handle learning how to read and write.”

​Raphael went silent for a moment, then wrote the name down with a firmer stroke. ”Can you read at all?”

​”Hah, very little. Captain Thorne taught me bits and pieces during night watches.”

​”Advanced for you then. The placement test is inside the building. Good luck, Kell.”

​Kell nodded and stepped through the gate with a straight back.

​Next, a middle-aged man stepped forward. His clothes were far too neat; his dark green wool robe looked expensive, with a small silver brooch pinned to the collar. Beside him, a fourteen-year-old boy stood with his chin held high.

​”Name?” Raphael asked flatly.

​”Aldric Varn Junior.” The youth stated his name with emphasis on every syllable, as if the name itself were a magic spell. ”I don’t think I need a placement test. I’ve had private tutors at home. I know all the basics.”

​Raphael set his pen down and looked at the boy with an unreadable expression. ”Hmm. Everyone takes the test here. No exceptions. That is the school rule.”

​Junior snorted, crossing his arms. ”Look, don’t you know who my father is? Baron Aldric Varn of—”

​”Baron Varn sat in the front row yesterday during the inauguration,” Raphael interrupted without raising his voice. ”He sat quietly and did not protest a single one of our rules. Do you want to be the only one protesting them here?”

​Junior froze. He glanced at a Nightshade Sentinel standing three meters away. The soldier said nothing, but his sharp gaze made Junior swallow hard. Gulp.

​”Fill out the form,” Raphael said, sliding a paper forward.

​Junior took it with stiff movements and walked in without daring to say another word.

​Inside the building, the atmosphere felt calmer despite the bustle. The first-floor classrooms had been transformed into testing areas. Sera sat at the first table, handling the reading tests with immense patience. In another corner, Lidia and Yara shared a long table for the arithmetic tests. Torin stood in the corner of the room, hands behind his back, watching every movement with eagle eyes.

​Sera pointed at a sheet of paper in front of a little girl with curly hair. ”Try reading this sentence, dear.”

​The girl—Mira, only nine years old—stared at the paper with wide eyes. Her lips trembled, moving soundlessly. Finally, she lowered her head. ”I... I can’t, Teacher,” she whispered faintly.

​Sera smiled gently and stroked the top of Mira’s head. ”Oh, that’s quite alright. That’s exactly why you are here. You’ll learn everything from the beginning. What is your name?”

​”Mira.”

​”Mira. What a beautiful name. You’ll be in the Basic class, okay? Don’t be shy; all your friends are learning the same thing.”

​The girl nodded slowly, her eyes still glistening. As she walked out, her mother—a woman with rough, calloused hands—immediately pulled her into a tight embrace.

​At the arithmetic table, Lidia faced a burly man. ”A former soldier?” she asked, noting the scar on his cheek.

​”Yes, Ma’am. Infantry under Captain Thorne,” he replied firmly.

​Lidia handed him a problem. ”If a farmer has ten baskets of apples and sells four, how many are left?”

​”Six.”

​”Hmm, good. Now try reading this third question yourself.”

​The man hesitated, then shook his head slowly. ”Captain Thorne only had time to teach us about numbers and coordinates, Ma’am.”

​”That is more than enough to start with.” Lidia wrote something on the form. ”You’ll be in Advanced for math, but Basic for reading and writing. Do you mind learning alongside children?”

​The man smiled—a sincere smile that softened his rugged face. ”I’ve survived the blizzards of Northveil, Ma’am. Learning the alphabet won’t be scarier than that.”

​In a separate room beside the main building, a quieter test was taking place.

​Raveena Sudrath sat on a simple wooden chair. Before her, one by one, the applicants were asked to place their hands on the table. ”Close your eyes,” Raveena instructed softly. ”Try to feel something in your chest. Something warm, like a small ember trying to ignite.”

​A twelve-year-old boy squeezed his eyes shut, his brow furrowed. Five seconds... ten seconds... Tsk, he let out a disappointed breath. ”I... I don’t feel anything, Big Sis.”

​”Stay calm. Don’t force it. Mana is like water in a well; it’s there, you just need to learn how to draw it,” Raveena said while noting in her book. ”Most people don’t feel it on their first try.”

​The majority of results were the same—their mana was still fast asleep. However, there were a handful who managed to create a spark. Only five people were eventually gathered by Raveena in the school’s backyard.

​The field still smelled of freshly leveled earth. In the center stood straw dummies as targets. The morning wind blew, making Raveena’s cloak flutter gently. Among the five, Aldric Varn Junior stood with his hands on his hips, looking immensely confident.

​”You have all shown basic talent,” Raveena began. ”But feeling mana is only the beginning. Now, show me what you can do.”

​Junior immediately stepped forward. ”I’ll go first. Let the others see what real magic looks like.”

​He stood before the straw dummy, took a deep breath, and raised his hand in a theatrical gesture—clearly the result of expensive private tutoring. Mana gathered in his palm. Whoosh! A fireball the size of a human head appeared, radiating stinging heat up to five meters away.

​”HAA!”

​The fireball streaked forward, hitting the chest of the straw dummy. Crack! The straw ignited instantly, the fire spreading wildly to engulf the dummy’s entire body. Junior turned back, grinning widely at Raveena. ”That was just a warm-up. At home, I can make them bigger than this.”

​Raveena was unimpressed. She stared at the blazing dummy, then shook her head slowly. ”Impressive, but you waste too much mana for nothing. You only wanted to show off, not hit the target effectively. Watch this.”

​Raveena raised her hand—no exaggerated movements, no shouting. Snap. She simply flicked her fingers.

​A fireball appeared. It was the same size as Junior’s, but its color was brighter, denser, and stable without wild sparks. Raveena released it. The ball streaked like an arrow, hitting the same straw dummy, and strangely—the blazing fire was instantly extinguished by the air pressure from her magic. All that remained was a perfect small black hole right in the center of the dummy’s chest.

​”The mana I used was only half of yours,” Raveena said flatly. ”In this school, you will learn efficiency, not a circus act.”

​Junior’s face turned beet red. He wanted to argue, but the words caught in his throat. For the first time, he looked at the girl—who was only slightly older than him—with a sense of profound curiosity.

​Next, a girl with braided hair stepped forward. Her clothes were shabby, without any family crest.

​”What can you do?” Raveena asked gently.

​”I... I don’t know how to make fire,” the girl whispered, staring at the ground. ”But in the fields... when I feel sad, the plants around me grow faster.”

​Raveena nodded. ”Show us.”

​The girl raised her hands. No mantras, no formal gestures. She simply stared at the ground beneath the straw dummy. Krit... krit...

​Tiny roots burst from the ground, wrapping around the straw dummy’s legs with rapid movements. The roots climbed, entwining the dummy’s body, and with one gentle tug, the dummy collapsed to the ground, bound tightly by the newly grown plants.

​The girl lowered her hands, her breath coming in gasps. ”That’s... that’s all I can do.”

​Raveena gave a sincere smile. ”That isn’t ’all.’ That is a rare natural talent. You are in the Advanced Applied Magic class. We will learn how to control it so you don’t have to feel sad just to grow something.”

​The girl’s eyes widened, as if she couldn’t believe what she had just heard.

​In the evening, the registration queue began to vanish. The teachers started clearing their tables with weary but satisfied faces. Raphael walked toward the terrace, where Elara sat in her wheelchair, observing the now quiet courtyard.

​”47 applicants today, Sister Elara,” Raphael reported, handing over a stack of forms. ”42 for Basic, 5 for Advanced.”

​Elara accepted the forms, her fingers touching the names one by one. Mira, the illiterate little girl. Kell, the expedition survivor. The arrogant Junior Varn. And the farm girl with her root talent.

​Elara’s gaze drifted. She remembered herself years ago at Castle Velmora—the little girl who was always considered useless.

​”They come with empty hands,” Elara whispered softly, her voice nearly lost in the evening wind.

​”And what will we give them?” Raphael asked.

​Elara looked at the school gates, where the Snow Seruni flowers were still swaying gracefully. ”We will fill their heads with something that cannot be stolen by anyone. Not even by fate itself.”

​Raphael nodded slowly. ”By the way, Brother Rianor didn’t come?”

​”He’s at the Alpha Building, preparing something for tomorrow’s lesson.” Elara gave a thin smile. ”Something that will leave those children wide-eyed.”

​Raphael chuckled and then took his leave to help the others clear the tables.

​Elara remained there, alone under the orange glow of the setting sun.