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

​Hundreds of kilometers to the northeast, far from the fires still consuming Highgarden, the Eastmarch grasslands stretched beneath a starlit night sky.

​The expanse spread boundlessly under a deep celestial dome. Free from the glare of city lights or the haze of factory smoke, the stars spilled across the darkness like diamond dust on a black canvas. A low night wind blew, carrying the scent of dry earth mingled with the faint fragrance of wildflowers blooming in the shadows.

​On the bank of a small stream where clear water gurgled against the rocks, two simple tents had been pitched. A campfire blazed in the center, its tongues of flame dancing wildly in the wind, casting long, swaying shadows against the tent fabric. Snap... crackle... The occasional pop of burning wood broke the silence. Six horses were tied to tree trunks nearby, occasionally neighing softly while stomping their hooves against the ground.

​Roland sat on a flat rock, his hands cupped around a steaming mug of herbal tea. His eyes were fixed on the roaring fire, but his gaze was vacant, drifting far away. Beside him, Rianor leaned against a horse saddle used as an improvised backrest. With the aid of a small lantern in his lap, he was still diligently studying their travel map.

​Across the fire, the four members of the Ghost Squad sat in a loose but alert formation. Dom—the senior—chose a spot slightly apart. He sat upright on a boulder, his back straight and hands resting on his knees. His eyes never rested, scanning the darkness outside the circle of firelight. Though his hands were empty, his posture gave the impression that he could draw a weapon in the blink of an eye.

​Naya sat cross-legged on a grass mat. Scritch, scratch... The rhythmic sound of her small whetstone meeting a spare dagger echoed softly. Orva, the youngest member, was busy pouring hot water into a few more cups and distributing them wordlessly. Meanwhile, Adul sat rather awkwardly, clutching a metal box of communication equipment in his lap as if it were the most precious object in the world.

​”So,” Roland finally broke the silence with a raspy voice, ”how long have you all been with the Ghost Squad?”

​Naya looked up for a moment, letting the firelight glint off the blade of her dagger. ”Three years, My Lord. I was recruited directly by Commander Borch after the chaos in Northveil.”

​”I’ve been in for two years,” Orva chimed in while handing a cup to Roland. ”I was in the regular Infantry before. Captain Thorne pulled me into this unit.”

​Roland shifted his gaze to the quietest man. ”And you, Dom?”

​”Five years.” That was all. Flat and brief.

​Roland waited for a follow-up, hoping for an interesting backstory. But silence fell once more. Rianor, seeing this, nearly snorted in amusement.

​”Tsk, don’t expect more than that, My Lord,” Naya whispered to Roland, though she made sure her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. ”Dom only speaks more than three words when our lives are on the line.”

​”Or if he thinks our defensive position is pathetic,” Orva added with a mischievous grin. ”Even then, it’s usually no more than five words.”

​Dom didn’t react in the slightest. Only his eyes flicked sharply toward Orva for a fraction of a second—enough to make the young man clear his throat awkwardly and return to his tea.

​Roland let out a short laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. His gaze turned to Adul, who had been silent all along. ”Adul. That device in your lap... can it really reach Iron Hearth from the middle of the grasslands like this?”

​Adul flinched in surprise, nearly dropping the box. ”Eh—yes, My Lord! Uhm, I mean, the signal is indeed a bit weak since there are no repeater towers around here. But I’ve locked onto a high-level encrypted frequency. Even if there are dark ears catching the signal, they’ll only hear static. This encryption system designed by Lord Rianor uses an algorithm—”

​”Adul.” Dom’s voice cut in softly but with absolute authority.

​Adul instantly fell silent, swallowing hard. ”Too much, right?”

​”Too much.”

​Roland glanced at Rianor, who was still absorbed in his map. ”Hah, he reminds me of you.”

​Rianor didn’t look up. ”He talks much more than I do.”

​”You used to be exactly like that when explaining mana theory.”

​”I was never that nervous when speaking.”

​Naya chuckled. ”Adul is still young, My Lord. But when it comes to communications and signals, he’s the best in our unit. Commander Borch doesn’t choose people at random.”

​Adul gave a bashful smile and went back to tinkering with his metal box. Roland sipped his tea, which was beginning to cool, letting the silence settle again, accompanied only by the flowing stream and the crackle of wood.

​”Damn,” Roland muttered suddenly. ”This journey is still three weeks away.”

​Rianor finally folded his map. ”You’re just realizing that now?”

​”I knew the calculations on paper. But experiencing it firsthand in the field... that’s different.” Roland leaned back, staring at the endless blanket of stars. ”If only we could use a car.”

​”A car wouldn’t be able to penetrate the terrain to Luminara without making the locals think we’re demons descending from the sky.”

​”Ironic, isn’t it? We’re bringing technical proof that they’re wrong, but we have to arrive in an ancient horse carriage just so they’ll deign to listen.”

​”That was your own suggestion, Roland.”

​”I know, I know.” Roland sipped the last of his tea. ”I just didn’t expect my back to hurt this much.”

​Dom, who had been like a stone statue until then, finally spoke. ”It could be worse, My Lord. It could be heavy rain.”

​Roland looked at Dom, then up at the perfectly clear sky. ”Hmm, you’re right. I should be grateful.”

​”But still... three weeks,” Naya murmured as she sheathed her dagger. ”Even the horses seem to be getting bored.”

​Orva chimed in, ”Which horse, Naya? The White? He’s looked like he’s wanted to go on a rampage since we left the Qaqortoq gates.”

​Naya chuckled. ”The Brown too. He keeps looking back, probably praying we’ll all change our minds and turn around.”

​Roland laughed heartily this time. ”You two can read horse expressions as well?”

​”Horses are honest creatures, My Lord. Far more honest than most of the humans we meet in the city,” Naya replied calmly.

​Rianor neatly tucked his map into his bag. ”Horses lack the biological capacity to lie. That is a fact.”

​”See, that’s what I said.”

​”You said they were ’honest.’ That is moral terminology, not biological,” Rianor corrected flatly.

​Naya looked at Rianor with one eyebrow raised. ”My Lord... this is just light campfire chatter.”

​”Even light chatter should maintain accuracy, shouldn’t it?”

​Roland patted his brother’s shoulder, shaking his head. ”Do you see? This is what I have to deal with every day for the next three weeks.”

​Dom spoke again from his darkness. ”I do not envy you, My Lord.”

​Everyone froze for a moment, turning toward Dom. It took a few seconds for them to realize that the stiff man had just made a joke. Naya was the first to burst into laughter, followed by Orva and Adul. Roland joined in the laughter, while Rianor only shook his head slightly, though the corner of his lip curled up.

​The campfire continued to lick the night, accompanying them as they slowly began to find sleeping positions under the protection of the Eastmarch sky.

​Morning arrived with the greeting of dew wetting the grass tips and a thin mist creeping across the ground. Roland emerged from his tent with puffy eyes, messy hair, and the face of a man who deeply regretted his decision to stay up late.

​”You look like a corpse that just rose from the grave,” commented Rianor, who was already standing neatly by the carriage.

​”I certainly feel like one,” Roland replied hoarsely. He accepted a cup of warm tea from Orva, sipping it slowly while staring blankly toward the reddening eastern horizon.

​Dom and Adul had finished checking the condition of the horses. Naya folded the tents with incredibly efficient movements, while Orva extinguished the remains of the campfire and erased all traces of their camp to avoid detection.

​”How many more hours before we head out?” Roland asked.

​”Once your consciousness has fully gathered itself,” Rianor answered coldly.

​”Oh, in that case, it’ll take hours.”

​”Then we shall depart and leave you here.”

​Roland let out a long sigh. ”Tsk, you really have no mercy for your own brother.”

​”I don’t have time to simply feel pity.”

​Half an hour later, the group was ready. Roland crawled into the carriage with slow movements, leaning his head against the wooden wall as soon as his backside hit the bench. His eyes closed even before the wheels began to turn.

​Rianor sat directly across from him, pulling out the same map. ”Are you going to sleep all day?”

​”Hmm... seems like it.”

​”Good. At least my ears won’t burn from hearing your complaints.”

​Roland didn’t respond. His breathing had already become regular in his deep sleep. Creak, creak... The carriage began to sway gently as Dom urged the horses eastward. The vast and silent Eastmarch grasslands welcomed them with mysteries waiting ahead.

​Meanwhile, in Iron Hearth, morning arrived in a different way...

​There was no mountain mist, only a gray sky covered by factory smoke and the sound of freight train whistles echoing in the distance.

​Riven Sudrath strode through the cold castle corridors with heavy steps. His military uniform was still dusty—dust from the secret launch site last night. He hadn’t even had the chance to wash his face properly.

​Lucian’s study door was already wide open. The King stood with his back to the door, staring out the window toward the south with a steaming cup of tea in hand.

​”Enter,” Lucian commanded without turning.

​Riven stepped inside, closing the heavy oak door behind him. ”The mission is complete, Father.”

​Lucian turned slowly. His eyes were calm, but there was a glint of acknowledgment—not an overflowing pride, but an acceptance of the consequences they had embraced. ”Deliver the report.”

​”Four projectiles launched according to coordinates. First target: Highgarden’s magic shield—collapsed completely within two seconds of impact. Second target: the outer wall and main gate—reduced to rubble. Third target: the main keep—collapsed entirely. Fourth target: Alistair Solari—killed instantly. Khulafa and Ruslan visually confirmed from a safe distance.”

​”Gone without a trace?”

​”There were no identifiable remains, Father. Only a molten black crater.”

​Lucian nodded slowly, then set his cup on the desk. He returned his gaze to the window. ”Alistair was a stubborn opponent. He chose to break with his sword rather than run to safety. That... is worthy of respect in its own way.”

​Riven remained silent. He knew his father was reflecting on the price of power.

​”What about the survivors?” Lucian asked again.

​”Sir Romeni was detected alive though heavily wounded. Some soldiers in the rear lines also survived.”

​”Good. Let them live,” Lucian said coldly. ”They will spread the story. Of the ’falling stars’ and the destruction that comes from the sky, unstoppable by any magic. That fear is far more effective than killing everyone in the castle.”

​”That was indeed our primary goal.”

​”Yes.” Lucian turned, looking at his son with a slightly softened gaze. ”Have you had breakfast?”

​That simple question always managed to make Riven a bit awkward. ”Not yet.”

​”Eat first. Then rest. You’ve performed a heavy enough duty for today.”

​Riven nodded obediently. He turned to leave, but his steps faltered at the doorway. ”Father... this isn’t truly over yet, is it?”

​Lucian looked back at the southern horizon. ”Not yet. They will seek revenge. Perhaps not tomorrow, perhaps not soon. But they will come back. And when that time comes, we must be far more prepared.”

​”I am always ready, Father.”

​”I know.”

​The castle’s back garden was bathed in soft morning sunlight. On one of the stone benches near a fountain gurgling peacefully, three women sat gathered. Aurelia sipped her tea, while Elena held Kaelven, who was busy trying to catch a butterfly with his chubby little hands. Rhea sat on the other side with Ana sleeping soundly tucked in a cloth against her chest.

​”Has Kaelven really started walking now?” Aurelia asked softly.

​”Just a few steps, Mother,” Elena answered with a small laugh as Kaelven nearly toppled over. ”But he prefers crawling.”

​”Raphael was like that too. He didn’t want to truly walk until he was a year and a half old. But once he could, he never stayed still.” Aurelia smiled, her eyes distant with memories of the past.

​”And what about you?” Elena turned toward Rhea. ”What can Ana do?”

​Rhea looked down at her sleeping infant. ”Sleep. Wake up for milk. Then sleep again. That’s her primary skill.”

​”That’s great progress, Rhea. Kaelven only knew how to cry as loud as possible back then.”

​”I’m not complaining. At least she doesn’t try to throw things at me,” Rhea murmured.

​Heavy footsteps sounded on the path. Riven appeared from behind a clump of blooming roses. His uniform was still dull with dust, and his face still bore the exhaustion of last night’s mission. However, as soon as his eyes caught the sight of Elena and Kaelven, the tension in his face melted away.

​”Dada!” Kaelven squealed with delight, his hands reaching toward Riven.

​Riven approached, lifting his son from Elena’s arms with one strong hand. Kaelven immediately gripped his father’s uniform collar, his nose wrinkling cutely. ”Dada... stinky.”

​”That’s the smell of hard work, Kael,” Riven answered, kissing the top of his son’s head.

​”What work?”

​”Work... cleaning up piles of trash out there.”

​Aurelia looked at her son, then at the dust clinging to Riven’s shoulders. ”Have you had breakfast, son?”

​”Not yet, Mother.”

​”Hmm, I’m not surprised.” Aurelia stood gracefully. ”Sit down first. I’ll have a servant bring food here.”

​Riven sat on the stone bench beside Elena, letting Kaelven stay in his lap. Rhea glanced at her brother. ”Mission complete?”

​”Complete.”

​”Good.”

​That was all that was said. Aurelia returned after giving orders to a servant. ”I wonder where Roland and Rianor are now?”

​”They should have entered Eastmarch territory,” Riven answered. ”Their journey will still take a long time.”

​”I hope they don’t encounter any trouble on the road.”

​”Relax, Mother. They’re escorted by Dom and his team. They’re under the best protection.”

​Aurelia nodded slowly, though the lines of worry in her eyes didn’t truly vanish. To her, a child was always a child, regardless of whether he was a king, a general, or a skilled diplomat.

​Kaelven began to pat Riven’s cheek with his tiny fingers. Riven didn’t pull away; he instead enjoyed the moment, occasionally closing his eyes to breathe in the fresh garden air. Opposite them, Rhea watched over the still-slumbering Ana. A peaceful silence settled over the garden, a precious lull in the middle of the storm they had just unleashed.

​At Seruni School, the atmosphere was far from peaceful.

​”ARE YOU A PRINCE OR A STREET URCHIN, HUH?!”

​Raveena’s shrill voice thundered through the corridor of the Advanced class. Raphael stood tall with a sulky face, his hands balled into fists at his sides. Before him, Raveena stood with hands on her hips, her eyes seemingly spitting fire.

​”I don’t care who started it! You and Lyan are like cats and dogs! Not a single day goes by without a fight! Haven’t you learned your lesson after being scolded by Sister Elara in Math class last night?!”

​”He started it first, Sister!” Raphael defended himself loudly. ”I just—”

​”I DON’T CARE!” Raveena cut him off quickly. ”Here, you are a student just like him. Not a prince who can boss people around as he pleases!”

​”I never used my prince status!”

​”But you act as if ’I’m better than you’! That’s just as bad, Raphael!”

​Raphael opened his mouth to argue, but then closed it again. He knew his sister was right.

​”Listen,” Raveena’s voice softened slightly as she let out a long sigh. ”Lyan might seem cold. He might not talk much. But he’s never looked down on you. He’s just... indeed superior in a few things. That’s no reason to keep triggering trouble.”

​Raphael looked down, staring at the tips of his shoes. ”I don’t hate him, Sister.”

​”Then why are you always baited every time he’s near you?”

​”Because... because he always makes me feel stupid.”

​Raveena fell silent for a moment. She placed a hand on her brother’s shoulder. ”You’re not stupid, Raphael. You’re just not used to losing. But in the real world—and in this school—you will lose often. And that’s okay. That’s exactly where you learn.”

​Raphael looked up slowly. ”Sister Elara said that too yesterday.”

​”Because it’s the truth.” Raveena gave a thin smile. ”Now, are you going to apologize to Lyan, or do I have to drag you there?”

​”I’ll go myself.”

​”Good.”

​Raphael turned, trudging toward the classroom where Lyan was sitting quietly reading a book. Raveena watched her brother’s back as she sighed once more. At the end of the corridor, Elodie appeared to be peeking from behind a door, stifling a laugh. Beside her, Mira—a little girl just learning to read—also poked her head out.

​”Did Brother Raphael get scolded again, Sister?” Mira whispered.

​”Looks like it,” Elodie replied with amusement.

​”Poor him...”

​”Not really, Mira. He just needs a reminder every now and then.”