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

​The carriage rolled steadily eastward, its wheels crushing the gravel of the dirt road with a rhythmic crunch-thud. The landscape on either side began to transform; the dense, uniform rows of Northreach pines were slowly replaced by broad-leaved trees with shorter, bushier branches. The breeze drifting through the window no longer carried the bite of ice, but rather a warm caress scented with fertile soil. Eastmarch felt different—the air was kinder, welcoming travelers with open arms.

​Rianor sat upright, his notebook sprawled open on his lap. His quill danced across the pages, recording data in incredibly neat, disciplined script. Occasionally, he would pause to adjust his spectacles and gaze at the horizon before immersing himself back into his writing. Across from him, Roland leaned his head against the wooden wall of the carriage. His eyes were closed, yet his ears remained attuned to every sound around him—he was savoring a rare moment of stillness.

​Outside, Dom and Adul sat side-by-side on the driver’s bench, taking turns with the reins. Meanwhile, Naya and Orva rode at a measured distance beside the carriage. Their eyes scanned the surroundings with sharp, micro-movements—not out of any immediate threat, but due to a bodyguard’s hardwired instinct.

​”What are you writing now?” Roland asked without opening his eyes.

​”Temperature variables. Humidity levels. Changes in vegetation types,” Rianor replied flatly, not looking up. ”The soil in Eastmarch is significantly more productive than in Northreach. I’m analyzing its mineral composition.”

​”Hah... you always have to know the why behind everything.”

​”It is the duty of a scientist.”

​Roland cracked one eye open, a thin smirk playing on his lips. ”And it’s the duty of an older brother to be incredibly annoying.”

​Rianor didn’t respond, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward by a fraction of a millimeter—a smile that only those who truly knew him could ever catch.

​An hour later, Adul tapped Dom’s shoulder and pointed toward the road ahead. Three figures were trudging along the shoulder. A man with a massive, heavy-looking rucksack; a woman with a small child balanced on her hip; and faces dulled by the dust of the road. They were walking west, moving away from the carriage’s destination.

​”Refugees,” Dom murmured softly.

​Roland opened his eyes fully. ”Stop the carriage.”

​The carriage slowed to a halt. Roland hopped down, followed by Rianor, who kept his notebook in hand. The man among the refugees immediately looked at them with suspicion, his shoulders tensing. His face was weary, his eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep—or perhaps from tears that had long since run dry. The woman looked down, trying to hide her face behind a tattered shawl, while the small child stared at Roland with a thumb tucked into their mouth.

​”Relax, we aren’t bandits,” Roland said, his voice softened. ”Where are you coming from?”

​The man hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. ”From a village to the east... about a day’s journey from here. We couldn’t stay there any longer.”

​”Because of the weeping at night?” Roland asked directly.

​The man flinched. A flash of terror crossed his eyes. ”You... you know of it, sir?”

​”We just passed through a village with the same trouble. It’s safe there now.”

​The woman looked up, her eyes glistening. ”Safe? How is that possible? Was it not a curse?”

​Rianor stepped forward, his voice sounding rational and grounding. ”It was neither a ghost nor a curse. Simply mana crystals trapping sound—a natural phenomenon. Once you know how to handle it, it’s completely harmless.”

​The man stared at Rianor, searching for a hint of a lie, but he found only the cold, steady conviction of a researcher. He let out a long breath—a breath that seemed to lift a mountain’s weight from his shoulders. ”We thought... we thought our village had been forsaken by the Gods.”

​”It was just stone holding onto memories,” Rianor murmured, looking at the child.

​Roland returned to the carriage and came back with a bundle of bread and dried meat. He handed it to the man. ”Take this. The road west is a long one.”

​The man looked at the bread, then back at Roland in confusion. ”Why... why would you help us?”

​”Because you need it. It’s as simple as that.”

​Without further ado, the family continued their journey. Roland and Rianor climbed back into the carriage.

​”How many more villages are facing the same thing?” Roland asked as the carriage lurched back into motion.

​Rianor stared out the window, watching the refugees slowly vanish into the distance. ”We cannot save everyone.”

​”I know. I was just asking.”

​Rianor didn’t answer, but he opened a new page in his book and wrote: Mana crystal phenomena. Systemic issue in Eastmarch. Requires further intervention.

​In Iron Hearth.

​A black SUV roared softly as it passed through the gates of Iron Hearth Castle. Arvid gripped the steering wheel with both hands, his posture stiff—he was far more used to sitting in the back than controlling this high-powered machine. However, because Rhea had asked, Arvid had no choice but to comply.

​Beside him, Rhea sat with the composure of a general. Ana was fast asleep in her arms, her head resting against her mother’s chest. In the back seat, Ren and Mira—the twins from Nightshade—sat bolt upright. Their eyes moved constantly, monitoring every corner of the street through the tinted glass.

​”Have you guys eaten breakfast?” Arvid asked, trying to break the tension.

​”Yes, sir,” Ren answered curtly.

​”Just call me Arvid. We’re not at headquarters.”

​Ren and Mira exchanged a glance, then answered in unison, ”Understood, Sir Arvid.”

​Arvid sighed in resignation. Rhea, seeing this, took a long breath, hiding a faint smile. At the city gates, a servant ran toward them carrying a large basket covered with a cloth.

​”Lady Rhea! Lady Aurelia sent this!”

​Rhea frowned at the size of the basket. ”We’re only going for a short trip.”

​”Lady Aurelia said you never know what happens on the wild roads,” the servant panted.

​Arvid took the basket—it was packed with bread, cheese, smoked meat, and several jars of jam. Once everything was stowed in the trunk, the car drove out of Iron Hearth. The factory chimneys puffing smoke and the sturdy stone walls slowly faded, replaced by an endless expanse of grassland.

​The SUV cruised steadily, its suspension smoothing out the jolts of the dirt road. Inside, Ana woke up and began to whimper with hunger. With movements that were now practiced and fluid, Rhea began to nurse her, causing the twins in the back seat to instinctively turn their heads to grant her privacy.

​”Drink some water,” Arvid said, handing a bottle toward Rhea without taking his eyes off the road.

​”Later.”

​”Drink, Rhea. You need to stay hydrated.”

​Rhea finally took the bottle and took a quick swig. ”You’re starting to sound more and more like Mother. A nag.”

​”I’ll take that as a compliment,” Arvid chuckled.

​Mira, who had been silent until then, finally found the courage to speak. ”My Lady, may I ask... why the Khanate?”

​Rhea stared at the grass outside, which was growing wilder. ”Because I’ve never been there. It’s as simple as that.”

​By midday, they reached the border outpost. The guard wasn’t human, but a Beast-kin of the wolf tribe. His pointed ears twitched sensitively, and gray fur was visible at his wrists.

​Arvid rolled down the window. The officer approached, his golden-yellow eyes scanning the car’s interior before settling on Rhea.

​”Documents,” he said curtly in a deep voice.

​After inspecting the travel papers from the Sudrath Family, the officer nodded respectfully. ”You will be welcomed in our territory. Khan Arslan has always held your name in high regard.”

​”We don’t need an official welcome. We’re just passing through,” Rhea replied coldly.

​The officer almost smirked—an expression of appreciation for the woman’s bluntness. ”Pass through, then. Welcome to the free territories.”

​The iron bar was lifted, and the car sped into the Beast-kin Khanate. The grasslands here were far wilder; the grass grew knee-high, swaying like a green sea under the vast sky. Rhea looked out the window. There was a very faint glint in her eyes—a glint of pure, raw curiosity.

​Back in Eastmarch, Roland’s carriage stopped by a clear, small stream. The horses drank greedily, the sound of water being sucked up clearly audible. Rianor stood by the bank, picking a purple wildflower he had never seen before.

​”Why must Northreach always be so cold?” he murmured to the petals in his hand.

​Roland approached, carrying two steaming cups of herbal tea. Sshhh... steam rose into the air. ”You’re talking to flowers now?”

​”Simply comparing ecosystems.” Rianor took the cup, sipping it slowly. The aroma of pine and ginger spread across his palate.

​They stood side-by-side. There were no mysterious cries, no political intrigues for a moment. Only the gurgle of the stream and a gentle breeze swaying the wildflowers in a place where they weren’t supposed to grow.