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

​Night in the Spring Town should have been a sanctuary of quiet rest.

​Inside room number one of The Slumbering Stag, Ana slept peacefully in her wicker crib. Her breathing was soft and rhythmic, her tiny fingers occasionally twitching atop the warm sheepskin blanket. On the dark wooden bed, Arvid lay flat on his back. His slender frame had finally surrendered to the exhaustion of a grueling journey. The scholar’s chest rose and fell in a peaceful cadence—for the first time in months, his sleep was untroubled by the nightmares of Project Legion.

​But beside him, Rhea Sudrath lay with her eyes closed, entirely awake.

​The chorus of crickets in the surrounding woods died in an instant, smothered as if by a giant hand. The nocturnal birds that usually called to one another from the pine canopies went dead silent. Even the breeze that had been whispering through the window vents vanished. It wasn’t a sudden noise that roused Rhea, but rather a jarring, absolute absence of sound. A silence far too forced.

​Rhea’s eyes slid open in the dark.

​She didn’t move. Her body remained perfectly still, her breathing controlled so as not to disrupt the room’s natural drafts. She simply listened with every fiber of her being.

​Creak... creak... creak...

​A faint shifting of weight over the wooden roof shingles. It was incredibly subtle. More than one pair of feet. Far too light for a forest bear, yet too rhythmic to be falling branches. The pace was precise, constant—like the ticking of a metronome driven by cold, emotionless legs.

​Rhea’s right hand slipped silently beneath her pillow. Her slender fingers brushed the cold hilt of her favorite dagger—the one weapon she never allowed to be out of arm’s reach, even on holiday. She didn’t wake Arvid. Arvid was a man of letters; he would panic, his panic would trigger a hammering heartbeat, and ragged breathing was a luxury they couldn’t afford to waste right now.

​Rhea waited in the pitch black. Her breath was steady, her eyes quickly adjusting to the dim moonlight. The blade of death was already poised in her grip.

​CRASH!

​The window shattered inward, raining jagged shards across the floorboards.

​Three dark silhouettes burst through the frame in unison. Their armor was a matte, light-absorbing black, topped with full-face helmets that sealed away their features. In their hands, the barrels of low-pressure steam rifles hissed softly—Ssssshhh...—releasing vapor that smelled of grease and hot iron. They landed in a tactical crouch, moving with no sound other than the squeak of rubber soles on hardwood.

​Yet, Rhea was already gone from the bed.

​The first soldier had barely begun to straighten his posture when Rhea’s shadow swept in from the flank. Silent as a ghost, her dagger lunged forward, finding the narrow gap between the collar of the helmet and the neck guard of the breastplate.

​Thwick!

​A flawless, unimpeded plunge. The soldier collapsed instantly, choked before he could even gasp. Fresh, dark blood pooled across the wooden floor, shimmering under the faint oil lamp light spilling from the corridor.

​The second soldier reacted on pure instinct. He raised his rifle barrel, releasing a high-velocity steam projectile that hissed past Rhea’s ear, splintering the wooden wall behind her. Rhea didn’t retreat to evade. Instead, she lunged forward, closing the distance until the long-barreled weapon lost its sweeping angle.

​With a spin that was as graceful as it was lethal, the dagger in Rhea’s left hand—drawn in the blink of an eye—slashed across the enemy’s wrist. The tendons severed instantly. The steam rifle slipped from his grasp, hitting the floor with a heavy clatter. As the soldier opened his mouth beneath his visor to scream, Rhea’s blade had already driven deep through his throat.

​Two dead in mere seconds.

​But the third soldier was no fool. He didn’t attempt to engage a target as blindingly fast as Rhea. His eyes behind the dark visor swept the room and locked onto another target in the corner. The wicker crib. Ana began to squirm, woken by the chiming of shattered glass.

​The soldier took a rapid stride toward the crib, his steam rifle aimed dead at the baby.

​Arvid bolted upright.

​He was no knight. He was just a scholar who had spent half his life in the quiet depths of archives, reading dusty manuscripts and translating dead symbols. He had never held a sword, let alone taken a life. He didn’t even know how to properly clench his hand into a fist.

​But when his eyes caught the silhouette of black armor moving toward his baby girl, instinct overrode every shred of rational thought. His body moved on its own.

​”DON’T YOU TOUCH HER!”

​Thud!

​Arvid threw himself from the bed, standing bolt upright directly in front of Ana’s crib. His arms spread wide, shielding her with his entire body. His knees shook violently, his teeth chattering—not from rage, but from pure, raw terror that threatened to paralyze his joints. Yet, he did not budge a single millimeter. He chose to be a shield of flesh.

​The soldier was cold. He instantly leveled his steam rifle at Arvid’s chest. His finger began to squeeze the trigger.

​BANG!

​The door was kicked off its hinges.

​Mira burst in like a gale of wind. Her standard-issue dagger—the signature weapon of the Nightshade Sentinels, identical to Rhea’s—flew through the air, burying itself three inches deep into the third soldier’s nape before his finger could finish pulling the trigger. The soldier collapsed in a violent spasm, warm blood spraying across the edge of Ana’s sheepskin blanket.

​”APOLOGIES, MY LADY!” Mira panted, her chest heaving rapidly. ”They came through our roof as well. We neutralized two, but there are far more downstairs!”

​Rhea gave a swift nod, wasting no words. She stepped to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out a small-caliber magitech pistol—a easily concealed defensive weapon—slipping it into her waistband. ”Where is Ren?”

​”Holding the corridor.”

​”Arvid,” Rhea turned to her husband. The man was still standing frozen in front of Ana’s crib, his entire frame trembling like a leaf in a storm. ”Can you hear me?”

​Arvid swallowed with great difficulty. Gulp. ”I... yes. Yes, I’m safe. I’m okay.”

​”Good.” Rhea stepped closer, patting his shoulder gently to anchor him. ”Mira, get Ana to the hot springs in the back. The stone pool will serve as a solid defensive choke point. Have Ren guard the two of you there.”

​”And you?” Arvid asked, his eyes wide with worry.

​Rhea stopped at the shattered threshold, her eyes flashing with a predatory chill. ”I need to find out who was foolish enough to ruin my vacation.”

​The inn’s corridor was dim and oppressive. The wall-mounted oil lamps flickered, casting warped shadows across the pine walls. Some sections of the hallway had gone completely dark from the fighting.

​Ren was already drenched in blood.

​Two corpses of the Iron Empire’s soldiers lay near his feet—one dead with a dagger driven through his eye socket, the other still twitching in his death throes with a torn chest. But the area wasn’t secure. Two fresh, heavily armored soldiers were pressing Ren from the stairs and the corridor bend.

​Rhea materialized like a ghost from the shadows behind one of the attackers. Without hesitation, she raised her magitech pistol.

​Crack!

​A single shot fired at point-blank range. The energy projectile struck the narrow seam of the target’s helmet. The soldier dropped instantly. Ren seized the opening flawlessly, spinning to bury his blade deep into the second opponent’s neck.

​”They aren’t just attacking this floor,” Ren said between ragged breaths. The left sleeve of his uniform was torn, revealing a long gash from steam shrapnel that dripped steady crimson. ”I hear noise from below. It’s highly organized. They are clearing this inn room by room.”

​Rhea sharpened her senses. From the floor below, the faint, heavy stamp of armored boots echoed—far too orderly for common brigands. There were no screams for help. Only the sound of doors being kicked in, followed by a cold silence.

​”A clean sweep,” Rhea murmured, her eyes narrowing cruelly.

​Mira emerged from the room in a tactical low crouch, cradling a crying Ana against her chest. Arvid followed close behind, his face pale as death, though he forced his steps to remain steady. In his right hand, he clutched The Oral History of the Plains Tribes—not as a weapon, but as the sole anchor for his sanity while his world dissolved into a slaughterhouse.

​”Take them through the back stairs,” Rhea commanded coldly. ”Ren, you escort them. Ensure none of these rats get near the pool.”

​”Understood, My Lady.” Ren nodded firmly, ignoring the sting in his arm.

​Arvid looked at his wife with deep anxiety. ”You’re... you’re going to face them alone?”

​”No,” Rhea stared straight toward the end of the dark corridor. ”They are the ones who are alone against me.”

​At the end of the corridor, standing atop the landing of the stairs, a woman stood tall.

​Her black hair was cut short to her shoulders, framing a sharp, angular face. Her left eye was sealed shut by a thick black bandage—an old scar that had dried years ago. But her open right eye radiated the absolute sharpness of an apex predator locking onto its prey. Her armor differed from that of the standard soldiers; it was sleeker, gleaming with an elegant, pitch-black material, and she wore no helmet. She chose to let her face be seen. She wanted to be feared.

​Draped in her hands were two precisely crafted, short-barreled steam pistols.

​Katarina.

​Neither woman moved immediately. They stood in the quiet of the corridor, which now smelled of copper blood and hot steam residue. Their gazes locked, measuring the depth of each other’s strength.

​”You’re no local Beast-kin,” Katarina spoke first. Her voice was low, calm, devoid of excess inflection—the tone of a commander accustomed to issuing death sentences.

​”And you don’t look like a local tourist,” Rhea replied coldly.

​Katarina glanced briefly at the twin daggers in Rhea’s hands, then at the small pistol in her waistband. ”A pair of daggers and a toy gun? You expect to fight the Iron Empire’s legion with those?”

​”More than enough to clean out the trash.”

​”You slaughtered my men with remarkable efficiency,” Katarina said, showing no anger or grief over her losses. She was merely stating a tactical analysis. ”That is... rather rude of an foreign guest.”

​”They tried to touch my daughter.”

​A momentary pause. Katarina stared deep into Rhea’s eyes. This time, her cold expression shifted—a strange curiosity flickered there, as if she had just found an intriguing chess piece on an otherwise boring board.

​”Daughter...” Katarina murmured. ”Ah. So you’re a mother under threat.”

​Rhea remained silent, shifting her daggers into a low guard.

​”I have no interest in slaughtering infants,” Katarina said flatly. ”Withdraw from this inn. This is not your battlefield, foreigner.”

​”I was enjoying my vacation. And you just ruined it.”

​Katarina’s lips curved into a thin, harrowing smirk. ”A vacation? In a place that will soon be reduced to ash? You are a fascinating woman.” She tilted her head slightly, observing the faint flow of mana around Rhea. ”You possess dense mana. No ordinary mage. Your body radiates a heavy crimson hue... intriguing.”

​The short-haired woman shifted her stance, her black metal armor emitting a soft, scraping sound.

​”But this armor of mine was custom-built to crush people like you.”

​Rhea didn’t give her the chance to finish her boast.

​With a flick of her wrist, the dagger in Rhea’s right hand flew through the air—not toward Katarina’s chest, but directly at the last oil lamp hanging from the ceiling.

​CRASH!

​Absolute darkness swallowed the corridor.

​Katarina didn’t panic. Instead, a low chuckle echoed through the quiet hallway. ”Excellent.”

​The close-quarters clash exploded.

​Katarina opened the engagement with a dual blast from her steam pistols. Pure kinetic projectiles tore through the dark, obliterating the wooden wall where Rhea had stood a heartbeat before. Rhea had already moved—sliding low across the wet floor, closing the distance in a flash. Her left dagger flashed, her right pistol ready to fire.

​Crack!

​Rhea’s counter-shot targeted Katarina’s head. Katarina tilted her head by reflex, the magitech bullet grazing her ear until blood welled. ”High-velocity projectile weapons? Heh, you are full of surprises!”

​”I don’t care much for talking.”

​Rhea was already upon her. Her left dagger moved like lightning, targeting the armor’s weak points—the neck seams, the armpits, and behind the knees. But Katarina was a veteran. Her movements were tactical and efficient, each step locking her balance perfectly. She fought like a well-programmed war machine—cold, ruthless, without hesitation.

​Rhea unleashed a pulse of her Scarlet Aura—a blood-red mental pressure capable of buckling an enemy’s knees and paralyzing their nerves in seconds.

​Yet Katarina didn’t even blink.

​”Your armor...” Rhea realized something. The pressure of her aura was having no effect. The flow of Scarlet energy she released was being sucked directly into the black plates of Katarina’s armor, vanishing like water poured onto desert sand.

​”Layered anti-mana plating,” Katarina hissed proudly. ”Designed specifically to hunt arrogant fools like you. Mana users always rely too heavily on their mystical energies. That is what makes you weak when facing our technology.”

​Rhea didn’t waste her breath arguing. She immediately shifted her attack pattern—no more aura manipulation or mana tricks. Pure speed. The high-level physical assassination techniques she had honed for years in the dark. A true assassin never ran out of options just because one tool failed.

​Sret! Sret!

​The two women slashed at each other in the dark.

​One of Katarina’s steam projectiles grazed Rhea’s left shoulder, tearing through her nightgown and slicing the skin until warm blood began to coat her arm. At the same time, the tip of Rhea’s dagger managed to slip beneath the edge of Katarina’s breastplate—just under her left ribs. A swift, shallow cut, but enough to make her opponent hiss in pain.

​Blood from both women began to drip, staining the corridor floor.

​Suddenly, from outside the inn, a low-pitched steam whistle blew—two short blasts, one long. The signal for retreat.

​Katarina slowly lowered her pistols. ”Ah... what a pity. My time here is up.”

​Rhea didn’t force a pursuit. Her breathing was controlled, though the wound on her shoulder burned. Her dagger remained pointed steadily forward.

​”We will surely meet again on the road,” Katarina said, taking a slow step back toward the stairs, her movements light despite the blood dripping from her ribs.

​”If you can still draw breath by then,” Rhea replied coldly.

​Katarina paused for a heartbeat on the first step, her single eye gleaming with intense interest. ”What is your name, lady of the red aura?”

​Rhea remained as silent as a gravestone.

​”Hmm.” Katarina offered a thin smile. ”See you in the next sea of fire.”

​Her shadow melted into the darkness of the lower stairs. Her footsteps faded, replaced by the rapid march of her troops leaving the inn toward the pine forest. Dawn slowly broke on the eastern horizon, sending a pale gray light into the quiet, blood-slicked corridor.

​Rhea walked back to the stone bath area behind the inn.

​The natural hot spring pool still sent up plumes of warm white steam, exactly as it had yesterday afternoon when they were enjoying the peace. But now, that beauty was marred by blood spatters on the stone floor and three stiff corpses of the Iron Empire’s soldiers piled near the pool entrance.

​Arvid sat leaning against the stone wall, holding Ana tightly to his chest. The baby had stopped crying, though her round eyes were still wet with tears as her tiny fingers clutched his rumpled collar. Mira stood tall in front of them, dagger still poised, while Ren sat on a stone bench, bandaging his left arm with a torn piece of blanket.

​”They’ve retreated,” Rhea said softly, sheathing her dagger.

​”Two wounded on our side. No casualties,” Ren reported briefly.

​Rhea nodded in relief. She approached Arvid and looked down at her daughter, who stared back with innocent, wide eyes. ”Are the two of you okay?”

​”Yes,” Arvid’s voice still held a tremor, but his eyes radiated immense relief at seeing Rhea intact. ”But... your shoulder is badly hurt, Rhea.”

​”Just a scratch.”

​”A scratch doesn’t soak your nightgown in that much blood,” Arvid protested, his voice rising an octave.

​”It’s a slightly deep scratch,” Rhea replied calmly.

​Arvid could only let out a resigned sigh, a bitter but gentle smile gracing his tired face. ”You truly never change.”

​”I know.”

​Rhea sat beside her husband, letting her body lean against the warm stone of the pool. She stared at the steaming water—the same water that had triggered Ana’s first genuine laugh yesterday. Now, that warmth was gone, replaced by a chilling silence.

​”Who were they, Rhea?” Arvid asked quietly.

​”An elite legion of the Iron Empire.”

​Arvid flinched, his face turning paler. ”The Iron Empire? How did they penetrate this deep into Khanate territory? What is their objective?”

​”That is what we must find out.”

​The sky grew brighter in the east. The warm orange light of dawn began to filter through the pine branches, illuminating the bloodstains on the stone floor and the weary faces of those who had just survived the longest night of their holiday.

​”Our vacation... seems to be officially over, doesn’t it?” Arvid asked with a forced, lighthearted tone.

​Rhea looked at her husband. ”I’m sorry, Arvid.”

​”Don’t apologize,” Arvid shook his head and touched her hand gently. ”You gave me three days of precious peace with you both. That is more than enough.”

​Rhea didn’t answer with words, but the corner of her mouth lifted by a single millimeter—a rare smile reserved solely for him. She stood, took a roll of clean bandages from Mira’s medical bag, and began to wrap the wound on her shoulder with highly practiced movements.

​”We move as soon as the sun is up,” Rhea said firmly. ”There are a few places in this town I must inspect myself.”

​Arvid didn’t ask what she wanted to check. He had been with her long enough to know that when Rhea said she needed to ”inspect something,” it meant there was a conspiracy or a major threat that had to be unraveled before it was too late.

​Outside the inn, Spring Town was swallowed by an unnatural silence. No sounds of merchants, no laughter of Beast-Kin children. Only the hiss of the cold wind, carrying the sharp scent of iron rust and blood from the open, empty homes of the vanished residents.

​Rhea stared out the window at the silent town under the morning light.

​And she knew for certain—their peace had officially ended.