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

​A thin, freezing dawn mist still clung tightly to the ruins of Geisterstadt as Team One made their move.

​The five of them—Roland, Dom, Naya, Noctis, and Arcelia—slipped out through the cracked stone gates without making the slightest sound. On the other side of the city, Lobrecht and hundreds of his troops remained on standby in absolute silence. That team would follow with exactly a one-hour delay—just enough time for this infiltration squad to reach the Capital’s blind spots before the bombs of chaos were detonated.

​The trek across the barren, rocky desert consumed nearly four hours.

​As the sun began to crawl upward and the silhouette of the Capital’s alabaster walls finally broke the horizon, Noctis abruptly raised a clenched fist. The signal to halt.

​”Shh... this way,” Noctis whispered, pointing to a dark recess perfectly concealed behind a massive rock formation. ”The underground route.”

​They entered one by one. The mouth of the hole was incredibly narrow—Dom’s broad shoulders had to scrape harshly against the stone wall—but once past the choke point, the tunnel immediately widened.

​It was a drainage sewer. The walls were constructed from damp, cracked bricks coated in thick moss. The pungent stench of wet earth, rotting moss, and iron rust instantly slapped their senses. Slosh. Filthy water pooled ankle-deep in certain sections, reflecting the dim glow of a marble-sized mana crystal held in Noctis’s hand.

​”I’ve slipped in and out of this putrid route dozens of times,” Noctis whispered casually, his voice as light as if he were discussing breakfast. ”Follow my steps. Don’t just step anywhere. There are spots where the floor is severely corroded—you definitely don’t want to plunge into a deeper sewage trench.”

​Noctis deliberately glanced back, eyeing Dom. ”No offense, Big Guy. Just worried about your weight class.”

​Dom merely returned an ice-cold, deathly glare. He didn’t say a word.

​They resumed their movement in silence.

​The tunnel twisted like a giant intestine. Sometimes narrowing so extremely they were forced to crawl through the filth, sometimes widening as expansively as a cavern. Noctis took point. Roland shadowed directly behind him, followed by Naya, with Dom securing the rear guard as their walking fortress.

​Arcelia was no longer with them. The archer had chosen to separate at the mouth of the cave, bounding nimbly toward the hills on the Capital’s eastern flank.

​”I’ll scale the high ground and find a blind spot,” the girl had said before leaving, tapping the hilt of her aura bow. ”Once you’re inside, I will cut vocal contact. But trust me, my eyes will be on you the entire time. If you get trapped out there... I will rip open an exit for you.”

​Roland committed that promise to memory in silence.

​Ssh! Mid-way through the stifling tunnel, Noctis suddenly lowered his posture. His hand shot up again.

​Everyone reflexively froze in place.

​”Patrol right above us,” Noctis whispered almost soundlessly.

​They held their breath and strained their ears. Sure enough, through the thick brick ceiling directly above their heads, the echo of footsteps could be heard.

​Clack. Clack. Clack. The sound was orderly, heavy, with a military cadence. Metal-plated boots. Clearly a squad of Church knight-wardens. The sound moved steadily from left to right, slowly fading, then swallowed by the distance.

​”Frequency is every thirty minutes,” Noctis whispered, checking his pocket watch. ”We need to hustle if we don’t want to get caught in their rhythm.”

​They waited an extra five seconds to be absolutely sure, then moved out rapidly.

​Two hours passed underground. Roland’s knees and back began to throb with a dull ache from crouching so often, but his mouth refused to complain. At the vanguard, Noctis was still leaping and maneuvering with the exact same perfect stamina as when they had first set out.

​Noctis’s steps finally halted in front of a set of mossy stone stairs leading upward. ”We’ve reached the entrance.”

​They ascended slowly, minimizing the scuffing of their boots. At the top of the steps stood a rusted old iron door. It wasn’t an official access route; it looked more like a maintenance shaft for the drainage system that had been neglected for years.

​Noctis pushed the surface of the door gently. Creak... The sound was incredibly faint; the hinges hardly squealed at all.

​They slipped out into a pitch-black basement. The scent of dry dust immediately assaulted them. A former storage warehouse. Rotting wooden crates were scattered haphazardly across the floor.

​Faintly, from the floor above, the buzzing echo of conversations and the lazy footsteps of guards could be heard.

​Noctis turned to face Roland. ”This is where my job as your tour guide ends. In all my life, I’ve never been reckless enough to infiltrate deeper than this point.” He pointed toward a thick wooden door at the far end of the dark room. ”Behind that door is a stairwell leading directly to the lower cell blocks. I honestly have no idea what kind of monsters are waiting for you down there.”

​Roland nodded slowly, patting Noctis’s shoulder. ”This is more than enough. We’ll take over from here.”

​Roland looked back, locking eyes with his two Ghost Squad veterans. ”Are you ready?”

​Without uttering a single word, Dom yanked the slipknot on his back. Sshk. The long canvas unraveled, exposing his Gauss Rifle. Naya executed the exact same synchronized movement.

​”Ready to kill,” Naya whispered coldly.

​Roland turned his sharp gaze back to the wooden door. Behind that thick timber, somewhere in the depths of the earth’s belly, his brother was waiting to be picked up.

​”Let’s bring him home.”

​Click. The wooden door opened. They crept into a stone corridor where the temperature plummeted drastically.

​The lighting was horrendously poor. They had to rely solely on wall torches casting a dim, flickering blue fire. The hallway was incredibly narrow, barely wide enough for two people to walk shoulder-to-shoulder.

​A tactical formation was instantly established. Roland took point, Dom loomed behind him ready to fire, Naya covered the left flank, and Noctis guarded the rear blind spot.

​At the end of the corridor, a steep, spiraling stone staircase descended. Roland raised his hand, stopping right at the lip of the stairs.

​Tap... Scrape... The sound of dragging footsteps. Not from below—but from the floor of the corridor they were currently standing on. A warden patrol.

​”Shh... they haven’t realized we’re here,” Roland whispered, pressing his back against the stone wall. ”Not yet.”

​Once the footsteps faded away, they descended the stairs with extreme caution. The deeper they went, the more the air seemed to freeze their bone marrow. The smell of damp earth was now overpowered by a sickening, metallic stench.

​At the bottom of the stairs, a prison corridor stretched out, lined with solid steel-plated cell doors on both sides.

​At the far end of the hallway, a warden soldier sat on a wooden chair. He wore a filthy grey robe. His head bobbed up and down rhythmically. The warden was dozing off.

​Roland gave a two-finger tactical signal to Dom. The giant nodded.

​Dom handed his rifle to Naya and stepped forward, relying purely on brute physicality. One step, two steps, three steps—his massive frame moved as smoothly as a shadow without the slightest sound of a footfall. The warden hadn’t even processed what was happening before Dom’s giant hand clamped around the back of his neck.

​CRACK!

​One lightning-fast, surgically precise twist. The warden’s eyes bulged for a fraction of a second before his consciousness was completely snuffed out.

​Dom caught the limp body and lowered it gently onto the stone floor to avoid a thud. ”Clear,” he whispered softly.

​Given the green light, Roland moved swiftly to inspect the cell doors. His eyes peered through the small grated viewing slits on each thick door.

​Cell one: Completely empty.

​Cell two: Only a rotting mat and rusted chains on the wall.

​Cell three: Empty.

​Then, his eyes locked onto the fourth cell.

​This wasn’t a standard iron-barred door. It was forged from solid steel plating, twice as thick as the others. There was no peephole. And most strikingly, engraved upon the surface of the door handle plate was an emblem: a sun with seven sharp rays.

​Roland’s heart skipped a beat. He pressed his face close to the door and tapped softly with his knuckles. Knock. Knock.

​”Rianor...?” Roland whispered softly.

​Silence.

​One second. Two seconds.

​Then... the rustle of chains sounded from within. Followed by a hoarse, raspy voice—a voice severely damaged by extreme dehydration and torture.

​”...Roland?”

​Roland squeezed his eyes shut tight. He drew a long, deep breath into his lungs. His emotions detonated instantly within his chest. There was an overwhelming sense of relief, violently mingled with a black fury that boiled his blood.

​However, Roland was a professional diplomat. He quickly swallowed those emotions whole. This was not the time for drama.

​”Yes. I’m here,” Roland answered, his voice returning to a steady, icy calm. ”Hold on, I’m going to get you out of this coffin.”

​Roland inspected the steel door handle. His brow immediately furrowed deep. There was no metal keyhole like on a typical cell. Only a smooth plate with strange, dimly glowing engravings.

​A magic lock, he cursed inwardly.

​”Noctis. Get up here,” Roland called.

​The assassin approached, inspecting the smooth plate. His leather-gloved fingers gently touched the surface. Bzzzt... A tiny jolt of mana electricity reflexively made Noctis yank his finger back.

​”Tch, bastard. This is an automated mana seal lock,” Noctis cursed under his breath. ”The system requires a specific physical resonance key—or it needs to be cracked by a high-tier magic Caster.”

​”And? Can’t you crack it with your tools?”

​”I specialize in mechanical locks, not magic.” Noctis shook his head in frustration. ”If I recklessly force it open using physical Aura manipulation, the seal will definitely react, and the alarms for this entire tower block will howl.”

​Dom stepped forward, tightly gripping the barrel of his Gauss Rifle. ”Let me obliterate the hinges with a point-blank Gauss shot, My Lord.”

​”No. Don’t be insane,” Roland rejected instantly, pushing Dom’s weapon barrel down. ”The destructive power might be sufficient, but the acoustic echo in this underground hallway will be deafening. Every single guard on the upper floors will swarm down here in seconds.”

​”Then what are we supposed to cut it open with?!” Naya pressed, panic creeping into her voice.

​Roland stared intensely at the steel plate. His brain was forced into overdrive. There had to be a way. There had to be a loophole in this stupid system. He just needed to think like Rianor for a second. Come on, think—

​THUD. THUD. THUD.

​Something suddenly froze the blood in all their veins.

​It was the echoing sound of heavy footsteps descending the main stairs. Not just one person. Many. And judging by the weight of the steps vibrating the stone floor...

​Noctis’s eyes widened in horror. He snapped his head toward the darkness at the end of the stairs. ”Damn it... those aren’t regular guards. Those are Paladins.”

​Roland froze. His eyes darted to the seal plate on Rianor’s cell, still locked tight. Then shifted toward the stairwell where the sound of death was growing louder. Finally, he looked at Dom and Naya, who had already raised their Gauss Rifles, ready to execute whoever emerged from the darkness.

​THUD. THUD. THUD. The heavy footsteps were now only five steps away from their cell block.

​”Damn it,” Roland cursed.