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

​THUD. THUD. THUD.

​The heavy echo of steel-plated boots reverberated down the stone stairs. Their rhythm was orderly and immensely oppressive, generating a low vibration that crawled straight into Roland’s solar plexus. This was clearly not the lazy stroll of low-ranking prison wardens.

​They emerged from the shadows.

​Three figures clad in blindingly pristine white armor, complete with silver sun emblems engraved on their left breasts. Their postures were towering and resolute, their body language leaving absolutely no room for hesitation. These were the true heralds of death—the Church’s Paladins.

​The first Paladin, taking the vanguard, slightly opened his palm. Whoosh. A small fireball flared to life instantly, glowing orange and radiating intense heat through the cramped corridor. Fire Attribute.

​The second Paladin casually twitched his fingers, and miniature cyclones began to swirl around his body, making his holy white cape flutter constantly. Wind Attribute.

​The third Paladin—the most massive among them—stood perfectly still. Yet, every time the tip of his boot touched the ground, the stone floor beneath him trembled faintly, as if the earth itself submitted to his presence. Earth Attribute.

​The Fire Paladin crouched swiftly near the body of the warden Dom had incapacitated earlier. He pressed two fingers against the warden’s carotid artery.

​”Still breathing,” he reported, his voice as deep as a well and completely devoid of intonation. ”Forced unconsciousness.”

​The Wind Paladin immediately narrowed his eyes beneath his visor, scanning the darkness of the hallway. ”We have rats. Sweep this corridor clean.”

​Roland—currently pressed tight against the wall in the dark corner of the corridor along with his team—instantly raised a clenched fist into the air. A silent command: Freeze. Nobody breathe.

​Noctis leaned in close to Roland’s ear. ”I’ll break their formation,” he whispered so softly it was barely a breath. ”The bulky one—the Earth attribute—he’s a living nightmare to fight in a cramped underground space like this.”

​”Why?”

​”Because if he decides to collapse this tunnel for fun, we’re all going to become fossils down here.”

​Roland furrowed his brow. ”You’re going in alone?”

​Noctis merely smirked. The mischievous, street-rat grin that Roland had already memorized by heart. ”Heh. I’ve made a living escaping from people trying to behead me.”

​Before Roland could even extend a hand to grab his shoulder, Noctis had already melted seamlessly into the shadows of the wall. Vanishing without a trace.

​One second passed. CLACK!

​The sharp sound of a pebble forcefully bouncing off the stone echoed from the intersection at the right end of the corridor.

​”Over there!” the Wind Paladin shouted, his head snapping toward the sound.

​Without a word, the Earth Paladin surged forward. His steps were incredibly heavy, yet his acceleration was terrifying. The Wind Paladin immediately shadowed him. The two white silhouettes vanished around the corner, hunting the auditory manipulation trail Noctis had left behind.

​Now... only one remained. The Fire Paladin.

​The holy knight stood rigidly in front of the access stairs, blocking their only exit. The fireball in his palm still burned brightly, illuminating the immediate vicinity.

​Roland shot a glance at Dom. The giant gave a slow nod.

​Without making the slightest sound of friction, Dom handed the barrel of his Gauss Rifle to Naya. The lethal firearm could not be used here. A single pull of the trigger, and the sonic boom would awaken every single resident in the tower.

​Dom stepped forward into the dim light. One step. Two steps. Three steps.

​His movements were almost ghost-like, but the Fire Paladin suddenly snapped his head toward him. His combat instincts were hyper-sensitive.

​”Who goes th—!”

​WHOOSH!

​A high-speed fireball shot straight for Dom’s face. Dom calmly tilted his head to the left—the searing sphere hissed past his ear and slammed into the stone wall behind him. BAM! Glowing embers of shattered rock sprayed into the air.

​The Fire Paladin didn’t waste a second. His hands chanted again. A second fireball materialized instantly. But Dom had no intention of giving him room to breathe.

​The giant closed the distance in two long strides. Shing! A transparent grey physical Aura—condensed so densely it was practically invisible—erupted, cloaking Dom’s entire body. Sharpening every muscle fiber to its absolute zenith.

​The second fireball was unleashed from point-blank range.

​This time, Dom didn’t dodge. He simply angled his shoulder slightly, letting the fireball violently graze his left arm.

​Sssss... The metallic stench of charred flesh and burning fabric instantly permeated the air. Yet, Dom didn’t even blink. He didn’t groan. His stride didn’t slow by a fraction of a millimeter. He barged through the flames like a runaway locomotive of death.

​He pulled one fist back.

​THWACK!!

​Dom’s aura-clad fist slammed squarely into the center of the Fire Paladin’s chest, right beneath the ribs. The holy white steel armor didn’t shatter into pieces, but the shockwave of the Aura transfer bypassed the metal entirely, striking directly at the Paladin’s heart and internal organs.

​The Paladin’s eyes bulged as if ready to pop out of their sockets. The fireball in his hand extinguished instantly. The heavily armored body was launched backward, crashing into the stone wall before slumping helplessly to the floor. Unconscious.

​Dom stood over his victim’s body, his breathing perfectly regulated. His blistered left arm still gave off thin wisps of smoke, but he didn’t even bother to look at it.

​Roland hurried over. ”Your arm is scorched, Dom.”

​”It didn’t reach the bone. Merely a flesh wound,” Dom replied flatly.

​Before the brief exchange could conclude, a strange, crackling static sounded. Kssshk... kssshk... Not from the stairs, but from the temple of the fallen Fire Paladin. A miniature communication crystal was affixed to the knight’s ear.

​”South Sector breached! Warning! Massive assault at the Capital’s South Gate! All reserve Paladin units converge immediately! This is not a dri—”

​Crack. The panicked voice was cut off. The crystal fractured and died, likely damaged when the Paladin was slammed into the wall.

​But the crucial message had been delivered.

​Roland turned to look at Dom. Dom returned the gaze.

​”Lobrecht,” Roland whispered, the corners of his lips ticking upward. ”He truly kept his word. The show has begun.”

​”My Lord! Over here, quickly. Look at this.”

​Naya, who was already on standby in front of Rianor’s steel cell door, waved her hand. Her index finger pointed to the corner of the faintly glowing blue Mana Lock plate.

​Roland hurried over. At the spot Naya pointed out, there was an anomaly. A hairline fracture. It was as thin as a strand of hair, but undeniably present. And judging from the outward-pushing pattern of the crack... this wasn’t deterioration from age. It was the unmistakable trace of brute force applied from the inside.

​Roland pressed his palm against the ice-cold steel surface. You tried to break out from the inside all by yourself, didn’t you, Brother? he thought softly.

​There was no time for sentimentality. Roland reached to his waist and drew a slender dagger. He wedged the sharp tip of the blade directly into the fissure of the Mana Lock.

​Scrape. He twisted it forcefully, applying maximum leverage.

​Bzzzt! The metal plate protested. It vibrated violently, its blue glow flickering erratically as its mana circuitry was mechanically compromised. The crack widened.

​CLICK! The satisfying sound of the steel deadbolt disengaging echoed. The heavy door slid open a few centimeters.

​Instantly, the putrid stench of dried blood, stale sweat, and infected wounds assaulted Roland’s nose.

​The cell room behind the door was overwhelmingly dark, illuminated only by a moldy candle whose flame was on the verge of dying. And amidst that gloom, shackled to a stone chair carved directly out of the floor... sat Rianor Sudrath.

​His condition was absolutely deplorable. His typically stoic face was now painted with purple bruises. The corner of his lip was split and bleeding. His temple was gashed. But the most horrifying sight was his left arm; the skin was severely blistered, charred to a blackened red, with the edges of the wound weeping pus.

​Yet... the man’s grey eyes remained wide open. Staring sharply. Looking straight ahead as if physical agony were nothing more than a mere illusion.

​”Tch. You’re late.” Rianor’s voice was incredibly hoarse and raspy, sounding like two rough stones grinding against each other.

​Roland froze at the threshold of the cell. It felt as if his heart had been violently yanked from his chest.

​For the very first time in the history of the silver-tongued diplomat’s life, Roland was at a complete loss for words. The entire script of scenarios, explanatory speeches, and simple apologies he had neatly arranged in his head completely evaporated upon seeing his brother tied up like livestock.

​Seeing his younger brother just standing there mute, Rianor broke the silence again. ”Are you just going to stand there gawking like an idiot?”

​Roland swallowed hard. Gulp. ”Sorry,” Roland said. His voice came out far more fragile and quiet than he had intended. ”The Capital traffic was quite congested.”

​Rianor looked up slowly. His eyes scanned Roland’s face, traveled down to his filthy, dust-covered cloak, and stopped at the splatter of blood on the sleeve of his brother’s coat.

​And slowly... the corner of Rianor’s split lip... ticked upward by a fraction of a millimeter.

​”I calculated the probabilities. I knew you would come.”

​Naya and Dom didn’t waste a single second. They rushed in, using their daggers to pry open the heavy chain pins shackling Rianor’s wrists and ankles. Clang! Clatter! Every time the heavy metal was removed, Rianor let out a stifled groan. His wrists were severely chafed, raw down to the flesh.

​Roland stepped forward, ready to support him. ”Can you still walk, Brother?”

​Rianor forced his stiff legs to support his body weight. His knees shook violently, but he refused to collapse. ”Even if I have to crawl... I will crawl my way out of this filthy hole.”

​From the dark shadows at the end of the outer corridor, Noctis suddenly materialized.

​The assassin was panting heavily. A long gash ran down his left arm, leaking fresh blood onto the stone floor—the souvenir of a wind blade.

​”There are... too many of them!” Noctis reported rapidly.

​”How many reinforcements are coming down?” Roland demanded.

​”I don’t know, maybe dozens. They’re descending the stairs from the upper floors!”

​Everyone turned in unison toward the main stairs. The echoing stampede of steel boots, far more thunderous than before, began bouncing off the stairwell walls. THUD THUD THUD THUD.

​”Damn it, the main stair access is blocked. We can’t go up the way we came,” Roland cursed, his brain spinning for a Plan B.

​”There is an alternative route.”

​All heads turned. The voice belonged to Rianor. The man was currently leaning weakly against the corridor wall, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting the situation.

​”You know a secret exit?”

​”I calculated everything when those bastards dragged me down to this place,” Rianor stated flatly through heavy breaths. ”I heard the sound of flowing water from behind the north wall of my cell. That means there’s an ancient drainage sewer directly bordering the tower wall. And I spotted a rusted access door at the end of this corridor when they brought me in.”

​Roland, Dom, and Naya stared dumbfounded at the battered man.

​”Wait a minute,” Roland muttered in disbelief. ”You... you casually calculated the architectural blueprint of this building and mapped the drainage access... while you were being tortured?!”

​”I had nothing more productive to do with my brain while tied to that chair,” Rianor replied cynically.

​Roland nearly burst into roaring laughter at his brother’s sheer arrogance. Almost. He could only shake his head slowly.

​”Excellent,” Roland spun around immediately. ”We move. To the end of the hall, now!”

​Rianor led the way with dragging steps, supported by Dom at his side. The man pointed straight toward a small iron door plate whose color blended seamlessly into the mossy wall in the blindest corner.

​”There.”

​Dom surged forward and battered the rusted door open with a single shoulder charge. Crash! The door was unlocked.

​A gust of wind carrying the putrid stench of wet soil and sewage greeted them, yet to their noses in that moment... it smelled more refreshing than the most expensive perfume. It was the scent of freedom.

​They slipped inside one by one. Dom entered last, sealing the rusted door tight behind them.

​Behind them, the echoing stampede of dozens of Paladin steel boots swarming the cell corridor slowly faded, isolated by the thick stone wall.

​They finally crawled out from the end of the drainage pipe on the outer perimeter of Magniora Tower’s defensive wall.

​On the northern horizon, thick, dense plumes of black smoke billowed high, staining the Capital’s sky. Faintly, the echoes of clashing swords, AoE magic explosions, and hysterical war cries sounded as horrifying as a doomsday choir.

​Lobrecht’s diversion was a massive success. The Church’s forces were being battered mercilessly.

​Roland stared at the rows of rooftops around them. In some blind spot up there, he knew Arcelia was watching them through her long-range sights.

​Roland raised his hand straight into the air, flashing a tactical hand signal. Primary objective complete.

​Swoosh! A few seconds later, a streak of green Aura arrow sliced through the sky from the roof of an empty temple, then faded into the air. Confirmation signal received.

​Roland lowered his hand, then turned to look at Rianor, who was leaning thirstily against the alley wall. Rianor stared back at him.

​”And? What is your next brilliant plan?”

​”We need to return to the warehouse on the outskirts immediately. Adul and Eva are still there. They must be going insane with worry waiting for us.”

​Rianor nodded slowly. However, his gaze drifted far across the city rooftops. Toward the plumes of black smoke at the South Gate, where Lobrecht and the forces of the Pagan Order were bleeding out against thousands of elite Church knights.

​”And after that... then what?” Rianor murmured.

​Roland followed his brother’s line of sight. His ice-cold eyes now radiated a resolve as hard as diamonds.

​”After that...” Roland whispered softly, yet his tone was lethal. ”...we march to the Grand Cathedral. And we will burn their history to the ground.”