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

​Fwoosh...

​The raging inferno boiled over, viciously licking the courtyards of the Grand Cathedral.

​Pyrrhus pressed his assault without an ounce of mercy. Both his palms spewed waves of extreme heat, turning the surrounding air into a colossal furnace. The pristine white marble tiles around him blistered terribly, cracking and turning pitch-black from the scorching temperatures.

​Beside him, Orion marched forward steadily. Every heavy step of his steel boots sent deep tremors through the ground, spiderwebbing new fissures across the once-sacred plaza.

​CLANG!

​Dom was forced back, losing ground.

​The broad blade of his greatsword was already blackened and corroded near the tip—the inevitable result of repeatedly smashing it directly into Pyrrhus’s firewalls and Orion’s stone pillars.

​Bzzzt... Bzzzt...

​The mechanical exoskeletons bolted to his legs occasionally spat stray sparks, emitting the faint, acrid stench of fried circuits. The mobility aids were technically still functional, but every jump Dom made now felt ten times heavier. It was violently draining the last of his physical reserves.

​In the shadows of the marble pillars, Naya’s silhouette flickered in and out of existence at random intervals.

​Her optical camouflage cloak worked with terrifying precision—flawlessly refracting the ambient light around her, blending the outline of her body into the elongated shadows of the Cathedral’s columns.

​Snikt!

​A lightning-fast thrust from Naya’s dagger managed to score a deep gash on Orion’s muscular arm. But it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough to bring down the Earth Arcanum Master.

​Orion grunted harshly. His eyes swept the perimeter with an ice-cold glare. ”That woman... she’s moving using a light-bending artifact.”

​”Tch! So what?!” Pyrrhus spat to the side. Ptooey. ”I don’t give a damn if she’s using heretical toys or holy magic! I will scorch every square inch of this ground until she turns to ash!”

​”Stay calm,” Orion replied flatly. ”That girl is bound to pop up again for a backstab. And the moment she moves—”

​Dom refused to give them any breathing room to strategize.

​Pushing the remaining thrust of his leg exoskeletons to the limit, he launched himself forward. He swung his greatsword in a devastating horizontal arc—aiming dead for Orion’s neck. Orion reflexively raised both his stone-coated arms to block, but Dom miraculously altered the trajectory of his slash mid-swing.

​SWOOSH!

​Dom’s blade cleaved through empty air, smashing violently into the marble floor right at Pyrrhus’s feet. BAM! The kinetic shockwave forced the Fire Master to jump back a step to maintain his distance.

​It was enough. Dom landed with a heavy, ragged breath, his chest heaving violently.

​He threw a rapid glance over his left shoulder—directing his gaze toward the peak of the Cathedral’s left wing pillar. Up there, Naya had just finished her climb. Her active camo made her body nearly indistinguishable from the twilight sky, but Dom knew exactly where she was.

​Dom raised his left hand to chest level. Two fingers pointed up, then closed into a solid fist.

​High altitude. One final slug.

​Up above, Naya responded with a single, minuscule nod. The next second, her physical form vanished entirely—scaling even higher, crawling to secure the ultimate sniper’s nest on the Cathedral’s roof.

​Pyrrhus sneered sadistically at Naya’s disappearance. ”Hah! Did your little rat finally decide to run away in fear? Already tired of looking for death?”

​Dom didn’t entertain the cheap provocation. He simply focused on regulating his suffocating breath, then raised his greatsword back into a solid stance.

​His current objective was incredibly simple: Survive, and herd the two monsters in front of him into a precise, perfectly straight line.

​Dom stepped firmly out into the open—planting himself right on the center axis of the Cathedral stairs. A position that, in military theory, was tantamount to voluntary suicide.

​Spotting the fatal opening, Pyrrhus and Orion immediately charged forward in unison. The boiling flames in Pyrrhus’s palms surged twice as large. The tremors beneath Orion’s feet rolled violently.

​The two of them moved parallel to each other.

​At the peak of the Cathedral, Naya was already prone, locking in her sniper stance. The crystal lenses of her tactical goggles began projecting rows of digital data—calculating firing range, deviation angle, wind draft speed, and target acceleration.

​Pyrrhus was now positioned directly behind Orion. Two Arcanum Masters, perfectly aligned in a single, linear trajectory. One final bullet.

​Naya took a deep breath, holding it in her lungs. Her finger slowly wrapped around the trigger of the Gauss Rifle.

​”For Northreach...” she whispered softly.

​Click. She pulled the trigger.

​There was no deafening roar of gunpowder. Just an ultra-smooth magnetic whine—vwuuunggg—followed by a faint blue flash that instantly dissipated into thin air. The electromagnetic projectile tore through the atmosphere at hypersonic speed, crossing the two-hundred-meter gap with zero resistance.

​CRUNCH!

​The lethal slug slammed dead-center into the right shoulder of Orion’s stone armor.

​Fresh blood erupted instantly. Orion staggered heavily forward, his jaw dropping open in sheer agony, yet not a single scream could escape his paralyzed throat.

​The kinetic thrust of the electromagnetic round didn’t stop there. The projectile continued its savage trajectory—shredding muscle, pulverizing Orion’s shoulder blade—before bursting out through his back and burying itself deep into the side of Pyrrhus’s waist right behind him.

​”AAARRRGGGHHH!”

​Pyrrhus roared hysterically.

​It wasn’t a normal scream of pain. It was a potent mix of excruciating physical agony and profound psychological shock. The raging flames on both his arms flickered wildly, nearly dying out completely, before violently reigniting with a highly unstable intensity.

​”W-What kind of curse... was that...?!” Orion clutched his right shoulder, which now bore a horrifying, gaping hole. Warm blood cascaded freely between his trembling fingers.

​Orion’s eyes widened in sheer bewilderment. He frantically scanned the plaza. There was no mana fluctuation. No incoming energy arrows. Not a single enemy in sight. ”A physical attack... completely untraceable... how can a deranged weapon like this even exist?!”

​”WHO?! WHICH BASTARD DARED TO SHOOT ME?!” Pyrrhus spun around wildly, glaring up toward the roof. The left side of his waist was completely drenched in thick, crimson blood. ”Show yourself, you coward!”

​The two elemental lords were completely blind to what had just torn their bodies apart.

​Down below the stairs, Naya had already slid down in total silence. She landed smoothly right beside Dom, her camo cloak still refracting the ambient light. The Gauss Rifle on her back was now nothing more than a powerless hunk of scrap metal. But that didn’t matter. Her grand objective for today had been executed flawlessly.

​Before Dom could even open his mouth to commend her, the double doors of the Cathedral behind them were suddenly pulled open from the inside.

​Clack.

​Roland stepped out first. Behind him, Rianor was practically being dragged, heavily supported by Eva. Adul trailed behind them, hugging the comms box tightly to his chest.

​Dom snapped his head back, his eyes widening in alarm. ”Sir! Why are you out here?! Where is the Holy Maiden?!”

​”We miscalculated, Dom,” Roland answered, his breathing slightly ragged. ”She was never here to begin with. She’s at Magniora. We have to cut a path there right now.”

​Hearing Roland’s voice, Pyrrhus’s gaze immediately snapped toward the top of the stairs.

​His fiery orange eyes widened savagely—the seething, venomous hatred that had been boiling ever since Rianor destroyed his Magniora cell instantly erupted.

​”YOU BASTARD!!” Pyrrhus roared.

​He forced his legs to march forward, raising his right hand into the air. The flames that had momentarily dimmed now exploded in size—forcibly pumped by a massive spike of adrenaline and pure, unadulterated fury that absolutely refused to lose.

​However, Pyrrhus’s movements were visibly sluggish and unsteady. The torn flesh at his waist severely crippled his ability to maneuver.

​Dom instantly shifted his stance, planting his massive body squarely in front of Roland. He raised his chipped and corroded greatsword with unyielding resolve.

​As Pyrrhus hurled a massive, erratically-flying fireball, Dom met it with a heavy slash of his blade—smoothly parrying its angle of attack. The fireball deflected wildly to the side, slamming into an outer marble pillar and melting it to slag.

​”Lord Roland, get out of here! GO!” Dom shouted fiercely without looking back.

​Naya, who had already regrouped at Dom’s side, chimed in. Her voice was quieter but radiated the exact same desperate urgency. ”We’ll hold them here!”

​Roland froze in hesitation for one precious second.

​He stared at Dom’s broad back—his body littered with purple bruises and blistering burns, the exoskeleton circuits on his legs sparking worse than ever. Then, he looked at Naya.

​Dom turned his head slightly, offering one firm, absolute nod. ”Go, Sir.”

​Roland clenched his jaw tightly. He returned the nod. There were no tearful, dramatic farewells. No sweet promises to come back for them. Just a single, heavy nod of a diplomat’s commitment.

​Roland instantly spun on his heels. ”Run!”

​Eva immediately cleared the path, hauling Rianor by the shoulder, followed by Adul who scrambled fearfully behind them.

​They sprinted away from the Grand Cathedral plaza as fast as their legs could carry them. Behind them, the echoing clash of Dom’s steel and the roar of Pyrrhus’s flames still sounded terrifying, but the intensity of the noise slowly began to fade, swallowed by the distance of the alleys. The two vanguards were executing their final stand flawlessly.

​Now, the silhouette of the Magniora Tower loomed imposingly before them.

​The pitch-black tower stood in the deepest corner of the city center. There were no glass windows reflecting the light. Not a single mana lamp illuminated its outer walls.

​Roland led his group through the completely deserted main avenues. There wasn’t a single Paladin patrol squad on duty. Every last ounce of the city’s defensive forces had truly been siphoned off to the Southern Front.

​Their boots finally stepped onto the gravel courtyard in front of Magniora. The towering steps of pitch-black stone led up to the main entrance gates, which stood wide open.

​However... someone was already standing tall right there, blocking their path.

​Selene.

​Her majestic, deep-sea blue robes fluttered gently in the chilly evening breeze. Her long hair cascaded perfectly over her shoulders.

​Her beautiful face looked incredibly, terrifyingly calm.

​In the palm of her right hand, a high-pressure vortex of crystal-clear water was already spinning actively.

​”The four of you... are not permitted to pass through these doors,” Selene stated softly.

​The woman’s voice carried absolutely no trace of a threat or an empty bluff. She was simply reciting an absolute, indisputable fact.

​Roland halted his steps right at the bottom of the stone stairs. He stared straight at Selene—the Water Arcanum Master, one of the most powerful mages on the entire Luminaran continent, the very person who, alongside Orion, had forcefully dragged his brother into Magniora’s underground dungeons.

​Selene’s condition was pristine. Her armor was immaculate, devoid of a single speck of blood or physical fatigue.

​Meanwhile, behind Roland’s back, Rianor couldn’t even support his own body weight without being held up tightly by Eva, whose own breathing was already pushed to the absolute limit.

​Roland glanced at Rianor from the corner of his eye. His older brother merely offered a single, incredibly slow and faint shake of his head.

​Roland looked back ahead.

​Selene remained motionless in her position, waiting for them to approach. The water vortex in her hand spun faster, emitting a sharp, lethal hiss. Sshhh...