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

​At the courtyard of the majestic Grand Cathedral, the two soldiers of the Ghost Squad stared into the same dark abyss of death.

​The battle had reached its grimmest nadir.

​Dom lay broken among the smoldering ruins of marble pillars. His trusty greatsword was snapped in two—one half clutched tightly in his trembling right hand, while the other lay lost somewhere in the debris.

​The mechanical exoskeletons on his legs were completely wrecked, reduced to bent, useless metal scaffolding digging into his calves. The blistering burns on his left arm still seeped wisps of smoke, a lingering reminder of his fiery ordeal. His breathing was heavy, rattling, and dangerously uneven.

​Naya lay beside him. Her optical camouflage cloak was torn to shreds, a massive horizontal gash across her back exposing blistered, charred skin from a previous flame strike. The cloak’s camo function was completely dead. Her hair was a matted mess of chalk dust and dried blood. Though she still gripped her twin daggers, her fingers were too weak to even raise them.

​Before them stretched a boiling pool of magma summoned by Orion. Surrounding the perimeter, jagged stone pillars sealed off any hope of escape. And directly above their heads, Pyrrhus’s colossal blue fireball continued to compress and grow. The extreme heat radiating from it warped the air, distorting their vision like a desert mirage.

​Pyrrhus stood tall, both arms raised high to the sky. The blue flames in his palms raged with an intensity he had never unleashed before—an absolute temperature that made even Orion, standing sturdily beside him, break into a cold sweat. The wound on his left waist still wept fresh blood, but his unbridled fury had entirely numbed the physical pain.

​Orion stood beside him with his arms crossed. His right arm hung limp and useless, thick blood still oozing from the gaping wound left by the electromagnetic slug. Yet his left hand was hyperactive, his fingers dancing to command the three-meter-tall magma golem towering before them.

​The golem, forged from molten stone and flowing lava, let out a low rumble that vibrated through their chests. With every step of its massive feet, it left pools of liquid fire on the cathedral’s marble floor.

​”They’re still breathing,” Pyrrhus growled savagely, his reddish-orange eyes glaring down the steps. ”After taking all that... these two pests still refuse to die.”

​”Not for long,” Orion replied, his voice devoid of emotion. ”Finish them.”

​”With pleasure,” Pyrrhus sneered like a starving demon.

​He snapped his hands downward. Instantly, the colossal blue fireball began its slow, inevitable descent, a miniature sun primed to obliterate the plaza.

​Dom stared straight at the descending sphere of death. Slowly, he turned his head to look at Naya.

​”Naya,” Dom called out softly.

​Naya forced her leaden eyelids open. ”Yeah?”

​”Good work today.”

​”You too, Dom. It was an honor fighting by your side,” Naya replied, a faint, genuine smile gracing her lips.

​The two Ghost Squad veterans didn’t scream or beg for mercy. They welcomed their end with the absolute serenity of true soldiers who had executed their final mission to the very last breath.

​Dom reached out with his trembling right hand, firmly grasping Naya’s. It wasn’t out of fear, but a quiet resolve to ensure his comrade knew she wasn’t embarking on this final journey alone.

​Pyrrhus swung his arms all the way down. The massive blue fireball plunged—

​Whoosh.

​A whisper of wind, incredibly silent, like a draft slipping through a narrow doorway.

​A shadow suddenly materialized, standing tall directly between Dom and Naya and the plummeting fireball.

​His faded brown cloak fluttered gently in the evening wind. No murderous intent radiated from his body. Instead, there was only an absolute, profound tranquility—a stillness so heavy that the surrounding air suddenly felt lighter, almost peaceful.

​The man slowly raised his right palm, meeting the descent of Pyrrhus’s massive blue fireball.

​And in defiance of all logic, the lethal sphere froze mid-air.

​It stopped completely in empty space, as if the laws of time surrounding the flame had been forcibly suspended. Then, with an incredibly slow, elegant curl of his fingers, Lobrecht closed his fist.

​Plop.

​The colossal fireball, hot enough to melt marble, was snuffed out in an instant.

​An absolute silence descended upon the Grand Cathedral courtyard.

​Pyrrhus froze in place, his arms still raised, but his flames utterly gone. His glowing orange eyes widened in sheer disbelief.

​”W-What kind of curse... what did you just do?!”

​Beside him, Orion was equally stunned, but the Earth Master’s shock carried a vastly different emotion. Recognition flared in his eyes. He knew the faded brown cloak.

​”H-How... how are you...?” Orion stammered.

​Lobrecht slowly lowered his right hand. His serene brown eyes locked onto the two Arcanum Masters. His face held the deep, quiet tranquility of a mountain lake at dawn.

​”It has been a long time since we stood face-to-face like this, Orion. Pyrrhus.”

​The names slipped out calmly, yet they struck the two Arcanum Masters like a bolt of lightning from a clear sky.

​”LOBRECHT!”

​The blue flames around Pyrrhus’s body exploded violently once more—this time, their volume was several times larger and completely unchecked. Decades of suppressed resentment and fury boiled over, reaching their absolute peak. His eyes burned with a terrifying, bluish-orange hue.

​”You... you filthy traitor... you’re actually still breathing?!”

​Orion didn’t scream like his counterpart, but the gravitational pressure of his mana spiked drastically, fracturing the asphalt beneath him. The pool of magma bubbled violently, spitting stray lava.

​”So the entire invasion tonight... all the blood spilled at the Southern Gate... you were the mastermind all along, Lobrecht.” Orion stepped forward, his stone-coated left hand clenching into a tight fist. ”I will make sure your treacherous corpse is ground to dust today.”

​Lobrecht didn’t counter the threat with a surge of energy. He merely threw a brief glance over his shoulder, looking at Dom and Naya.

​”You two. Fall back and secure your positions. I’m taking over the stage.”

​Dom didn’t dream of questioning that authority. Dragging his broken body backward with one arm, he tightly held Naya, who was on the verge of passing out, as they propped themselves weakly behind a shattered marble pillar.

​Pyrrhus attacked first, utterly merciless.

​SWOOSH! SWOOSH! SWOOSH!

​His blue flames tore through the air, shaping into dozens of glowing lances—their heat far exceeding anything before. Lobrecht didn’t leap away. He merely tilted his shoulder slightly.

​Miraculously, the barrage of lethal fire lances sailed right past him, slamming into the Cathedral’s thick walls behind and melting the holy marble like hot wax.

​”STAND STILL AND FACE ME, YOU COWARD!” Pyrrhus roared, utterly deranged.

​He unleashed a denser, faster storm of blue fire. Simultaneously, Orion snapped his left hand, commanding his magma golem to flank from the left. The golem’s molten fist swung down, poised to crush Lobrecht into the pavement.

​Swoosh.

​Lobrecht’s body suddenly dissolved, melting into the dark shadow beneath his feet.

​BOOM!

​The golem’s fist struck the marble, leaving a smoking crater. But Lobrecht was already standing casually on the golem’s stone shoulder.

​”Your rage and resentment... they make your every move far too easy to read, Pyrrhus,” Lobrecht murmured softly.

​Flicker.

​In the blink of an eye, Lobrecht materialized right behind Pyrrhus’s back. He placed his right palm gently on the Fire Arcanum Master’s back. A quiet, gentle touch.

​But terrifyingly, Pyrrhus instantly felt his entire mana circulation get violently sucked into a singular void. The blue flames on his arms sputtered and died completely. The grand mage stumbled, his body instantly drained of all strength.

​”W-What... what did you do to my mana?!” Pyrrhus shrieked in horror.

​”Absorbed and neutralized,” Lobrecht replied flatly.

​Seeing his comrade cornered, Orion slammed his left hand into the ground. CRACK! A jagged stone pillar spiked up from beneath Lobrecht’s feet. But with a single, elegant step to the side, Lobrecht dodged it as easily as avoiding a raindrop.

​He looked directly at Orion. ”Your mana density is remarkably solid, Orion. But unfortunately, you rely far too heavily on raw physical force.”

​Lobrecht leaped lightly toward the charging magma golem. He placed his palm gently against its molten forehead. Instantly, a deep, pitch-black shadow crawled from his palm, rapidly enveloping the titan like a dark parasite.

​In less than three seconds, the magma golem was completely paralyzed. The boiling lava within its body cooled instantly, freezing and hardening into solid black stone riddled with dead cracks. The golem crumbled into a heap of gravel.

​Orion stared in horror at the destruction of his masterpiece. ”H-How is this possible...?”

​Pyrrhus forced his legs to stand. His pride refused to yield, but his body was trembling uncontrollably—his mana reserves drained dry, thick blood seeping from his waist wound.

​”I’m... I’m not done with you, Lobrecht!” he roared, desperately trying to spark a flame.

​But before a spark could form, Lobrecht was already standing directly in front of him.

​”You are done for today, Pyrrhus,” Lobrecht said softly.

​He delivered a final touch, his palm resting gently on Pyrrhus’s forehead. A stream of dark shadow seeped in—soft, completely painless, yet entirely unstoppable by any mana defense system.

​”I will... I will kill you... Lobrecht... one day...” Pyrrhus rasped, his eyelids shutting heavily. His body collapsed to its knees before he fell unconscious onto the marble.

​Orion stared at his fallen comrade. The Earth Arcanum Master slowly lowered his fists, offering no further resistance. He stood in silence, gazing at Lobrecht with deeply complex eyes. It wasn’t fear, nor was it vengeful rage. It was... profound, bone-deep weariness.

​”You... you are still as terrifyingly powerful as you were decades ago, Lobrecht,” Orion murmured hoarsely.

​”No, Orion,” Lobrecht said softly, stepping closer. ”The truth is... I am far stronger than I was back then.”

​”How...?”

​”At the southern border, I was forced to bleed and fight demons to protect my people,” Lobrecht’s eyes held a gentle warmth. ”There is no training ground more perfect to forge strength than the hell of survival.”

​Orion let out a long sigh. He made no attempt to dodge as Lobrecht’s palm landed on his right shoulder, right over the hole left by the electromagnetic slug.

​Shadows raced across his consciousness. Orion closed his eyes and collapsed unconscious beside Pyrrhus.

​Two grand Arcanum Masters lay helpless on the Cathedral’s courtyard. Not slain, but put to sleep, their mana circuits locked tight.

​Lobrecht stood tall between his former comrades. His breath was slightly heavier than before, his right hand trembling microscopically. It had been far too long since he had exerted his Shadow manipulation on this scale. Yet, his face retained its legendary composure—serene and peaceful.

​He turned and walked calmly over to Dom and Naya.

​Dom remained conscious, though his body was completely numb and unmovable. Beside him, Naya had drifted into an exhausted sleep.

​Lobrecht knelt beside Dom. ”Where is Roland’s current position?”

​Dom looked up weakly, his voice a barely audible rasp in the evening wind. ”M-Magniora.”

​Lobrecht straightened up, looking toward the towering silhouette of the Magniora Tower.

​He glanced back down at Dom. ”You two fought magnificently today. Close your eyes and rest. I will take over the board from here.”

​Dom didn’t reply. He slowly closed his leaden eyelids. His steady breathing indicated he was alive.

​Lobrecht spun on his heels. Instantly, the pitch-black shadow beneath his feet crawled upward, enveloping and swallowing his entire form. He vanished without a trace from the Cathedral plaza.

​Headed for the Magniora Tower.