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

​The twilight wind blew gently, sweeping away the last remnants of the melting frost across the courtyard of the Magniora Tower. The reddish-orange glow from the western horizon fractured beautifully through the scattered ice crystals.

​Thousands of tiny, shimmering points of light danced in the air—as if the universe itself were exhaling a long, sigh of relief after witnessing the sheer madness that had just unfolded.

​Lobrecht stood tall between the two fallen combatants.

​To his left, Selene remained on her knees, her breathing shallow and ragged. Hah... hah... Her majestic, deep-sea blue robes were utterly drenched from the remnants of her own shattered blizzard.

​To his right, Adul stood weakly among the glittering shards, his fingers still clutching Eva’s dagger with a violent tremor.

​The supreme leader of the Heretic Order turned his head slightly, acknowledging Adul’s presence. His serene, warm brown eyes studied the boy in silence.

​Selene slowly looked up, meeting the gaze of the man she had once known.

​For the first time since this crisis erupted, the Water Arcanum Master’s face was completely devoid of its cold, absolute composure. There was a visible, fragile crack in her facade.

​”Why... why did you choose to leave, Lobrecht?”

​Selene’s voice trembled slightly, sounding far more vulnerable than she had intended. It wasn’t an interrogation. Nor was it a judgment fueled by rage. It was a painful, raw question she had buried deep in her soul for decades.

​Lobrecht didn’t answer immediately. He let the howling wind fill the hollow space between them. Then, in a voice as calm and steady as a mountain lake at dawn, he finally spoke.

​”I walked away from the Church... because my love for the Goddess far exceeds that of those who greedily claim Her name.”

​Selene blinked her tear-rimmed eyes. ”W-What do you mean...?”

​”For centuries, they have force-fed us the lie that faith is blind, unquestioning obedience. That intellect is the enemy of belief. That any critical question is a form of heresy to be purged by fire,” Lobrecht said softly, locking his gaze with her icy blue eyes.

​The man took a single step forward. ”But the Goddess gifted you with a mind to be used, Selene. She did not create you to be a lifeless puppet, mindlessly parroting scriptures fabricated by mortal men. She wants you to think. She wants you to doubt. For it is only through doubt and questioning... that one truly begins to seek Her.”

​Selene lowered her head deeply. Her palms, which usually summoned devastating oceanic tempests with absolute arrogance, now lay trembling helplessly against her knees.

​”But... the holy laws... aren’t they what have kept us on the righteous path all this time?” Selene murmured, her conviction severely wavering.

​”Laws were created to protect, Selene, not to shackle.” Lobrecht stopped directly in front of her, yet he made no move to touch her. ”When a law transforms into a colossal wall that imprisons humanity from its own conscience... it is no longer protection. It is a dungeon. And the Church... has long since become a bloody prison for anyone who dares to think differently.”

​”I... I don’t know...” Selene’s lips quivered. ”All my life, I truly believed... that every execution I carried out was in the name of righteousness.”

​”And you were not entirely wrong. Your intentions were pure. Your devotion to Luminara was real. But...” Lobrecht gazed down at her, his eyes filled with profound pity. ”Did you never once ask yourself? Why must we incinerate anyone who is different from us? Why do we label the advancement of science as ’Demon’s Knowledge’ without even deigning to study it? Why do we take delight in silencing the cries of those who only wish to live in peace?”

​Selene remained mute, utterly defenseless against his words.

​A single tear—the first tear she had ever shed throughout her decades of service as an Arcanum Master—slipped down her cheek, dripping onto Magniora’s stone floor. Drip.

​Lobrecht let out a long sigh. ”I am not here to recruit you to my cause, Selene. Nor am I telling you to take up arms against the Cathedral. I am only asking you... to start thinking. Using your own mind. That is all.”

​The seconds stretched by, thick and heavy.

​Only a muffled, choked sob escaped Selene’s lips. Then, without uttering a single word, she gave a nod. It was slow. Microscopic. But to Lobrecht, it was more than enough.

​The former Arcanum Master offered a faint smile. He spun on his heels and walked calmly past Selene, heading toward the main entrance gates of the Magniora Tower.

​From the edge of the damp courtyard, Adul watched the incredible interaction unfold in silence. His exhausted mind couldn’t fully digest the weight of their philosophical exchange, but his instincts told him one thing: this man was an ally.

​With the absolute last of his physical reserves, Adul dragged his battered body toward the unconscious Eva. Drag... drag... He cradled Eva’s head gently onto his lap, slowly pulling them both into the shelter of a shattered stone pillar, desperate to simply catch his breath.

​Meanwhile, miles away at the Southern Gate...

​The symphony of slaughter still raged with unbridled fury.

​BOOM! CRASH!

​Hexalia charged savagely along the front lines. Her thorn-clad roots continuously tore through the earth, violently clashing with Rhiza’s far more refined, academic root walls. Clang! On the other flank, Gladius remained locked in a brutal melee against Berthold. His blood-red Aura-coated fists continuously slammed into the old man’s holy light pillars, triggering deafening shockwaves that rattled the surroundings.

​High in the air, Arcelia vaulted nimbly from one ruin to another, unleashing a continuous barrage of green energy arrows to intercept Aella’s static lightning strikes. In the absolute center of the chaotic battlefield, Bastion’s golden shield stood tall, enduring the relentless tide of Paladins surging forward.

​Neither side had faltered. No cheers of victory echoed. The fate of the war still hung by a terribly thin thread.

​Deep inside the bowels of the Magniora Tower...

​Roland exhaled a heavy breath, trying to steady his frantic pulse. Hah... hah...

​The corridor ahead was pitch-black and dead silent, save for the rhythmic echo of their boots bouncing off the polished obsidian walls. He held Rianor firmly under his arm, supporting his weight, while his left hand—his shoulder still throbbing with excruciating agony from the lightning burn—tightly gripped his dagger.

​They had crept up dozens of steep stone steps, navigating narrow passages that reeked of damp earth and wet moss. Finally... they reached the end of the maze.

​A colossal oak gate carved with golden vines stood before them, blocking their path.

​Directly in front of it, two sentinels stood rigidly.

​Their pristine white uniforms gleamed, emblazoned with the golden sun emblem pinned arrogantly to their chests. High Temple Knights. Recognizing the filthy, blood-stained intruders, the guard on the left immediately raised his palm.

​Fwoosh! A blade of wind began to spin violently in his hand. Simultaneously, the guard on the right chanted rapidly, summoning high-pressure water projectiles.

​”Halt, heretic scum! You have no authority to—”

​Rianor had no intention of letting him finish.

​Despite his gasping breath, his gray eyes narrowed in a flash, capturing the wind guard’s mana frequency. The Mirror Attribute within his body instantly activated—detecting, absorbing the 5.6 Hz frequency, processing, and duplicating in a fraction of a second.

​Instantly, an identical wind blade detonated in Rianor’s right palm.

​The sentinel’s eyes widened in sheer horror. ”W-What?!”

​Before he could react, Rianor thrust his hand forward. He didn’t fire the wind to strike, but rather to violently redirect the guard’s original spell.

​CRASH! The two wind currents collided at an angle, launching the first sentinel back until his spine slammed brutally into the stone wall. His concentration shattered instantly.

​Panicking, the second guard unleashed a lethal volley of water lances. But Rianor had already locked onto the pattern.

​He summoned a curved, static water shield in front of them, deflecting the incoming spears and creating a brief blind spot.

​That was the golden opening Roland had been waiting for.

​The diplomat surged forward through the splashing water.

​Step one—he slid low, slipping beneath the residual wind currents. Step two—he spun his wrist, flipping his dagger’s grip outward so the blunt end was primed to strike. Step three—he materialized right behind the first guard’s back.

​THWACK!

​A precision blunt strike landed flawlessly on the carotid nerve at the back of the sentinel’s neck. The guard immediately lost consciousness, his eyes rolling back before his body slumped to the floor.

​The second guard spun around in panic, swinging a heavy fist. But Roland was infinitely more fluid. He swept the sentinel’s legs with a low, sweeping kick. Bam. The knight’s balance crumbled instantly.

​Before his back could even hit the floor, Roland’s left hand grabbed his collar, driving the hilt of his dagger hard into the man’s temple. Thud! The second guard went completely limp, knocked out in silence.

​Roland released his grip, taking a step back as he let out a long, shuddering breath. His shoulder screamed in agony, but he forced his muscles to hold.

​”Ugh... thank gods I bothered to ask Rhea for basic CQC lessons back then,” Roland murmured quietly, wiping cold sweat from his brow. ”Otherwise, I would’ve lost my life twice over today.”

​Rianor didn’t entertain his brother’s casual banter. He forced his legs forward, his hands pushing the massive oak gates wide open. Creaaaak...

​The chamber beyond the gates... defied all logical scale of grandeur.

​The ceiling arched impossibly high, mimicking a grand dome. Its surface was adorned with ancient frescoes depicting the Arcanum Masters of old.

​Right in the center of the vast, open hall sat a massive round table carved from solid white marble. Surrounding the table sat five elderly figures draped in the grand robes of Archbishops.

​And at the far end of the room, atop a marble throne radiating a soft, holy light...

​Sat Holy Maiden Anneliese.

​Her silver hair fell perfectly around her shoulders, her pristine white gown creating a stark, dramatic contrast against the pitch-black walls of Magniora. Her pale blue eyes held no trace of anger, let alone fear. She stared directly at the doorway—locking her gaze onto the two blood-drenched brothers who had just broken in.

​The five Archbishops instantly bolted to their feet in unison, their chairs scraping violently against the floor. Their weathered faces, initially filled with shock, quickly flushed with absolute, murderous fury.

​One of them—an elderly man with a beard as white as snow, clutching a golden archbishop’s staff—stepped forward from the table. The veins on his neck bulged, his eyes glaring with pure, unadulterated hatred as if staring at absolute filth.

​”YOU...!!”

​His ancient voice boomed thunderously, echoing off the marble walls of the chamber. Spittle flew from his mouth.

​”YOU FILTHY, SACRILEGIOUS FIENDS!!”