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

CLANG! KRRRAK!

Giant steel chains clashed violently against the massive docking pilings. The sound was deafening.

From the command tower deck of the NRS Orion, Captain Thorne stared at the mainland with a clenched jaw. Northreach’s pride and joy, the light destroyer, was slowly guided into a specialized slip on the eastern side of the port.

The view before them was utterly devoid of nature’s touch. As far as the eye could see, the facility was purely a mountain of thick, black steel plates eaten away by rust. Damp. Freezing. Intimidating.

The whir of the engine propellers in the NRS Orion’s belly slowed, then died out completely. The ship came to a perfect halt.

Silence.

The only sound left was the hiss of scorching steam from the massive pipes on land. Ssshhh... It blended with the crashing of the gray waves against the port’s steel foundation.

The air in this place was incredibly thick. A suffocating cocktail of burning coal, hot iron, and sea salt.

Thorne’s veteran eyes swept across the dock area.

The Iron Empire forces had already formed a blockade. Their dull, gray trench coats blended seamlessly with the overcast sky. At least seventy soldiers stood on high alert.

Long-barreled steam rifles were slung diagonally across their chests. The muzzles weren’t aimed directly at the ship, but their fingers rested tightly against the mechanical triggers. Every single escape route was sealed.

BAM!

A heavy metal boarding bridge was lowered by hydraulics, latching roughly onto the NRS Orion’s deck.

”Keep all weapons in neutral,” Thorne whispered through the Aero-Link Radio. ”No provocative movements.”

At the mouth of the metal bridge, Roland Sudrath straightened the collar of his dark blue diplomatic coat.

He glanced back, looking over the delegation that was about to set foot on their mortal enemy’s soil.

”We step down with our heads held high,” Roland instructed softly, his voice laced with authority. ”Whatever the provocation, do not retaliate. Nobody touches their weapons.”

Riven towered behind him, draped in his black Wolf mantle. He gave a single, curt nod. He had deliberately left his broadsword back in his cabin.

Beside the general, Rianor adjusted his glasses. Whirrr... The Arcanotech Bracer on his left arm hummed faintly, its blue glow dimmed to the absolute minimum. The scientist’s face was still as pale as a corpse from his seasickness, but his analytical gaze was dialed up to a hundred percent.

Selene stood gracefully in the middle of the formation. Her sea-blue robes fluttered. The Water Arcanum Master held her chin high. Refusing to be intimidated.

Right behind Roland, Rumina stood. The Head Treasurer’s face was as flat as ice. Yet, Roland’s keen eyes caught her fingers trembling faintly as they gripped the edge of her gown, before she finally balled them into tight fists.

Step. Step.

Roland led the way. His boots clacked loudly against the metal bridge.

The exact second their shoes touched the steel soil, dozens of pairs of Iron Empire eyes instantly stripped them down. There was no respect. Just cold, empty glares.

A man stepped forward from the edge of the formation.

His skin was as pale as someone who had never seen the sun. A gruesome burn scar crawled from the left side of his neck down beneath his coat collar. His right hand rested casually on the hilt of a shortsword.

A crooked smirk bloomed on his face. The smile of a hunter standing before his trap.

”Welcome to the wolf’s den, Southerners,” the man greeted. His voice was raspy, like two iron blades scraping against each other.

Roland didn’t return the smile, though his face radiated absolute diplomatic calm. ”Thank you for the reception. I am Prince Roland Sudrath, bearing a message of peace on behalf of the Kingdom of Northreach.”

The man scoffed. Heh.

”A message of peace from a Southerner always comes with a sickening price tag.”

He stepped closer, looking Roland up and down. ”I am Commander Varus. As long as you’re here, your lives rest on the tip of my index finger. So consider this a warning... don’t even think about running.”

Varus’s eyes shot a sharp glare at the entourage behind Roland.

”Be grateful you left your little toys on the ship. If even one of you reaches for a weapon, I’ll order my men to blow your kneecaps off.”

”We perfectly understand our position, Commander,” Roland replied without blinking.

”Good. Follow me. We have an interrogation to get through.”

They were herded away from the open dock area.

The corridor they traversed was purely constructed of thick steel. Ssshhh! Scalding steam hissed from the vents lining the walls. There were no luxurious mana-crystal lamps here. Only dull yellow steam bulbs.

Rumina walked in silence.

Her eyes darted aggressively. Scanning. Calculating. Wall plate thickness: fifteen centimeters... guard posts every twenty meters... three searchlight towers on the eastern wing.

Rumina swallowed hard. This wasn’t a transit port. The militarization was way too heavy. This was a pure naval anti-invasion military base.

”Fear always has a unique way of breeding hatred and paranoia.”

A soft whisper echoed beside her.

Rianor was walking right beside her. His face was as pale as cotton, but his gray eyes darted wildly, dissecting the steel ceiling structure above them.

”They built all this iron because they are haunted by the history of the past,” Rianor continued softly. ”And a nation that feels constantly threatened... is the hardest nation to negotiate with.”

Rumina didn’t reply. She locked that sentence away in the archives of her brain.

BLAM!

They were shoved into a command room. The giant steel door was slammed shut and mechanically locked from the outside. The heavy sound echoed.

The interrogation room was a perfect box lined with steel plates. Windowless. In the center sat a single, long iron table surrounded by unpadded metal chairs.

The temperature was agonizing. Scorching steam radiating from the pipes behind the walls made the air feel disgustingly sticky.

Selene stood frozen near the table. The Arcanum Master tried to sense the moisture in the air. A second later, her blue eyes widened.

Nothing.

There wasn’t a single drop of mana flowing in this room. The air was ’dead’. This room was meticulously designed to choke a mage into absolute helplessness.

Varus took a seat on the opposite side. He kicked his boots up onto the iron table, lazily twirling the hilt of his shortsword with his index finger.

”Sit down. Stop standing around like stupid statues,” Varus ordered cynically.

The Northreach delegation sat. Riven squared his massive shoulders, his eyes locking onto Varus’s hands. Rianor leaned back slowly, while Rumina rested her hands neatly on her lap.

”State your names and your exact purpose here,” Varus demanded, glaring sharply at Roland.

Roland leaned forward. ”As I said earlier, I am Roland Sudrath. This is Grand General Riven Sudrath, Head of Research Rianor Sudrath, and Head Treasurer Rumina Sudrath.”

Roland gestured toward Selene. ”And this is Lady Selene. The official envoy from the highest throne of Luminara.”

Varus’s hand movements instantly froze.

The scarred man dropped his legs. Bang. He leaned in close, staring at Selene with a flash of hatred sharp enough to tear through the air.

”Luminara...” Varus spat onto the iron floor. ”I’m surprised the Church’s lapdogs had the guts to crawl this far north. Are you here to spread your bullshit sermons, Witch?”

Selene stared back unflinchingly, even though she knew her magic was paralyzed in this room.

”I didn’t cross the ocean to come here on behalf of the Church or any order of priests, Commander,” Selene replied as cold as ice. ”I stand here... purely in the name of the truth of our past.”

Varus erupted into a harsh, grating laugh. ”Hahaha! The truth? A Southerner lecturing me about the truth?!”

BAM!

Varus slammed his fists on the table. ”You lot are nothing but a bunch of frauds! Filthy traitors! Cowards who only know how to stab heroes in the back!”

The atmosphere boiled over. The veins on Riven’s neck bulged, his hands reflexively curling into fists. But Roland quickly grabbed the general’s arm to hold him back.

”We are fully aware of that bloody history, Commander Varus,” Roland cut in steadily. ”That is precisely why we traveled all this way. We came to talk about Orion.”

Roland dropped that sacred name into the air like a ticking time bomb.

The diplomat held his breath. Waiting for a reaction of shock, fury, or at the very least, a shred of reverence from the Iron Empire Commander.

One second. Two seconds.

Varus frowned in utter confusion. ”Orion? Hah. What kind of ridiculous name is that?”

Roland froze. Rianor’s fingers stopped moving. Selene and Rumina exchanged shocked glances.

”Are you... trying to use old sailor’s tales to bait me into a negotiation?” Varus sneered dismissively. ”Save your cheap tactics, Sudrath. Around here, we only believe in steel, steam, and industrial power.”

Roland was struck mute. His diplomatic brain was spinning wildly out of control.

This guy... he has absolutely no idea about his own ancestors’ history?

Varus stood up. ”Initial interrogation is over. Your intentions aren’t nearly clear enough to prove you aren’t spies.”

He pointed at the iron door. ”I’m sending you back to your ship. You’ll rot in lockdown at that dock... right up until the order comes down from the capital to slit your throats.”

Night draped over the Iron Empire’s military port.

Giant steam lamps cast a dim yellow glow. There was no warmth left in the bone-chilling air. Steel chains as thick as a man’s thigh kept the NRS Orion’s hull on lockdown. Heavily patrolling troops completely blockaded the boarding bridge.

They were officially prisoners aboard their own ship.

On the dimly lit foredeck, Roland leaned against the iron railing. He stared out at the pitch-black command building in the distance. The white flag tucked in his pocket was utterly useless here.

Heavy boot steps approached. Selene stood beside Roland, letting the sea breeze whip her silver hair.

”Varus didn’t react at all when you mentioned Orion,” Selene murmured. ”He wasn’t faking it, Roland. That man genuinely thinks his own ancestor’s name is just a bedtime story.”

”Yeah. I noticed that too.” Roland slowly rubbed his chin.

”So what is your strategy? We’re locked down here. If the Iron Empire’s higher-ups are just as blind as their field commander... our apology means absolutely nothing.”

”No, Selene. Quite the opposite, actually.”

Roland met the pale blue eyes of the Arcanum Master.

”The fact that a mid-level officer like Varus doesn’t know the history of Project Legion is proof that the information is strictly classified. The true history is still alive. It’s just being kept buried within the highest elite circles. Most likely by the Emperor himself.”

Roland carved a thin smile. A smile heavy with calculation.

”We don’t need Varus. We need to stand face-to-face with an authority figure who actually understands the weight of this history.”

”And how exactly do you plan to bait them here?”

”We don’t need to do a single thing,” Roland answered calmly. ”A foreign vessel carrying a royal delegation has definitely been reported to the capital by now. They will come looking for us. All we need to do... is wait.”

On the other side of the deck, Dalon pulled his coat tighter. The young soldier’s left arm was still bound in a splint from the Kraken’s attack.

He stared desperately at the enemy blockade lining the dock. ”We failed... We haven’t even stepped foot into the city, and we’re already prisoners.”

Hearing this, Ram—the veteran infantryman whose face was still smeared with coal dust—snorted in amusement. He lit a hand-rolled cigarette.

”You’re misunderstanding our status, kid,” Ram said calmly.

The old soldier exhaled a plume of gray smoke into the night air. His wise eyes gazed at the blinking red lights of the enemy watchtowers.

”A ship this massive is by no means our prison,” Ram continued softly. ”This ship... is waiting.”