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

The roar of factory machinery and thick plumes of smoke once again choked the ashen sky over the Iron Empire’s capital.

However, the atmosphere inside the mid-level detention cells of The Iron Citadel felt entirely different this morning.

The passive tension of death row inmates was gone. The air inside the steel cell vibrated with absolute vigilance.

The Northreach delegation moved with a sharper, more purposeful rhythm.

CLACK! CREAK!

The steel door swung open much earlier than the scheduled ration distribution.

Harsh light from the corridor pierced through, framing the silhouette of an Inquisition officer in a pitch-black uniform. His face was deadpan, as if every emotional nerve had been forcefully ripped out.

”Get ready,” the officer ordered dryly. ”You are being taken to the briefing room. Princess Anastasia Velthorne is waiting.”

In the corner of the room, Roland Sudrath stood up.

The young diplomat dusted off the collar of his dark blue robes with absolute composure. Beside him, Riven immediately straightened up. Wordlessly.

The General’s colossal frame radiated an aura of intimidation that made the two guards in the corridor instinctively tighten their grip on their weapons. Captain Thorne quickly took up a guarding position right at Riven’s left flank.

Meanwhile, beneath the ventilation grate, Rianor gently pressed the plating of his Arcanotech Bracer.

Whirrr...

The glowing blue circuits on the Adamantite dimmed drastically until they were nearly dead. He made sure its passive mode was strictly locked to avoid triggering the palace military’s paranoia.

”Let’s go,” Roland murmured softly.

Rumina followed. Her fingers patted the hem of her work dress, forcing a veneer of resolve onto her pale face.

Selene took up the rear. The Arcanum Master’s posture remained elegant, but her pale blue eyes narrowed sharply. Her senses picked up on something odd.

An aura of intense surveillance. Suffocating and lethal.

The briefing room wasn’t far.

The room was far from grand. Its black steel walls carried the sharp scent of gun oil. Tactical maps, route lines, and logistics charts were pinned haphazardly with magnetic tacks.

In the center of the room, a long ironwood table was cluttered with boxes of military reports.

Anastasia Velthorne was already standing rigidly at the head of the table.

Her black wolf-fur mantle draped commandingly over the shoulders of her dark gray uniform. The Princess’s porcelain face remained as cold as ice.

However, Roland’s sharp eyes caught one small detail: faint lines of exhaustion beneath her icy gray eyes. She was definitely sleep-deprived.

”Sit,” Anastasia commanded quietly, offering only a single hand gesture.

Roland pulled out the chair closest to the Princess and sat down comfortably. Rianor, Riven, Rumina, Selene, and Thorne followed suit, forming an invisible barricade.

Thud.

Anastasia tossed a red leather folder onto the center of the table.

”That is a copy of the intelligence report on the escalating rebellion in the Eastern Mountains over the past two months,” Anastasia began without preamble.

”They aren’t your average militia. They’re using guerrilla tactics to cripple our main logistical routes. Coal, ammunition, and food supplies are completely blockaded.”

Rianor immediately grabbed the folder. His analytical brain scanned thousands of words in a matter of seconds.

”Hmm... if it were just a militia with scavenged weapons, your regular army should have crushed them in weeks,” Rianor muttered without looking up. ”There must be another variable.”

”Exactly.”

Anastasia’s slender fingers pressed a brass button on the table. A steam-powered projector whirred to life, casting a blurry monochrome image against the steel wall.

”What’s driving the situation out of control is the aggressive fauna. They’ve managed to tame the feral monsters of the Eastern Mountains.”

The image shifted.

”Wyverns,” Anastasia pointed to the silhouette of a small, spine-winged dragon. ”They target our aerial routes and destroy supply towers.”

The slide changed again, displaying a sketch of a massive reptile.

”And Basilisks,” she continued, her voice heavy. ”They spit a corrosive venom capable of melting infantry armor in seconds. Our forces aren’t equipped to handle aerial assaults and biological toxins simultaneously.”

Rianor leaned back. ”Tch. So we’re up against territorial monsters controlled by military tactics.”

”I won’t be joining this mission,” Anastasia stated firmly, crossing her arms. ”But your convoy will be fully escorted by elite Inquisition troops.”

Anastasia’s icy eyes stared straight into Roland’s.

”Your task is purely to prove yourselves. Extinguish the flames of this rebellion, or die trying.”

Roland, however, carved out a charming, diplomatic smile. He leaned forward.

”Oh, so Her Highness is intentionally throwing us into the bloodiest battlefield... just to test if we’re actually worth listening to, or just a bunch of smooth-talkers, isn’t that right?”

The subtle jab landed smoothly.

Anastasia didn’t blink. Her jaw clenched for a split second. She didn’t confirm it, but her silence was an absolute answer.

The Princess simply tapped the folder on the table. ”The briefing is over. Your convoy is waiting downstairs.”

In the rear courtyard of The Iron Citadel.

This was the lethal heart of the empire’s war machine. Two pitch-black, steel-plated steam trucks roared harshly, belching thick smoke.

However, the Northreach delegation’s attention was drawn to the mechanical escort units.

At the front line, two Stalker Units—sleek, pure-steel robotic hunting dogs—stood frozen in place. Their red optical sensors flickered viciously, scanning for body heat.

Behind them, a single Breaker Unit towered at four meters tall. The steel gorilla silhouette, clad in armor as thick as a bank vault, vented steam, ready to obliterate anything in its path.

At the edge of the courtyard, a dozen civilian dockworkers clustered behind a wire barricade. They had halted their coal-loading work, eyeing the foreign convoy with suspicion.

Among those soot-stained faces... stood Yara.

The young mechanic hugged her toolbag tightly. Her brown eyes were glued to the southern delegation.

Yara’s mind was in turmoil. Curiosity, the urge to uncover historical truths, and the memory of Roland defending her at the docks... all of it shattered her common sense.

Without overthinking it, Yara ducked, slipping nimbly through a gap in the wire barricade.

She made a reckless dash toward the convoy.

SLAM!

Two Inquisition guards instinctively whirled around, crossing their steam rifles squarely against Yara’s chest, blocking and shoving her back roughly.

”Fall back, worker! This is a military zone!” one of the guards barked.

”I’m a mechanic! I can help!” Yara cried out, trying to push through. ”I’ve memorized the eastern steam pipe routes! I know exactly which mud trails are prone to rockslides!”

The commotion caught the delegation’s attention.

Rianor turned, quickly scanning Yara’s physique. A young girl, malnourished, zero military background.

”Tch. Chase her off,” Rianor said coldly to the escorting officer. ”She’s just going to be a logistical burden and die a pointless death out there.”

Hearing that cold rejection, Yara’s courage boiled over. She glared fiercely at the Architect.

”Hah! Without a local mechanic who knows the terrain, a truck this heavy will get stuck for hours on the southern mud trails!” Yara shot back loudly. ”I can cut down your travel time!”

The guard’s neck veins bulged. One of them flipped the butt of his rifle, preparing to smash it into Yara’s jaw.

”Wait.”

Roland stepped forward, his smile instantly melting the tension. He recognized that dirt-smudged face. The mechanic from the docks yesterday.

Roland turned casually to the Inquisition officer. ”Bring her along as our local guide, Commander.”

The officer frowned. ”Negative. Civilians are strictly forbidden from participating in military operations.”

”But we are prisoners, not your official combat troops, right?” Roland countered flawlessly.

The diplomat stepped closer, playing his logic card.

”Look, you want us to get there as fast as possible and clean up this ridiculous mission, don’t you? Give us a guide who knows the terrain.”

Roland narrowed his eyes. ”If this convoy is delayed and we fail... it won’t just be us humiliated in the Emperor’s eyes. It will be the efficiency of your escorting Inquisition.”

The officer went stiff. Roland’s argument pierced straight through a gap in his ego. Tainting the Inquisition’s prestige was the ultimate taboo.

High up on the fortress’s dimly lit balcony, Princess Anastasia stood completely still. Her icy eyes watched Roland’s play without issuing an order of prohibition or support.

Seeing his superior remain silent, the officer finally let out a harsh scoff.

”Put her in the back truck,” he decided, pointing a finger at Yara’s face. ”But listen closely, Mechanic. The second you act suspicious... my own bullet will pierce your skull.”

Yara gulped and nodded rapidly.

The convoy of steel monsters finally moved out.

The Northreach delegation sat crammed in the dim cargo bed of the second steam truck. Yara huddled tightly in the darkest corner, using her toolbag as a shield.

Four Inquisition guards sat across from them, their steam rifles fully primed in their laps.

Amidst the harsh bumps, Rianor was busy scanning a thin digital topographical map from his Bracer. He shot Yara skeptical glances every now and then.

”Foolish, reckless kid,” Rianor muttered under his breath.

Roland merely offered a faint smile. ”Well, she’s highly beneficial for our travel time, brother. And more importantly... her curiosity successfully conquered her fear of us.”

Riven leaned his broad back against the vibrating wall of the truck.

”A civilian’s curiosity is no guarantee of our safety, Roland,” Riven chimed in with his heavy baritone.

”Indeed it’s not, General.” Roland looked at Yara, who was sitting in silent submission. ”But it is a very promising start.”

The trucks sped onward, leaving behind the noise of the capital. The scenery beyond the grated windows shifted drastically. Smooth stone blocks gave way to rocky soil. The forest of smokestacks was gradually replaced by barren cliffs cloaked in toxic smog.

Yara slowly lifted her head, staring straight at the man in the dark blue robes who had just saved her.

”Why...” Yara’s voice trembled softly beneath the rumble of the iron wheels. ”...why are you willing to go through the trouble of helping an empire that imprisoned and hates you?”

Roland turned to her. There was no arrogant diplomat’s smile this time.

”Because we want you to start trusting us, Yara,” Roland answered calmly.

Yara frowned in confusion. ”Trust in what?”

Roland smiled genuinely. His gray eyes radiated a glimmer of warmth that felt entirely foreign to Yara.

”Trust that we aren’t the blood-eating monsters you’ve been indoctrinated to believe in since childhood,” he replied gently but firmly. ”And trust... that there is an ancient threat far more massive than a mere war over continents.”

Yara fell silent. Her mouth hung slightly open, entirely out of words.

Her eyes just kept stealing glances at these southerners. They looked absolutely nothing like the monsters from the horror stories she had heard her entire life.

The steam engines kept growling, crushing the rugged rocks as they headed east.

Evening crept in. The sulfurous smog thickened. Far on the horizon, the dark silhouettes of the Eastern Mountains loomed like a colossal wall, ready to swallow them whole.

A deadly battle awaited behind that veil of mist.

And for the first time in thousands of years of dark history... the people of Northreach and the Iron Empire would stand side-by-side on the exact same battlefield.