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

Krrrk...

The grinding of heavy stone shattered the silence of the ancient altar room.

From the shadows of the colossal ancestral statue, a pair of eyes flared to life. A dim crimson. They didn’t blink. They stared straight ahead, locking onto the soul of every intruder in the sacred chamber.

THUD... THUD... THUD...

Short, impossibly heavy footsteps echoed through the cavern.

Rianor stood frozen near the altar. His right hand, which had nearly grazed his Bracer, was deliberately left hanging relaxed. The Head of Research’s analytical brain raced in milliseconds, drafting scenarios while simultaneously suppressing his brother’s killing intent from behind.

From the dark alcove, the figure revealed itself.

A Dwarven Temple Guardian.

He only reached Rianor’s chest, but his build was incredibly dense. His muscles looked as if they were chiseled straight from mountain granite. A copper beard tumbled down to his stomach, partially obscuring a leather tunic adorned with faded red runes. A short-handled warhammer rested on his broad back, practically begging to be drawn.

Matching his stride, four other dwarven guards stepped out of the darkness. They encircled the infiltration team from all sides.

Riven instantly lowered his stance. His right hand drifted an inch from the hilt of his sword, though he held back from unsheathing it. Selene stood calmly, scanning the flow of primordial energy in the room. Yara shrank back, holding her breath, while Lieur bowed his head deep.

The Temple Guardian halted five paces from Rianor. His breathing was heavy.

”You defile sacred ground,” the dwarf growled. His voice was raspy, trembling violently like a rockslide.

Rianor adjusted his glasses. ”I am aware,” he replied flatly. ”We entered without permission.”

The dwarf’s eyes narrowed, locking onto the Adamantite plating on Rianor’s arm. ”That weapon on your arm... its energy signature doesn’t reek of the filthy steam from those greedy humans out there.”

”Hah, because we aren’t part of the Emperor’s army you’re fighting.” Rianor crossed his arms, concealing his Bracer, refusing to present himself as either ally or enemy. ”We came from afar seeking answers. Not bloodshed.”

The dwarf scoffed loudly, his beard quivering. He glared sharply at Riven, who looked ready to pounce, before turning his eyes back to Rianor.

”Follow me,” he commanded with absolute authority. ”And if that massive hand of yours draws its steel... this cave will be your final tomb.”

They were herded out of the altar room, entering a much narrower stone tunnel.

Yara walked on trembling knees. Yet, the young mechanic’s fear was slowly being eclipsed by an overwhelmingly massive mechanical curiosity. Her eyes darted wildly, scanning her surroundings.

The tunnel walls weren’t bare. As far as the eye could see, the stone surfaces were covered in ancient engravings forming geometric circuit patterns. A faint red glow pulsed sluggishly within the grooves.

Unconsciously, Yara reached out. Her leather-gloved fingers brushed against the glowing wall.

She flinched. Her eyes widened in shock.

The stone wasn’t cold! Its surface radiated a steady wave of heat, exactly like the sensation of touching a high-pressure steam transmission pipe. But there were no pipes here, no brass valves, no reactors. Just solid rock.

One of the dwarven guards snapped his head back. His stubby hand gripped his axe as he eyed Yara with suspicion.

”I-It’s hot...” Yara whispered, completely ignoring the murderous glare. Her pale face lit up with awe. ”How can there be thermal propagation inside solid stone without a piping system?”

The dwarven guard furrowed his bushy brow. He was utterly baffled that a human—a working-class woman at that—had the nerve to ask technical questions under the threat of a blade.

”Those are Runes, Human,” the guard grumbled hoarsely. ”Those symbols keep the heart of this mountain beating.”

”Runes?” Yara frowned.

Rianor slightly turned his head back. ”It’s a primordial energy circuit, Yara,” he whispered softly. ”They don’t use combustion chambers or steam valves like you do. They use these Runes to bind geothermal heat directly to the stone’s surface.”

Yara swallowed hard. This was a civilization of pure science that predated the Iron Empire’s modern reactors by ages.

However, before Yara could fully soak in her awe, one of the dwarven guards in the rear suddenly shoved Lieur hard. The young scout’s scrawny body slammed into the stone wall. Thud!

”This one reeks of human iron!” the dwarf snarled, his axe raised. ”He’s the Emperor’s soldier!”

Lieur went pale. His breath hitched. His hands trembled at his sides, but he didn’t dare fight back.

Riven reacted with lightning speed. The colossal general lunged a half-step forward, his body blocking the dwarven guard, while his right hand splayed open, ready to catch the axe handle. Riven’s gray eyes bore into the dwarf with crushing killing intent.

”Enough!” the Temple Guardian barked, his voice echoing. He glared sharply at his subordinate. ”The Chieftain will decide their fate.”

Rianor raised his right hand, signaling Riven to stand down. ”He isn’t the Emperor’s soldier,” Rianor stated flatly. ”He is a scout we brought along. If you slit his throat, no one will guide us out of these mountains. And you will never find out why we came here.”

The guard hissed in anger, reluctantly lowering his axe. He stared at Lieur with unquenched hatred before turning around to clear the path.

Lieur let out a long sigh. His sleeve was torn, and there was a scrape on his cheek. But his life was spared.

The narrow corridor began to widen. The red glow from the walls was gradually replaced by a bright orange refraction from ahead. The clamor of hammers striking iron started to ring out. CLANG! CLANG!

The moment they stepped out from the end of the tunnel... Selene held her breath.

The Arcanum Master froze, her eyes widening at the sight of a subterranean cavern the size of a sovereign city.

This wasn’t some squalid rebel camp. This was a City in the Belly of the Earth.

Multi-tiered stone houses were carved seamlessly into the stalagmite cliffs. Ironwood suspension bridges stretched across small chasms floored with glowing rivers of magma. Gigantic forge fires blazed brightly, spewing waves of heat into the air.

Down there, the race believed to be extinct continued to beat with life.

Dwarven children dashed across limestone steps. Women ground glowing metal ores, while hundreds of bearded men swung sledgehammers to the rhythm of ancient chants.

On the left flank, a small stone marketplace lined the path. Dwarven merchants peddled mineral chunks, runic weapons, and cloth woven from fire-moss fibers. Several of them paused when they saw the group of foreign humans passing by. Brown and black eyes peered from behind stone stalls with a mix of suspicion and wonder.

Yara was equally transfixed. She watched the dwarven kids running along the stone alleys, laughing at something she didn’t understand. There was a strange warmth to this place. A warmth she had never felt in the soot-choked ports of the Iron Empire.

Suddenly, a tiny dwarven child tripped over his own feet near the edge of the stone path. His small body teetered, nearly tumbling into the small magma-filled chasm.

Yara moved without thinking. Her hand snatched the child’s arm, catching him before his little body could plummet down.

”Hey! Watch out!” Yara cried out in panic.

The child burst into tears. A dwarven woman, presumably his mother, rushed over with a pale face. She pulled her child back and hugged him tightly, then stared at Yara with a mix of fear and confusion.

”Thank you...” the mother whispered, barely audible.

Yara merely gave an awkward nod. Several dwarves who witnessed the scene whispered among themselves. Their suspicious glares didn’t vanish completely, but something in their eyes softened.

Rianor observed from the corner of his eye. His brain logged one crucial piece of data: humans from the outside were not universally viewed as a threat.

Selene closed her eyes. There was no stench of death or factory oppression here. The mana flow radiated with purity. This mountain... was breathing. This place was truly alive. Beside her, Yara’s jaw hung slightly open, realizing that these short folks weren’t fighting purely out of hatred; they were fighting to protect their home.

However, Riven’s gray eyes scanned the area differently.

The combat General immediately calculated the number of gate guards, natural watchtowers, and escape routes. His gaze then fell upon the guards’ hammers and axes.

There were runic carvings glowing in synchronization on them.

If a brawl breaks out, my slashes might pierce their flesh, but those runic weapons will shatter my bones from the inside, Riven noted coldly. Fighting in here is tactical suicide.

As if sensing he was being sized up, the lead Temple Guardian turned his head. His ember-like eyes glared sharply at Riven.

”You are an incredibly strong fighter, Big Human,” he rasped. His burly hand patted the handle of the hammer on his back. ”But let me warn you... inside the belly of the earth, muscle isn’t everything.”

Riven remained expressionless. He maintained his stoic silence, yet his posture stayed primed to explode whenever necessary.

The dwarf scoffed softly, then led them up a sloping path, away from the hustle and bustle of the city center. The ringing of forge hammers gradually faded, replaced by a sacred silence that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand up.

Their footsteps halted at a dead-end courtyard.

A colossal five-meter-tall black marble door stood tightly shut, covered in a massive array of Runes.

The Temple Guardian removed his glove. He pressed his bare palm right against the center of the door.

Vwooom...

Every engraving on the stone surface flared a scorching red, radiating a wave of heat onto the delegation’s faces. The energy pattern coursed like veins.

Krrrrk!

The giant doors parted. A dim red light spilled out, carrying the scent of wet earth, iron, and ancient incense.

Rianor stepped in first. Yara, Selene, Riven, and Lieur followed closely behind. Yara gulped, her nervousness returning. Riven immediately took the rearmost position, covering their line of retreat.

The room wasn’t lit by torches. Pure light emanated from the runic veins on the floor, converging on a single point in the center of the chamber.

A black stone throne.

There sat the sovereign. The Dwarven Chieftain.

His posture was similar to the guards—short, stocky, with a grayish beard. Yet, his life force was suffocating. The entire weight of the Eastern Mountains seemed to rest upon his shoulders.

Reddish-gold Runes weren’t just engraved into his armor... they were carved directly into the flesh of his bare arms and shoulders, pulsing in rhythm with his breathing. His eyes were old and dim, but they harbored the majesty of a king who had witnessed centuries of ruin. A white-runed warhammer leaned by his side.

Rianor stopped in his tracks, waiting in vigilant silence.

The Dwarven Chieftain leaned forward. The runic veins on his arms flared brightly.

”So...” his voice echoed, heavy and slow. ”...you are the ones who crept into my home wearing the clothes of our enemies...”

Those old eyes narrowed, locking onto Rianor.

”...yet you... do not reflect those iron humans in the slightest.”

The Dwarven Chieftain raised his right hand. Two guards instantly drew their axes. Schwing!

”Surrender your weapons. All of them,” he commanded with absolute finality. ”Or you will never see the sun again.”