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

The night breeze sweeping through the Iron Empire Port carried the scent of salt, engine grease, and thick soot.

​At the end of the pier, the iron hull of the NRS Orion groaned softly as it ground against the wooden fenders. The biting sea wind tonight could freeze a man to the bone.

​”We’re here,” Borch whispered into the dark.

​He pulled the collar of his long black coat tighter, hiding the Ghost Squad’s wolf insignia stitched inside his sleeve. Silently, Borch slid down the mooring line, slipping right past the watchtower’s searchlights.

​The gentle lap of the dark seawater masked the sound of his landing on the slick concrete dock.

​A second later, Naya followed. The dark-haired girl landed as lightly as a cat. Her hand instinctively hovered over the hilt of the dagger at her waist. Her eyes did a quick sweep, piercing through the thin mist crawling up from the water’s surface.

​”Tsk. Patrol’s looping east,” Naya reported, her voice barely a whisper. ”We’ve got a three-minute window.”

​Finally, Dom touched down. He immediately crouched behind a stack of steel-plated cargo crates. Without a word, he straightened the mooring line, erasing any trace of their descent. He met Borch’s eyes and tapped his chest once. Ready.

​Before moving out, Borch paused. Something on the port warehouse wall had caught his eye. A military logistics map was pinned up. Patrol routes, outpost coordinates, alternate paths, and evacuation lines. He memorized it in five seconds flat. The Ghost Squad never deployed blind.

​Borch turned toward the eastern mainland. The fog was thickening, swallowing the hills whole.

​This was an unsanctioned op. No official orders from Roland or General Riven. But for the soldiers of the Ghost Squad, sitting idle in a steel cage was the same as a slow suicide.

​”We move east,” Borch ordered, his raspy voice blending with the wind. ”No noise. No tracks.”

​The trio darted through the fog, turning into literal ghosts infiltrating the heart of enemy territory.

​Deep underground, the temperature was cold enough to freeze the blood in their veins.

​Roland Sudrath stood before a massive stone altar. His navy-blue diplomatic robes were stained with limestone dust, his white shirt crumpled and unkempt. His gray eyes stared intently as the Dwarf King turned a hidden lever behind the throne.

​Grind...

​The altar shifted. A narrow tunnel entrance was revealed, exhaling the scent of cold volcanic rock and dead moss. It was pitch black inside. As if waiting to devour anyone who dared step through.

​”This passage hasn’t been opened since our civilization retreated into the bowels of the earth,” the Dwarf King said heavily, his voice echoing off the cavern walls. ”May the ancestors favor you, Surface Dwellers.”

​Roland gave a slow nod. ”We move out.”

​Rianor stepped up. He tapped the Arcanotech Bracer on his left arm.

​Whirr...

​The adamantite device emitted a faint blue glow. Emergency mode. It was barely enough to illuminate two steps ahead, but it beat going in blind. They entered single file.

​Riven took point. His massive frame hunched to accommodate the low ceiling. His bandaged left arm trailed along the wall while his right hand kept a white-knuckle grip on the hilt of his sword.

​In the middle, Selene walked without a sound, her sea-blue robes dragging across the slick stone. Behind her, Yara clutched her tool bag tightly, her burn-scarred right hand trembling slightly against the biting cold.

​Lieur kept his head down, holding his breath, his Iron Empire uniform still caked in wet mud. Captain Thorne brought up the rear, a drawn dagger in his hand.

​Thud.

​The muffled sound of the stone altar sealing shut from the outside locked them in. There were no monsters here. No traps. Just an oppressive silence.

​The fog in the eastern hills felt far more biting.

​Naya crouched. Her fingertips brushed against rough grooves in the damp limestone dirt.

​”Hmm, tire tracks,” she whispered. ”Steam trucks. Deep and heavy. Fully loaded. Made a few hours ago at most.”

​Dom pulled a crystal spyglass from under his coat, peering through a break in the fog toward the plains below.

​”One company of Iron Empire troops marching east,” Dom reported calmly. ”Full combat gear.”

​Borch narrowed his eyes. They were looking for the Military Outpost where the delegation was supposed to be waiting. If regular grunts were mobilizing this late at night, something must have triggered it.

​”We’ll cut through the northern ridge,” Borch decided, pointing to the rocky cliff on their left. ”Take the highest vantage point.”

​Naya stood up, dusting the dirt off her hands. ”Borch, we’re out here without clearance. If a patrol spots us before we link up with the delegation—”

​”I don’t care,” Borch cut her off coldly. ”General Riven and Roland are out there somewhere. If they’re pinned down, they need us. Move.”

​Naya fell silent. The order was absolute. The three of them silently scaled the rocky slope, swallowed by the fog.

​Bzzzt... Bzzzt...

​The blue glow from Rianor’s bracer flickered wildly, disrupting their marching rhythm in the cramped tunnel. Rianor tapped a few circuits, but the light only grew dimmer.

​”Tsk, the arcanotech power supply is unstable,” he muttered.

​Yara immediately squeezed forward, pulling a pair of micro-pliers from her bag. ”Here, let me handle it,” she whispered rapidly.

​With practiced ease, Yara popped off the bracer’s thin panel. Her nimble fingers adjusted a silver screw. A second later, the light stabilized, albeit dim.

​”It’ll last a few more hours at best,” Rianor calculated.

​”That’s enough,” Roland replied from behind. ”Lieur, how much further?”

​The young man swallowed hard, his body shaking. ”A-almost there, sir. This tunnel leads straight to the foundation of the northern ridge. But...”

​Before Lieur could finish, Selene looked up. Her silver hair fluttered despite the lack of wind. Her pale blue eyes stared at the solid rock ceiling.

​”The air pressure just dropped drastically,” Selene said softly, but laden with caution. ”There’s massive activity on the surface. Right above us.”

​Roland and Riven exchanged a look in the dim blue light.

​”Rianor, kill the bracer,” Roland ordered quietly. ”We can’t risk the light bleeding through any cracks in the stone.”

​Click.

​The light vanished. They were completely plunged into pitch-black darkness.

​The breaths of Borch, Naya, and Dom plumed into white vapor as they reached the crest of the northern ridge.

​From up here, they should have seen the glimmer of guard lights, barricades, or at least the smoke from the Military Outpost’s campfires. But what lay below was nothing but an empty void.

​Dom lowered his spyglass. His jaw tightened. ”Empty. No fires, no guards.”

​Borch stepped up to the edge of the cliff. The watchtowers were toppled. Tents were shredded to ribbons, barricades smashed to splinters. The place was completely annihilated. Silent. Leaving behind only the stench of death.

​”Ready weapons,” Borch ordered, his fists clenching. ”We’re going down.”

​Pale moonlight pierced through the limestone crevices at the tunnel exit.

​Roland was the first to step out after Riven cleared the area. The cold, dry air, reeking of scorched limestone and soot, hit them instantly.

​Yara coughed violently as the ashen air filled her lungs. The burns on her hand throbbed, but she refused to drop to her knees.

​They emerged from the bowels of the earth one by one. But as Roland gazed at the valley ahead, his heart practically stopped.

​The Military Outpost was in ruins.

​Lieur pointed toward the valley. ”The outpost is down there. I know this terrain from my old patrols.”

​Roland broke into a jog through the fog, abandoning all his diplomatic poise. Riven flanked him. Roland’s eyes frantically searched every inch of the wreckage. Rumina was nowhere to be seen.

​Rianor knelt next to a shattered pillar, touching the ground. ”The dust settled a while ago. This place was hit hours ago.”

​”No bodies,” Riven noted grimly. His gray eyes swept the area sharply. ”No pools of blood.”

​Roland held his breath, forcing down the panic threatening to choke him. His sister was missing.

​”Keep it together, Roland,” Riven chimed in, his voice an anchor of logic. ”No bodies means they were taken alive. We aren’t too late.”

​Roland took a deep, grounding breath. When his eyes opened, that gray stare was back to being as cold as ice.

​Suddenly, Thorne drew his dagger, pivoting toward the curtain of fog to the north.

​”Who goes there?!” Thorne barked, dropping into a combat stance.

​Riven twirled his sword, Selene readied her magic, and Lieur ducked behind a piece of rubble.

​But from the gray mist, three silhouettes slowly stepped forward. Borch emerged, followed by Naya and Dom, their weapons slowly lowering.

​Thorne lowered his weapon first. Borch immediately reported to Riven.

​”Commander, we’re here without clearance,” Borch said curtly.

​Riven stared at him for a second, then gave a slow nod. ”You’re right on time.”

​Borch glanced at the shredded tents. ”A company of Iron Empire troops is moving east, Sir,” he reported. ”And seeing the state of this outpost...”

​Roland processed the report without much outward reaction, but his jaw clenched tight.

​The two groups fell into silence. The bitter truth was painfully clear: Rumina was missing, enemy forces were mobilizing, and they were caught in the middle with zero intel.

​Roland stepped away, standing at the edge of the ruins. He looked up, staring into the starless, gray night sky.

​Two paths had converged on a single point. But their enemy was still several steps ahead.

​Rumina was still alive. And they were going to make them pay for every single second they had stolen from her.