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

​Roland Sudrath stood frozen at the edge of the ruined Military Outpost.

​The freezing night wind howled through the mountain pass. The air carried the sharp scent of dry limestone and settled steam-engine soot.

​Beneath his boots, the ground that had once been a formidable defensive line was now reduced to a sprawling field of rubble.

​Roland slowly turned around. His cold gray eyes swept over the entire team standing amidst the thin fog.

​His navy-blue diplomatic robes were long gone. His white shirt was grimy with dust and sweat, while the stinging pain from the gash on his left shoulder was strictly hidden away.

​”Fan out. Scour every inch of these ruins,” Roland ordered.

​His voice was calm, but his clenched jaw betrayed the chaos raging in his mind. ”Find a trail.”

​Without a word, the group immediately sprang into action.

​Rianor knelt on the hardened limestone dirt. The adamantite Arcanotech Bracer on his left arm flickered weakly. Its neon-blue circuits dimmed, signaling that the power supply was almost depleted.

​Even so, the faint glow was just enough to scan the layers of dust and scattered debris.

​Rianor’s trembling fingers traced an indentation in the dirt.

​”Hmm... Boots,” Rianor muttered, drawing the others’ attention. ”The footprint is much shorter and wider than a standard Iron Empire soldier’s. This isn’t human.”

​”Tsk. Dwarves?” asked Riven, standing not too far away. His right hand instinctively rested on the hilt of his short sword.

​Rianor gave a slow nod, his eyes narrowing behind his thin glasses. ”A dozen. Maybe more than twenty.”

​He shifted his scan a few spans toward the ruins of the central tent. ”And over here... another set of tracks. Lighter. Not walking, but dragged.”

​Roland’s knuckles turned white the second he heard the word dragged.

​”Where?” Roland growled softly, suppressing the fury threatening to choke him.

​”Down,” Rianor replied hoarsely, staring down the slope toward the mountain crevice. ”Towards the caves.”

​Riven scoffed lightly, sweeping his gaze across the remains of the barricades. ”Tsk, no bodies. No pools of blood. If this outpost was attacked for a slaughter, there’d be signs of a struggle. They took prisoners.”

​Borch stepped out from behind a collapsed tent, piercing through the fog without a sound. He handed a piece of coarse, thick-fibered cloth to Rianor.

​”Found this snagged on an iron barricade post,” Borch stated. ”It’s not Northreach uniform fabric, nor is it Iron Empire.”

​Rianor took the dirt-stained cloth and felt its texture. The scent of damp moss and cold stone immediately wafted up.

​”Dwarven weave,” Rianor muttered.

​Selene, who had been standing silently near the ruined watchtower this whole time, suddenly turned her head to the north. Her silver hair fluttered gently despite the dead wind.

​”Oh... there’s a shift in air pressure to the north,” Selene whispered softly, yet her tone was laden with warning. ”There’s another tunnel connecting to the surface. It’s not the path we took.”

​Behind Selene, Yara clutched her tool bag even tighter. Her blistered right hand still throbbed with pain, making her face look even paler under the moonlight. She stared at Roland anxiously.

​”Rumina...” Roland murmured softly. The name slipped from his lips like a blood oath.

​”We’re heading back into the caves,” Roland decided firmly. His eyes pierced through the northern slope.

​He strode forward through the fog. ”Move out to the northern tunnel entrance.”

​The air inside the stone cell was stuffy, heavy with the scent of damp earth, dead moss, and rusted ancient metal.

​Rumina slowly opened her eyes. Her vision spun, accompanied by a piercing headache at the base of her skull. Her neck was stiff.

​She forced herself to sit up, resting her back against the cold volcanic stone wall.

​She held her breath. She didn’t scream, nor did she cry.

​Her treasurer instincts immediately kicked in, calculating every possible variable for survival.

​Four stone walls. One thick door without a single crack. One ventilation hole the size of a fist high up near the ceiling. Two shadows moving outside the door—guards.

​Her body trembled, but Rumina hid her shaking fingers beneath the folds of her now-soiled dress. The freezing air stung her lungs with every breath.

​She closed her eyes, shoving the panic into the deepest corners of her mind and forcing her logic to take the wheel.

​This isn’t an Iron Empire prison, she analyzed inwardly. There were no rivet-plated steel walls, no roaring steam pipes, no stench of engine grease.

​Rumina opened her eyes, observing the walls of her cell. Veins of purplish-red runes pulsed faintly within the stone, radiating a warmth that regulated the room’s temperature.

​This wasn’t steam tech. This was magic, or some form of earth resonance she had never studied.

​Heavy footsteps scraped against the stone floor, growing closer by the second. The cell door slid open with a loud, grating grind.

​A Dwarf marched inside. His build was short and stocky, sporting a dull gray beard that was roughly braided. His faded red eyes stared at Rumina devoid of any emotion.

​Carved into his chestplate was a large red rune glowing dimly.

​Rumina straightened her back. Her heart hammered so violently it hurt, but her expression remained as smooth and unreadable as marble.

​”My name is Rumina Sudrath,” she stated, her tone carrying the calm authority honed from years at court. ”I am the Grand Treasurer of Northreach and a member of the diplomatic delegation. According to inter-regional law, I have the right to know where I am being held and who is detaining me.”

​The Dwarf remained completely silent. He merely stared at Rumina for three suffocating seconds, taking in her soiled dress, before turning on his heel to leave.

​The stone door slid shut once more.

​Pitch-black darkness greeted Roland and his team the moment they stepped into the hidden tunnel entrance on the northern ridge.

​Their sole source of light was the neon-blue glow of Rianor’s Arcanotech Bracer, flickering weakly in emergency mode.

​The passage was narrow and claustrophobically tight. The scent of cold volcanic rock and dead moss saturated the air.

​Roland walked in the center of the formation. Ahead of him, Riven was forced to hunch over. Riven’s bandaged left hand trailed along the wall, while his right hand never left the hilt of his sword.

​Selene followed behind Rianor, her sea-blue robes dragging soundlessly across the slick stone. Yara clutched her tool bag tightly, wincing through the pain of her blistered hand.

​Lieur kept his head down behind Yara, his body trembling violently. Thorne brought up the rear with a drawn dagger, while Borch, Naya, and Dom moved silently along the flanks, blending seamlessly into the shadows.

​There were no monsters. No traps. The tunnel was empty, but it was precisely that dead silence that felt so suffocating.

​Rianor suddenly stopped. He pressed his palm against the stone wall. His bracer flashed twice, scanning the surrounding structure.

​They picked up their pace, allowing themselves to be swallowed whole by the ancient darkness of the mountains.

​The stone door of Rumina’s cell slid open again.

​The same Dwarf guard with the red chestplate walked back in. This time, he carried a clay bowl and a piece of bread as hard as a rock.

​He set the bowl of boiled moss-scented soup on the floor, right at Rumina’s feet.

​”You won’t be killed, Human,” the Dwarf said. His voice was raspy, laced with suppressed hatred. ”But you won’t be seeing the sunlight again until we figure out who you are and what you’re after.”

​Rumina glanced at the bowl on the floor, then looked straight into the guard’s faded red eyes.

​”I already told you who I am,” Rumina shot back sharply. ”What I don’t know is who you are, and why your forces attacked the Military Outpost where I was being held.”

​The Dwarf narrowed his eyes. His jaw tightened. ”You know about that outpost?”

​”I was a political hostage there,” Rumina replied without blinking. ”If you lot attacked that base just to pick a fight with the Iron Empire, you merely assaulted another prisoner who has absolutely nothing to do with your war.”

​The Dwarf fell silent. He studied Rumina’s pale face, searching for a lie, but only found a resolve as unyielding as steel.

​”We... didn’t know there were prisoners at that base,” the Dwarf said slowly, his tone shifting slightly. ”We only knew there was a human military base on the border.”

​The Dwarf turned around abruptly and stomped out. The stone door slammed shut with a heavy thud.

​Rumina was left alone. She stared at the bowl of soup on the floor. Her stomach churned painfully, demanding food, but she held back.

​She gripped the hem of her dress tightly.

​If Rianor or Riven find out I’m missing, they’ll definitely do something reckless to find me.

​Tsk, I need to get out of here before those idiots do something stupid, Rumina thought resolutely.

​Outside the cell, the Dwarf guard hurried down a long corridor lit by blue-flame torches. His heavy footsteps echoed until he stopped in front of a pair of intricately carved double doors.

​Inside the stone chamber, an elderly Dwarf sat in his chair. His body was covered in scars. The runes etched into his arms and shoulders glowed a dark, menacing red.

​A massive warhammer, also etched with dark red runes, leaned against the stone wall.

​”Speak,” the old Dwarf commanded, his deep voice carrying a terrifying weight.

​”The woman finally spoke, My Lord,” the guard reported, bowing his head. ”She claims she’s a hostage. Not an Iron Empire soldier, but a human diplomat from the south.”

​A thin, cold smile crept onto the old Dwarf’s face.

​”Interesting...” he muttered, tapping his calloused fingers against the armrest.

​The old Dwarf stood up and grabbed his warhammer.

​The guard bowed deeply, then hurried out.

​The old Dwarf walked over to a giant stone map carved into the wall.

​His eyes, burning like embers, swept across the map with cruel satisfaction.