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

​The toes of Roland Sudrath’s boots touched the slick stone.

​There was no hesitation. The blistering heat from the lava abyss immediately washed over his face, burning away the lingering chill of the tunnel they had just left behind.

​Far below, the magma river boiled with a heavy, deafening roar. Orange embers spat into the thick, sulfur-tainted air.

​The natural stone bridge spanned barely two meters wide. There were no guardrails whatsoever.

​Its cracked surface emitted a faint red glow from the runic veins, transferring a searing heat straight through the soles of their shoes. Roland’s grimy white shirt fluttered in the scorching wind.

​Every step demanded absolute balance; a single careless footing meant a plunge into the infernal crater.

​Right behind him, Riven followed with a fighter’s precision. His massive frame moved with steady grace. His gray eyes scanned the crevices of the obsidian fortress across the chasm, his hand resting easily on the hilt of his short sword.

​Rianor hugged the right flank. His thin glasses reflected the violent flashes of lava.

​The adamantite Arcanotech Bracer on his arm pulsed with a rhythmic blue light, scanning the ancient bridge’s structural integrity.

​”Hmm... This structure is reinforced by ancient earth magic,” Rianor reported quietly, his voice nearly drowned out by the roaring magma. ”High durability, but there are vibration sensors beneath the surface layer. Every step we take is being tracked.”

​”Good,” Roland replied without looking back. ”It means our host knows we’re here.”

​In the center of the formation, Selene walked with elegant poise. Her sea-blue Arcanum robes exuded a chilling aura, keeping Yara and Lieur from passing out in the suffocating heat.

​Yara hugged her tool bag to her chest, wincing every time the sulfurous steam stung the burns on her hand. Behind her, Lieur walked with his head bowed, trembling in sheer terror at the sea of fire below.

​Borch, Naya, and Dom crept along the edges of the bridge like phantoms, expertly exploiting every blind spot. Thorne brought up the rear, maintaining a secure distance at the back of the line.

​Strangely, not a single arrow was fired. No boulders were dropped from the watchtowers.

​Roland knew full well that this silence wasn’t hesitation. It was a stage. Commander Grendel was watching, letting them walk right into the trap.

​The Northreach delegation finally reached the end of the bridge.

​A towering three-meter-tall gate of black steel plates stood firm, embedded directly into the obsidian cliff face. Dark red runes throbbed across its surface, emitting a freezing aura that clashed violently with the heat of the lava.

​Two statues of Dwarves wielding double-bitted axes flanked the gate. Their eyes glowed red, signaling active magical sensors.

​Roland halted. Rianor stepped up beside him, shining the blue beam from his bracer onto the locking panel.

​”High-tier runic circuit lock,” Rianor muttered hoarsely. ”If we force it open... the resulting shockwave will shatter the front half of this bridge.”

​Riven scoffed softly, his grip tightening on his sword. ”Tsk. So we’re locked out.”

​”Not locked out,” Selene interjected calmly. The Arcanum envoy’s pale blue eyes stared straight above the gate. ”The air pressure up there just shifted. We’re being watched.”

​Roland slowly looked up toward the stone balcony jutting out above the gate.

​A gigantic figure stepped out from the shadows.

​He was a Dwarf, but his size far exceeded that of his kin. His shoulders were as broad as a door, clad in heavily engraved steel armor. His gray beard was neatly braided with rusted iron rings.

​Dark red runic veins coiled around his thick neck and muscular arms, pulsing violently—far denser than those of the Dwarf King. A colossal battle axe with glowing red circuits rested on his back.

​Commander Grendel. Leader of the eastern border.

​Those burning red eyes locked onto Roland. His gaze was heavy with cold calculation and years of deeply rooted vengeance.

​”Humans from the south...” Grendel’s baritone voice boomed. His human tongue was broken but razor-sharp. ”You cross my bridge of fire with dirty shirts and empty hands. Are you brave... or just foolish?”

​Roland straightened his posture. ”We didn’t come looking for a war, Commander Grendel.”

​Grendel let out a short, grating laugh. ”The King might be paralyzed by your sweet talk. He lets you breathe in our lands. But I am not so easily fooled.”

​Roland took a step forward on the scorching stone. ”Your King gave us passage because he understands the threat the Iron Empire poses above us. We are on the same side.”

​”The same side?” Grendel hissed.

​The runes on his arms pulsed rapidly, causing the sweltering air to vibrate. ”Humans burned our homes, plundered our gold veins, slaughtered our ancestors! To my clan, any human who steps foot across this border owes a debt of blood.”

​”We don’t answer to the Iron Empire,” Roland cut in, his voice calm yet piercing through the roar of the lava. ”If you turn a blind eye to that fact, you are only hastening your own people’s destruction at the hands of Satan.”

​The name hung in the air, spoken with flat finality.

​Satan.

​Instantly, the atmosphere on the bridge froze. Grendel stood dead in his tracks.

​For two full seconds, the giant didn’t move a muscle. The runes on his body throbbed erratically. A foreign glint flashed in his red eyes—not fear, but a mix of morbid curiosity and absolute wariness.

​”You...” Grendel’s voice chilled into a lethal threat. ”...don’t you dare utter that cursed legend’s name in my domain.”

​”I say it because it’s the reality staring us in the face,” Roland fired back, unyielding. ”And inside this fortress of yours, you are holding my little sister. Rumina Sudrath. Hand her over, and we will leave.”

​Grendel flashed a feral grin. His hand slowly drew the colossal battle axe from his back. The blade vibrated, radiating waves of crimson heat.

​”You are in no position to make demands, Human. Cross back over... or this bridge becomes your grave!” he threatened.

​Roland didn’t back down a single inch. His gray eyes hardened like steel.

​Riven stepped up beside him, drawing his short sword. ”We’re not leaving without her,” the General stated coldly. ”If you won’t open this gate... I’ll just have to break it down.”

​Grendel raised his axe high. He slammed the butt of the hilt hard against the balcony.

​BOOM!

​”Slaughter them!” Grendel roared.

​The iron gates below blasted open.

​Dozens of heavily armored Dwarf soldiers flooded the narrow bridge like a tidal wave of red steel.

​”Hold formation!” Riven shouted, surging to the absolute front. ”No lethal strikes! Incapacitate only!”

​A Dwarf swung a runic axe straight for Riven’s neck. Riven ducked with lightning speed, letting the blade cleave through empty air, and instantly closed the distance.

​Smack! The heel of Riven’s palm slammed into the Dwarf’s jaw, knocking him out cold. Without a shred of mercy, he twisted a second enemy’s arm until the joint popped, then hurled the stocky body into two of his comrades behind him.

​On the left and right flanks, the Ghost Squad operated exactly as their namesake.

​Borch slipped beneath the swing of a warhammer. His dagger flashed—not slicing flesh, but severing the straps of their greaves and striking the nerve clusters behind the Dwarves’ knees.

​Naya leaped as light as the wind, kicking enemy elbows until their weapons plummeted into the lava. Dom systematically struck the napes of their necks with the pommel of his dagger, knocking them unconscious one after another.

​”Selene!” Riven barked over the clash of steel.

​Selene spread her arms. A pale blue glow surged forth. The sweltering air on the bridge instantly condensed, flash-freezing the moisture into a slick sheet of ice across the stone floor.

​Over a dozen charging Dwarves slipped en masse. They tumbled and crashed into each other, their weapons flying out of their grips.

​Thorne stood like an impenetrable shield in front of Roland, deflecting every stray attack that slipped through.

​Rianor shot a quick glance at the fortress’s eastern wall. His lenses picked up energy fluctuations in a dark crevice.

​”Rianor, go! Now!” Riven yelled as he snapped the wooden haft of an enemy’s axe over his knee.

​Rianor immediately grabbed Yara’s wrist and signaled Borch. The trio swiftly slipped past the chaotic brawl and vanished into the unguarded gap in the eastern wall.

​The secret passage was pitch-black, cramped, and choked with the stale scent of old limestone.

​Rianor led the way, using the blue light of his bracer as a makeshift torch. Yara trailed behind him with ragged breaths, while Borch guarded their six, dagger drawn.

​Rianor pressed his adamantite plating against the volcanic wall.

​Whirr... The blue circuits ran a scan. Virtual data streams reflected across his glasses.

​”Lower sector... three cells,” he reported precisely. ”Two are empty. The third cell... registering one heat signature.”

​Yara swallowed hard. ”Rumina...”

​They hurried down a flight of rough-hewn stairs until they reached a massive, iron-plated cell door. It seemed all the guards had been pulled to the front bridge.

​Rianor aligned his bracer’s circuits directly over the runic lock. He channeled the adamantite’s remaining power into an inverse resonance frequency.

​Clack! Grrrrtt!

​The heavy door ground open, kicking up a cloud of limestone dust. Rianor didn’t waste a second, stepping right in.

​The stench of dried blood and damp moss immediately assaulted his nose.

​Rumina Sudrath sat slumped against the stone wall. Her hair was a tangled, dusty mess. Her gray dress was violently torn at the back, exposing horrific, bleeding whip lashes.

​At the sound of the hinges, she forced her stiff neck up. Her gray eyes slowly widened.

​Rianor stood frozen in the doorway. His shirt was caked in dirt; his thin glasses gleamed with a blue hue.

​For a fraction of a second, there was no sound. Only a profound silence laden with overwhelming relief and the scars of their past.

​Rumina winced, fighting through the agonizing pain in her ribs. She refused to look broken. The corners of her lips slowly curled into a faint, arrogant smirk—the signature look of the Grand Treasurer who had just won an impossible bet.

​”You guys are late...” she whispered, her voice hoarse and raspy.

​Rianor closed the distance without a word. He knelt down, gently taking his sister’s arm.

​Rianor’s eyes immediately locked onto the whip marks on her back. His jaw clamped shut. His gray gaze turned as cold as absolute zero.

​But there was no emotional outburst. No useless pleasantries.

​”We’re going home,” Rianor stated with absolute finality.

​Yara, who had only heard Rumina’s name in the hushed whispers of the princes, hurriedly rushed to support the weakened Treasurer’s side, guiding her out of that stone hell.

​Outside, the battle on the bridge had ground to a halt.

​Dozens of Dwarves were still sprawled out, groaning in pain or dizzy on Selene’s artificial ice rink. Not a single one was dead. Riven’s formation still stood strong.

​Roland’s eyes caught the silhouette of Rianor supporting Rumina out of the eastern fissure, aided by Yara and Borch.

​The crushing weight in Roland’s chest instantly vanished. Yet, his diplomatic mask remained impeccably unbothered.

​”Fall back!” Roland commanded, his voice cutting through the noise.

​Hearing the call, Riven struck down the last enemy in his path before stepping back to cover the rear. The Northreach delegation executed a disciplined retreat, crossing back over the bridge toward the secret tunnel, leaving Grendel’s domain behind them.

​High up on the balcony, Grendel’s fury erupted. He hoisted his colossal axe, cleaving the air with waves of crimson heat.

​”This isn’t over, Humans!” Grendel roared into the abyss. ”I will burn the rest of your sweet words to ash!”

​Roland paused his steps at the end of the bridge. He shot a brief glance back at the rebel Commander.

​His gaze was as cold as ice. Without another word, Roland turned around and continued into the tunnel.

​The group let the darkness of the stone passage swallow them whole.

​There were no cheers of victory. Only the weary, rhythmic thud of their footsteps.

​Rumina limped in the center of the formation. Even though her legs trembled and every step sent agonizing shockwaves from the lashes on her back, she firmly refused when Thorne offered to carry her. Her wounded back was now draped in Selene’s warm cloak. Her glasses were pushed firmly back onto the bridge of her nose.

​Rianor guarded her closely by her side, ready to catch her the moment she stumbled.

​At the rear, Riven walked with a slight hunch to clear the ceiling, his face dark as he pondered Grendel’s threat.

​”Tsk. Seems like that Dwarf wasn’t just bluffing,” Riven muttered, breaking the silence.

​Roland gave a slow nod from the front.

​”I know,” he replied coldly. ”And when he does come... we will make sure he pays in full for what he did to our sister.”

​The remnants of the delegation marched on through the heart of the earth. Bringing their Grand Treasurer home.