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

?Morning broke with a thick fog hanging low over the Eastern Mountains. The air was damp and heavy, laced with the faint scent of sulfur. In the distance, black smoke from the ruined logistics route still billowed lazily into the sky, the aftermath of Borch and Thorne’s handiwork last night.

?Rianor stood before the stone table in the makeshift command post, a cramped room that had served as his workspace since the night before. The relief map in front of him was scratched in one corner, a remnant of last night’s clash. His cracked glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose; he didn’t bother to adjust them. His left arm hung limply, the Bracer completely dead. His right arm throbbed faintly around the cuts that were just beginning to scab over.

?Roland stood beside him, his white shirt still grimy from yesterday, black hair unkempt.

?Rianor tapped the map three times with his right index finger, pointing out the marks he had made last night. A narrow valley sandwiched between two steep cliffs.

?”Riven takes the vanguard. He’s the bait,” he said. ”Borch and Thorne on the left cliff. Naya and Dom on the right.”

?”You sure this is gonna work?” Roland asked.

?”We’ll find out soon enough,” Rianor replied flatly.

?He folded the map, tucked it under his shirt, and stepped outside. Beyond the stone corridors, the muffled sound of marching boots echoed. Roland followed without another word.

?

?Out in the courtyard of the makeshift command post, the Dwarven troops stood in perfect formation.

?Riven stood at the head of fifty warriors. He still towered over everyone else, gripping a rune-etched battleaxe. A black Wolf-hide cloak draped over his shoulders, and fresh bandages wrapped his left arm, covering a Wyvern scratch that had yet to fully heal. Behind him stood an Obsidian Golem—a towering three-meter brute made of jagged volcanic rock, its joints glowing with blazing red runes.

?On the left flank, Borch and Thorne led seventy warriors. Two Wyverns perched atop stone pillars, their spiked wings folded tightly, red eyes glowing faintly.

?On the right flank, Naya stood perfectly still, twin daggers sheathed at her waist, leading another seventy troops alongside Dom. Two Basilisks coiled on the ground, while a Magma Crawler clung to the cliff face, its long, jagged body lined with glowing, superheated rocks.

?In the rearguard, the Dwarf King stood with thirty reserve warriors. Bronze rings still braided his gray beard, and a warhammer etched with white runes rested on his shoulder. He didn’t move an inch.

?The morning mist blanketed the entire courtyard, rendering the back of the formation nearly invisible. Rianor stood in the center, sweeping his gaze across the army. No one spoke.

?”Let’s move,” he said.

?

?Riven marched forward through the mist, fifty Dwarven warriors trailing behind him. The Obsidian Golem moved with a heavy, thunderous rumble every time its feet hit the ground.

?They halted at the mouth of the valley.

?Across from them, the remnants of the Iron Empire’s army were camped among gray tents and battered steam-carriages. Their soldiers looked exhausted, but their numbers were still overwhelming.

?The enemy scouts spotted them first, sprinting back toward the tents while shouting the alarm. A horn blared sharply, shattering the morning silence.

?Grigori stepped out of his command tent, resting his black iron left arm on a folding steel table outside. The graying hair at his temples was slick with morning dew. He narrowed his eyes at the small vanguard standing at the valley’s entrance.

?Only fifty men and a single Golem.

?Adrian stood beside him, his usually pristine, youthful face pale from the mountain chill.

?Grigori smiled faintly, then gave the order. The attack horn sounded. Five hundred Iron Empire infantrymen marched forward in a tight formation. Ten Junk-Cyborgs clattered behind them, their heavy metallic legs pounding the volcanic soil in a grim rhythm.

?Riven stood perfectly still. A few Dwarven warriors began to fidget. A red-bearded soldier next to him muttered anxiously.

?Wait, Riven muttered, mostly to himself.

?The enemy lines drew closer. Four hundred meters. Three hundred. Two hundred. Volcanic dust kicked up with every step, mixing with the lingering fog.

?Riven raised his axe.

?Now.

?

?The Obsidian Golem stepped forward, its volcanic rock body cracking loudly with every movement. The red runes at its joints flared to life, gathering raw power, before it bent its knees and leaped.

?The colossal figure crashed right into the center of the Iron Empire’s formation. The ground quaked violently, fissures tearing in every direction. Dozens of soldiers were sent flying like ragdolls, their disciplined ranks utterly shattered in a single impact.

?Riven dashed in, swinging his axe, cleaving through steel armor one after another. The fifty Dwarven warriors charged behind him. The runes on Riven’s axe burned a furious red, hot enough to melt any enemy metal it touched.

?Several Dwarves fell in the chaos, struck down by blades or trampled by the panicking enemy, but their line didn’t break. The others immediately filled the gaps without needing a single command.

?The Iron Empire didn’t retreat. The horn blared again, and five hundred reinforcements poured in from the right side of the valley, advancing in a tight shield wall. Ten Heavy-Cyborgs rumbled behind them.

?Riven smirked. He took a half-step back and gave the signal.

?The Dwarven warriors initiated a tactical retreat, dragging the Golem back with them.

?Thinking they had the upper hand, the Iron Empire pushed forward. Faint cheers broke out from their ranks. They marched deeper into the valley, passing the chokepoint flanked by the two towering cliffs, completely unaware of what waited above them in the silent fog.

?

?The mist on the left cliff was slightly thinner, offering a clear line of sight to the ground below. Borch crouched on one knee, his Gauss Rifle in hand, the sniper scope emitting a faint green glow. Below him, seventy Dwarven warriors lay hidden behind the rocks. The two Wyverns clung silently to the cliff face, wings still folded, their red eyes tracking the enemy troops marching into the kill zone.

?Borch took a deep breath and held it. His finger curled around the trigger.

?The first shot pierced the fog, slamming squarely into a Heavy-Cyborg just as it raised its pneumatic cannon. An internal explosion ripped through its core; the massive mech collapsed, crushing two soldiers beneath it.

?Now, Borch muttered.

?Seventy Dwarves leaped from behind the boulders, their rune-carved axes and hammers blazing. Their war cries echoed between the canyon walls. The two Wyverns detached from the cliff, spreading their massive wings, and dive-bombed into the panicking Iron Empire ranks, tearing and burning everything in their path.

?

?On the right cliff, Naya raised her hand. The two Basilisks slithered down the rock face, landing with a heavy thud, venom dripping from their long fangs. The Magma Crawler scuttled down not far from them, its serrated jaws snapping wide open.

?Dom knelt behind a rock, aiming his Gauss Rifle at a Breaker—a four-meter-tall mech armed with a steam-piston sledgehammer. His shot blew out the machine’s knee joint. The Breaker staggered, lost its balance, and crashed into two Junk-Cyborgs behind it.

?The right flank’s seventy Dwarves charged. Naya moved like a shadow among them, her daggers finding the gaps in every suit of armor that passed her way. One by one, the Iron Empire soldiers dropped without even a chance to scream.

?The Basilisks spewed corrosive venom, melting steel armor on the spot while the soldiers trapped inside shrieked in agony. The Magma Crawler burrowed under the cracked earth and erupted right in the middle of the enemy formation, its jaws chewing through whatever was in front of it, making no distinction between metal and flesh.

?

?Grigori heard the chain of explosions and the screams from inside his tent. He rushed out, his eyes scanning the valley that was now choked with smoke and dust.

?The Iron Empire’s vanguard was in absolute shambles. The Dwarves had ambushed them from three directions at once—front, left, and right. Wyverns flew low, bathing the remaining logistics tents in fire. Basilisks slithered across the ground, melting everything in their wake.

?Adrian sprinted over, his normally immaculate blue uniform covered in dust, his face deathly pale.

?”We’re pinned down,” he said. ”They’re coming from everywhere.”

?”We walked right into a trap,” Grigori replied softly.

?He stared at the valley once more. The Dwarves had sealed off every retreat path. His army was squeezed between three fronts, taking a rain of projectiles from two snipers hidden on the cliffs.

?Grigori clenched his iron left hand until the joints groaned. He had seen pincer tactics like this before, countless times over his long career. But never this fast, never this precise, and certainly never from an enemy that should have been running on fumes.

?”Fall back,” he ordered. ”All units, retreat now.”

?The retreat horn blared long and loud, echoing through the valley, bouncing from cliff to cliff before finally being swallowed by the fog.

?

?Back at the makeshift command post, Rianor stood before the stone table, his palms pressed flat against its cold surface. The tremors from the valley traveled through the floor—explosions, impacts, and distant but distinct screams, like the echoes of a nightmare playing out far away.

?He closed his eyes, feeling the rhythm of it all.

?Roland stood next to him, arms crossed over his chest. ”How is it?” he asked.

?Rianor opened his eyes. ”They’re retreating.”

?Roland gave a slight smile. ”You did it.”

?”Not yet,” Rianor replied.

?He pointed at a spot on the relief map. Grigori was falling back, but that didn’t mean he was defeated. He still had a massive army stationed outside the valley. He still had artillery that hadn’t fired a single shot.

?Rianor stared toward the valley, even though only stone walls were visible from here. The smoke and dust were surely still billowing over there by now.

?This is just the first wave. Grigori will come back with everything he’s got.

?Roland looked at him for a long moment, then asked what the next plan was.

?Rianor didn’t answer. He just stared at the map, letting the silence speak first, while the faint tremors from the valley still vibrated through his palms against the stone. His finger tapped a spot just outside the valley, a location he hadn’t touched until now.

?The Iron Empire’s command tent.