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

Chapter 287: 287| They Are Looking For A Well-Groomed, Expensively Dressed Man. Not This Filthy Vagrant Reeking Of Dried Sweat.

​The first streaks of morning light crept slowly through the shattered, glassless windows of the old warehouse. The biting chill, a lingering remnant of last night’s storm, still gnawed at their skin.

​"Ugh..."

​Adul woke up with a stifled groan. His body was as stiff as a wooden plank. Crack. He rolled his neck, which felt horribly cramped. His back ached intensely; even the roots of his hair seemed to hurt. Sleeping curled up on a hard wooden crate with a dust-reeking burlap sack for a blanket was not an experience he wished to repeat. But... he was still breathing. He was still alive. That alone was an unimaginable luxury right now.

​Rubbing his sticky eyes, Adul swept his gaze across the room.

​In the corner, Naya sat cross-legged. Shhk... Shhk... Her hands moved in a constant rhythm, sharpening her twin daggers against the morning silence. Near the half-broken door, Dom stood like a stone statue. Whether the giant had even closed his eyes last night, Adul couldn’t tell. Meanwhile, Eva sat hugging her knees against the faded wall, her eyes open but her gaze completely hollow.

​And where was Roland?

​The man was still standing in the exact same spot as last night. By the window. Staring straight out. His eyes were locked onto the black silhouette of Magniora Tower.

​Adul swallowed hard. He was itching to ask if his master had slept at all, but he quickly swallowed the question. He knew Roland’s habits far too well. A rhetorical question like that would only evaporate into the air unanswered.

​"Are you all awake?"

​Roland’s voice finally shattered the quiet. His tone was calm. Far too calm for a brother who had just watched his own kin dragged away by the Church’s executioners. "Good. I will assign tasks now."

​Shing. Naya halted her sharpening. Dom turned his head. Eva lifted her chin slowly.

​"Dom, Naya. You two stay here. Guard the rest of our equipment. No matter what happens outside, no one leaves this warehouse unless the situation becomes absolutely critical."

​Dom merely responded with a single, firm nod. Naya let out a long breath—Haaah—not a sign of protest, but a gesture of resigned obedience.

​"I-I can help!" Adul suddenly stood up. But because he moved too aggressively, his scraped knees instantly screamed in protest. The boy winced against the stinging pain, yet refused to sit back down. "I... I don’t want to just be a burden, My Lord."

​Roland slowly turned his head. His eyes met Adul’s. It wasn’t a cold, intimidating glare, nor was it the warmth of a father figure. It was just... a flat, empty stare.

​"You have already been immensely helpful, Adul." Roland’s voice was soft. "By staying alive. Now sit down and rest those legs. We are going to need everyone at one hundred percent capacity when the time comes. Including you."

​Adul opened his mouth, stubbornly wanting to argue. But a warm hand pressed down on his shoulder from behind. Naya gave him a slow shake of her head. Defeated, Adul sank back onto his wooden crate, his head hung low.

​"Eva," Roland called out, focusing his gaze on the girl. "You’re coming with me."

​Eva raised an eyebrow slightly. "Just the two of us?"

​"You’re the one who memorized the shape of the symbol. I am the one who excels at talking," Roland answered, adjusting his coat collar. "That is an adequate combination."

​The two of them slipped out before the sun had fully crested the horizon.

​Both wore tattered, earth-colored cloaks with the hoods pulled low to obscure their faces. At a glance, they hunched their postures slightly. They were no longer elegant merchants or hardened mercenaries. They were purely a pair of destitute vagrants, unworthy of a second glance from the patrols.

​The Capital of Luminara looked bruised that morning. The scars from last night’s chaos still gaped openly. At several intersections, debris from the Colosseum walls lay scattered—shards of alabaster, torn fabric, and brownish bloodstains that had yet to be washed away.

​The frequency of the Church patrols had spiked drastically. They marched in small squads, their faces etched with high alert. Citizens hurried by with their heads kept tightly down. Faint, fearful whispers about winged monsters, a fugitive mage, and a massive bounty drifted through the air.

​As they passed a notice board in the plaza, Roland’s steps slowed for a fraction of a second.

​His grey eyes caught a poster that had been slapped on haphazardly. Beneath the sketch, thick red ink read:

DEMONIC KNOWLEDGE. WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE. BOUNTY: 50,000 GOLD COINS.

​Roland’s reaction? Nothing. He didn’t clench his fists; he didn’t curse. He looked away and kept walking.

​Eva, noticing the pause, quickened her pace to match his. "You’re entirely too calm for a man whose face is plastered on every pillar."

​"Panicking and cursing won’t cause that poster to spontaneously combust, Eva."

​"What if someone recognizes your face?"

​"They are looking for a well-groomed, expensively dressed man who sat in the VVIP stands." Roland pulled his tattered cloak tighter. "Not this filthy vagrant reeking of dried sweat."

​Eva couldn’t argue with that insane logic. She refocused, letting her eyes scan every narrow alley, every crack in the walls, and every shadow cast by the old buildings. Roland merely trailed behind without asking questions. He didn’t care where they went or how long it took. He purely trusted the girl’s instincts.

​They began to navigate the fringes of a slum market that was just starting to stir to life. The trembling remnants of last night’s shock were still palpable. The usually raucous haggling was now conducted in hushed whispers.

​"Stop here," Eva whispered abruptly.

​The two pulled over in front of a rickety wooden stall that looked as though it had been abandoned for years. Its roof gaped with holes; its support beams were hollowed out by termites. Not a single pedestrian cared to look twice at two poor souls squatting in front of a junk stall.

​Eva crouched low. Her index finger brushed away the dried moss on a lower support beam sheltered from the rain.

​There was a faint carving there. A grey circle that was nearly invisible, almost entirely eroded by the harsh weather.

​"Back when I was in the ruins of Sanctum... these types of symbols were commonly used as markers," Eva explained quietly, her eyes darting around. "Whether it was a secret rendezvous point, or a blind dead-drop for messages."

​Roland crouched beside her, studying the faded carving intently. "And what about this one? Is it still active?"

​"How should I know? It’s clearly an old carving. Judging by the thickness of the dust, it probably hasn’t been touched in months."

​"But they never erased it," Roland murmured softly.

​He patted the dusty ground near his boots. Scrape. His fingers picked up a shard of clay roofing tile with a relatively sharp edge. Without hesitation, he began to carve something directly next to the old symbol.

​Scritch... scratch... scritch. A brand-new circle. But with a thick, solid dot in the dead center.

​Eva stared at his handiwork, her brow furrowing. "What kind of symbol is that?"

​"I have no idea."

​"Huh? You just fabricated a random symbol?"

​"Eva, I am a diplomat." Roland tossed the remaining clay shard into the gutter. "Half of my job description literally requires me to improvise nonsense and make it look convincing."

​"But—"

​"If they are members of an underground order, they undoubtedly have a routine patrol schedule to check their markers," Roland cut her off calmly. "When they see a new, foreign symbol wedged right next to their dead one, their first instinct will be curiosity. And a curious person... will try to track down the source."

​"Or worst-case scenario, they ignore it entirely, thinking it’s just a prankster’s scribble."

​"If they are foolish enough to ignore it, we’ll resort to a much cruder method." Roland stood up, dusting off his cloak. "Let’s go. Don’t linger in one spot for too long."

​The two turned their backs and melted seamlessly back into the market crowd. They didn’t wait. They didn’t look back for a single second.

​The air inside the warehouse felt vastly more suffocating when Roland and Eva returned.

​Adul instantly hopped off his wooden crate, albeit with a slight limp. "How did it go, My Lord?! Did you find the order?"

​"We wait," Roland answered curtly, pulling back his hood.

​"W-wait? For how long?"

​"Until the fish bites the bait."

​A full day dragged by at a snail’s pace.

​The tension inside the warehouse thickened by the hour. Adul began biting his nails nervously. Eva sat in the same corner, endlessly twirling the hilt of her sword out of sheer boredom. Even Naya—who was usually the most patient—finally spoke up as dusk approached.

​"Lord Roland... what if that symbol truly is expired? What if absolutely no one passes by there?"

​"They will see it, Naya." Roland was still sitting casually on the window ledge. Calm. Aggravatingly consistent with his composure.

​"Are you that certain?"

​"Not in the slightest." Roland threw her a brief glance. "But for now, it is the only card we hold."

​Night finally fell, casting a dark shroud over the capital.

​Adul couldn’t fight his exhaustion any longer and drifted off to sleep—his sleeping posture slightly more humane this time thanks to extra burlap sacks provided by Naya. Eva dozed lightly, her back pressed against the wall. Occasionally, her eyes fluttered shut, but her ears remained on high alert. Dom stood guard near the door hinges—his eyes wide open, though his breathing had slowed, indicating his body was in rest mode.

​Roland was still awake. Staring at the starless sky.

​Knock. Knock.

​Two soft taps brushed against the wooden warehouse door. Incredibly soft, but amidst that dead silence, the sound rang out like a cannon blast.

​Shing! Dom snapped back into combat mode in a fraction of a second, his greatsword already drawn. Naya opened her eyelids, her twin daggers already crossed over her chest. Eva jolted awake, her knees instantly bending, primed to pounce.

​Roland raised one hand calmly. "Hold. Everyone, stay calm."

​He walked steadily toward the door. Creak. He pulled it half-open.

​It wasn’t a squad of elite Church knights standing there. It was a young boy. He couldn’t have been older than twelve. His frame was scrawny, his brown hair a tangled mess. His clothes were tattered and layered, but strangely... much cleaner than a typical street beggar’s.

​And the boy’s eyes... they radiated none of the fear usually found in street orphans. Instead, they held the sharp, icy glare of someone who had been forced to swallow the cruel reality of the world far too early.

​"Are you the ones who left the new symbol carving at the outskirts market this morning?" the boy asked. His voice was flat. Devoid of friendliness, but equally devoid of hostility.

​"Yes, that was us," Roland answered casually.

​"Follow me. Alone."

​Dom immediately glared at the back of Roland’s head. The giant’s body language screamed a blaring warning: Don’t be insane, My Lord. This is clearly a bandit’s trap.

​Roland turned his head slightly, offering a nearly imperceptible shake of his head toward his party. "I will go with him. The rest of you remain here until I return."

​"Roland—" Eva protested through gritted teeth, taking a step forward.

​"I said, I will return, Eva." Roland looked at the girl intently.