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

Chapter 292: 292| We Never Bothered To Choose That Name—The Church Generously Bestowed It Upon Us

​Creak.

​The secret wooden door, camouflaged seamlessly into the wall, slowly groaned open.

​Roland had actually anticipated this from the start—ever since his instincts picked up on the anomaly in the room’s air pressure, and his eyes noticed the asymmetrical lines on the left wall. Yet, when the figure behind the door finally stepped out from the shadows, Roland felt a sensation that had long been dead within him: pure, unadulterated curiosity.

​The man who emerged was no towering giant. His build was entirely average—a man with jet-black hair that was beginning to salt at the temples.

​The cloak draped over his shoulders was extraordinarily plain. A dull, earthy brown, devoid of a single thread of gold embroidery, devoid of any faction emblems. There was no crown upon his head. No ancestral staff in his hand. He possessed absolutely none of the gaudy attributes that screamed the word ’ruler.’

​Yet, his eyes more than compensated for any physical lack of grandeur.

​Those dark brown eyes were remarkably serene, as placid as a lake at dawn. It was the gaze of a man who had witnessed far too many tragedies, who had lost far too many precious things, yet remarkably... had made his peace with it all.

​"Welcome to Geisterstadt," the man greeted. His voice was deep and heavy, yet it flowed with incredible gentleness. "I am Lobrecht. The leader of this community—though honestly, I prefer to consider myself their servant."

​Roland reflexively lowered his head a fraction. It wasn’t the stiff, formal bow of a palace bureaucrat, but a gesture of genuine respect he rarely offered to strangers.

​"Roland. Roland Sudrath."

​Lobrecht returned the gesture with a slow nod. "Have a seat, Roland."

​Pulling up his wooden chair, Roland cast another glance around the room. It was truly bare. No statues of the Goddess. No holy candles for worship. No Church sun emblems carved into the walls. This room was the absolute antithesis of every grand temple or cathedral he had ever set foot in across Luminara.

​He doesn’t worship the Goddess, Roland deduced sharply. Or... his method of worship is vastly different.

​"The people out there call your community the Pagan Order," Roland began casually, crossing his legs. "But as far as my eyes can see... I haven’t witnessed a single ritual or activity that looks heretical."

​A faint smile touched Lobrecht’s lips. "’Pagan’ is merely a stale label slapped on by those who tremble in fear at the sight of differences. We never bothered to choose that name—the Church generously bestowed it upon us."

​The man pulled up the chair opposite Roland and sat calmly. "However, I highly doubt you crossed the deadly desert all this way just to discuss theology with me, did you?"

​"Certainly not," Roland answered straightforwardly. "I came to save my brother."

​"Ah, Rianor. Yes, Morwen relayed your emergency message to me in great detail." Lobrecht leaned back, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "You asked us to assault Magniora Tower to break your brother out. In exchange, you promised ’classified intelligence capable of crumbling the Church’s foundation.’"

​Lobrecht stared intently at Roland. "That is an incredibly bold claim, young man."

​"I am aware."

​"So... exactly how massive is this intelligence you bring?"

​Roland didn’t answer with words. His hand reached into the inner pocket of his coat. Rustle. He pulled out the ancient crystal tablet and set it on the wooden table. Clack. Instantly, the crystal’s surface flared, projecting a dancing, dim blue light. Bzzzt.

​Lobrecht leaned forward, his eyes narrowing at the foreign device. "This... its energy flow does not originate from elemental mana."

​"Indeed, it does not."

​"The Church will undoubtedly label this object as Demonic Knowledge."

​"Oh, they already have," Roland smirked cynically.

​Hearing that, Lobrecht didn’t recoil in the slightest. He showed no ripples of fear or disgust. He simply gave a slow nod. "Continue."

​"This device holds the historical database of a civilization that existed millennia before the Church’s dogma was ever drafted," Roland said, his voice dropping to a heavy, serious register. "That civilization called themselves Project Legion. And the truth is... they were the ones who eradicated the demons the first time around. Not the Church. And certainly not your heroic Holy Maiden."

​This time, Lobrecht’s expression was no longer relaxed. His lake-calm eyes were now glued to the crystal tablet with a vastly different intensity. The veins at his temples bulged slightly.

​Roland began to spill everything.

​Not in the technical jargon of a scientist like Rianor, but with the storytelling prowess of a historical witness. He recounted the tragic tale of Orion, the Legion Prime pilot who sacrificed everything. Of Elias, the first volunteer who surrendered his body to fuse with the machine.

​And then, the most nauseating part... the absolute betrayal. How all the human and non-human races they had painstakingly saved eventually turned their backs and stabbed Project Legion in the back. And how the technological masterpiece that had saved this continent was branded as filthy "Demonic Knowledge" by the Church to monopolize absolute power.

​Lobrecht listened to it all in total silence. He didn’t interrupt once. He didn’t interject with a barrage of foolish questions. The man drank in every one of Roland’s words like a man dying of thirst presented with a flood.

​When Roland’s final sentence faded, absolute silence seized the room. Only the sound of melting wax—Drip... drip...—could be heard from the corner.

​"This story..." Lobrecht’s voice finally broke the quiet, sounding slightly hoarse. "...is a fragment of truth that even I was completely blind to."

​"Because the Church buried it deep. For thousands of years."

​Lobrecht stared at the tablet’s blue screen for a long time. Then, Haaaah, he let out a tremendously long and heavy sigh.

​"You have brought something of incalculable value, Roland Sudrath. Something capable of reversing the very axis of this world." Lobrecht slowly stood up, walking toward the massive map on his wall. "But before we map out our next steps..."

​Lobrecht turned his head toward the main doors. "Gladius. Enter."

​BAM!

​The main doors were shoved open roughly. A man marched in with heavy, stomping footsteps.

​This man, Gladius, was the absolute contrast to Lobrecht’s tranquility. His posture was towering, his shoulders impossibly broad, with a hard jawline that looked as though it were chiseled from bedrock. A jagged scar slashed across his left cheek, trailing all the way down past his ear.

​His grey eyes were incredibly cold and feral. Those eyes instantly locked onto Roland, scanning him intimately like an alpha wolf assessing whether this guest was worthy of being an ally, or if it would be better to simply rip his throat out.

​Meanwhile, in the courtyard outside the town hall...

​The desert wind blew gently, carrying a fine sweep of dust that brushed their faces. Whoosh... Dom stood like a statue, his massive arms crossed firmly over his chest. His broad back leaned against the stone wall. His eyes, shadowed beneath his hood, constantly darted left and right.

​A few paces away, Naya sat casually on a stone bench.

​Suddenly, from behind a stack of firewood near them, a little girl emerged.

​She couldn’t have been older than six. Her hair was tied in two slightly messy braids. Her round eyes stared innocently up at Dom. The giant stared back down at the little girl.

​One second. Two seconds. Three seconds.

​The two stared at each other in total silence, much like two alien species from different galaxies making first contact.

​Then, the little girl suddenly toddled closer. She extended one of her tiny hands toward Dom’s chest. Clutched in her palm was a faded piece of rock candy—a little dirty and gritty from being squeezed for too long.

​"Dis... is for Gwampa," the little girl lisped, offering an innocent smile that revealed a missing front tooth.

​Dom froze. His facial muscles instantly locked up. The little girl showed no intention of pulling her hand back.

​"...I am not a grandpa," Dom grumbled in a deep voice that sounded suspiciously like a growl.

​Pfft! Naya, who had been watching the whole exchange, instantly snorted, stifling a laugh. Her shoulders shook as she fought to hold back the explosion of laughter in her nose.

​The little girl wasn’t intimidated in the slightest. Her hand remained stubbornly extended.

​Surrendering to the ridiculous situation, Dom finally, slowly extended his massive hand. He pinched the tiny candy using only the very tips of his index finger and thumb.

​Seeing her candy accepted, the child immediately beamed with joy, then turned and scampered away without another word.

​Naya finally couldn’t hold back her commentary. "Well, well. It seems your charm transcends age groups and reaches the toddler demographic, Mr. Giant. You’ve got a secret admirer."

​Dom raised the rock candy to eye level. "It is wet and sticky."

​"Yes, that is generally known as melted sugar."

​Instead of throwing it away or eating it, Dom surprisingly tucked the dirty candy into his coat pocket with extreme care.

​Seeing that, Naya could only shake her head slowly. But from her vantage point, Naya could have sworn she saw the corners of the stone giant’s lips tick upward just a fraction.

​Back inside the town hall.

​Gladius stepped forward, closing the distance. "You’re a foreigner." His voice was deep and intimidating. "You pop up out of nowhere, reading us bedtime stories about ancient civilizations and betrayal conspiracy theories. And then you casually ask us to risk our soldiers’ lives to break your brother out."

​Gladius stopped exactly two paces in front of Roland, tilting his head down to glare at the diplomat. "So tell me, Foreigner... what logical reason do we have to trust your sweet-talking mouth?"

​"Because I am not spinning fairy tales," Roland replied without blinking. Impossibly calm.

​Gladius clicked his tongue cynically. Tch. "That’s also the standard line every Church spy uses right before I snap their neck."

​"Basic logic, Master Gladius," Roland countered slowly, leaning his body forward. "If I were a hound sent by the Inquisition, I wouldn’t stroll into your den alone carrying a payload of data capable of detonating my own master’s credibility."

​Roland met Gladius’s murderous glare without a shred of fear. "If I were a spy targeting this base... you would definitely be dead long before you ever stepped foot through those doors."

​Gladius narrowed his eyes. The veins in his neck popped. A lethal pause commandeered the room for several seconds.

​Then... a rugged smirk slowly tore across Gladius’s lips. It wasn’t a friendly smile, but it was no longer murderous either.

​"You’ve got some guts, I’ll give you that," Gladius snorted. "Not bad."

​"Gladius." Lobrecht’s voice intervened calmly. "My decision is final. We will assist this man."

​"But, Leader—"

​"This young man brings the key to the truth, Gladius. This is not merely about his brother’s life—it is about the rotten historical manipulation that has been force-fed down all our throats."

​Lobrecht’s eyes flashed with fierce resolve. "And when Rianor exposes it all, the Church won’t have enough hands to silence the fury of all Luminara. This is the golden momentum we have waited a lifetime for."

​Gladius fell silent. He looked at Lobrecht, then back at Roland. Finally, the gruff commander nodded with a sharp, decisive jerk of his chin. "Very well. If that is your decision."

​Lobrecht smiled in relief, walking back to his chair. "I have been designing a grand scheme to ’cleanse’ the Church for a long time. We have no intention of burning it to the ground—but we will force it to evolve. However, before we draft the tactical assault on the Capital... there is one fact you must be aware of, Roland."

​Lobrecht looked at Roland seriously. "Ghost Town sits right on the edge of the southern border. The closest radius to the cliff of the demon nest. We have indeed managed to survive here all this time... but lately, the frequency of demonic anomalies has increased radically."

​Roland nodded slowly. "I can understand that. I saw their rampage at the Colosseum firsthand."

​"Unfortunately, the tragedy at the Colosseum was merely a prelude—"

​BAM!

​Lobrecht’s sentence was violently cut off as the doors were slammed open.

​A woman dashed inside, panting heavily. Hah... hah... Her dark green combat robes were tailored tightly to her body, with a high slit on the left thigh to maximize kicking mobility.

​Slung across her back was an asymmetrical longbow that pulsed with a strange glow. It was a bow manifested purely from highly compressed Aura manipulation, forged into a physical weapon.

​Her jet-black hair was tied in a high ponytail that whipped around as she marched in. Her emerald-green eyes locked onto Lobrecht with sheer, emergency-level panic.

​"Arcelia," Lobrecht greeted swiftly. "What’s the report?"

​"A Gate, Leader." Arcelia’s voice was firm, though the tremor of adrenaline clearly dominated her vocal cords. "A demon dimensional gate has opened again. This time, the coordinates are in the northeast sector—far too close to our residential perimeter. Three demons have already breached through. The aerial scouting team reports mana fluctuations... there are dozens more queuing up behind the gate!"

​Hearing that, Roland’s shoulders spontaneously tensed. A Demon Gate? This close to a civilian settlement?!

​However, Roland was treated to another anomalous reaction.

​Lobrecht didn’t look panicked in the slightest. He didn’t slam his hands on the desk, let alone shout hoarsely to order an evacuation. The man simply stood up slowly, and surprisingly... he smiled.

​"Gladius. Arcelia. Ring the bells and gather the strike unit," Lobrecht ordered, as calm as a still lake. He then turned slowly toward Roland.

​"You’re coming too, Roland. You must be curious to see how we, the ones branded as Pagans, fight... well, now is your chance."

​Roland stared intently at Lobrecht’s face. The leader still maintained his smile—a cold-blooded smile belonging to someone who actively yearned for the battlefield.

​This man has absolutely zero fear, Roland noted in awe.