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

Chapter 293: 293| I Always Have A Plan. It’s Just That, Until Today, I Lacked An Adequate Reason To Execute It. DEFENDS

​CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!

​The rusted iron bell atop the town hall tolled violently.

​In an instant, the entire pulse of life in Geisterstadt shifted drastically.

​Mothers swiftly scooped up their toddlers, running in orderly files toward the underground mine shafts that had been repurposed into emergency bunkers. The youths who, just minutes ago, had been practicing their strikes, scrambled to their respective defense posts. They snatched steel-rimmed wooden spears, chipped broadswords, and worn shields. Their faces were incredibly tense, but the fists clenching the hilts of their weapons did not tremble with a shred of doubt.

​Roland stood in the town hall courtyard, watching the gears of this civilization grind. At his flanks, Dom and Naya stood on high alert. Dom’s hand firmly gripped the long canvas bundle—their Gauss Rifle—which remained hidden.

​"Crazy. They are exceptionally well-trained," Naya murmured, her eyes narrowing in admiration. "This is clearly not their first rodeo."

​"No," Roland answered softly. "This is their last home. Defend or die—they have long grown accustomed to the choice."

​SPLAT!

​In the distance, right above the rocky northeastern hills, the air suddenly tore open. It was identical to the phenomenon at the Colosseum. The twilight sky was violently ripped apart like a canvas sliced by a giant blade. From within the pitch-black tear, a putrid purple light pulsed disgustingly, resembling a rotting heart pumping toxic blood.

​Then, the monsters spilled out.

​BAM! The first demon impacted the ground, the sheer shockwave of its descent rattling the pebbles on the dirt. Its pale, webbed wings stretched wide, blotting out the remaining sunlight. Its horns curved asymmetrically, and its burning red eyes scanned for prey.

​One demon. Two. Three. Four. Five... They continued to vomit themselves from the dimensional gate like a plague of locusts.

​In front of the city gates, the regular forces of the Pagan Order had already assembled into a tight, three-layer formation.

​The first row consisted of the ’Shieldbearers’—those with the densest manifestation of Aura to serve as vanguard shields. The second row was filled by the ’Strikers’—wielders of bladed weapons whose Aura was forged for sharp, focused lethality. The third row was the ’Reserves’, standing ready to patch the position of anyone who fell at the front.

​Roland recognized several of the young faces in that line. They were the greenhorns who had been training with raw Aura this morning. The red, blue, and green glows enveloping their bodies still flickered unstably. Yet, their feet remained rooted in the dirt. Unyielding.

​"HOLD THE LINE! DO NOT BACK DOWN!" roared a scar-faced field commander from the front row.

​The first demon lunged ferociously.

​KABOOM!

​The first impact erupted. The Shieldbearers absorbed the strike of the giant claws using their aura-clad shields. Crack. Several shields fractured instantly under the pressure, but they held.

​The Strikers in the second layer retaliated! Spear tips and broadswords wrapped in boiling Aura thrust into the gaps of the demon’s scales. The monster howled in rage, black blood spraying, but it did not drop immediately. It took five to six consecutive thrusts before the first beast finally collapsed.

​However, a secondary wave of demons slammed into them from the left flank. Thud! One Shieldbearer was launched into the air, his chest shredded open. The formation flickered on the verge of collapsing.

​"LEFT FLANK! PATCH THE GAP, DAMN IT!"

​Two youths from the reserve line leaped forward, stepping over the fresh blood of their comrade to seal the hole in the wall. The defensive perimeter snapped shut once more.

​"They aren’t elite fighters," Roland murmured quietly, analyzing from a distance. "But they understand group survival perfectly."

​Dom, standing beside him, didn’t reply. His giant eyes moved coldly, calculating the speed, distance, and weak points of every emerging demon.

​Suddenly, from within the Gate, a demon of vastly more massive proportions crawled out.

​It was twice the size of a standard demon. Its wingspan was as wide as a horse-drawn carriage. In the center of its chest was a jagged fracture radiating a volatile purple glow—like a core reactor of absolute darkness primed to detonate.

​The regular ranks reflexively retreated half a step. Not because their courage had failed them, but out of pure instinct, realizing a monster of this caliber was far beyond their pay grade.

​At that critical second, Gladius surged through the ranks.

​The man landed squarely in front of the giant demon. Without a second of hesitation. Without a single weapon in his hands. Whoosh! Blood-red Aura erupted brutally around his fists, flaring like hellfire. He pulled his right fist back, rotated his hips, and unleashed it.

​BAM!

​The first strike connected dead-on with the demon’s chest core. The pulsing purple fracture vibrated violently. The demon let out a hollow screech—not from pain, but sheer shock. No ordinary human had ever managed to strike it this hard.

​Before the monster could react, the second blow followed. CRACK! Gladius’s lethal uppercut smashed the demon’s lower jaw, dislocating its cervical spine. Its head whipped violently to the side.

​The third strike sealed its fate. Gladius’s fist plunged brutally through the demon’s thick abdomen, tearing through filthy flesh and arteries until his fist erupted out of the monster’s back. Squish.

​The giant demon froze. Then, it collapsed heavily like a sack of wet sand.

​Gladius ripped his arm back roughly, thick black blood dripping from his sleeve. He wiped a splatter of blood from his cheek while roaring, "SPREAD OUT! DO NOT LET A SINGLE ONE OF THESE BASTARDS NEAR THE BUNKERS!"

​Atop the ruined shop next to the city gates, Arcelia had already crouched into position. Her bowstring was drawn to its absolute limit. Shing! An arrow of pure Aura flew soundlessly, piercing clean through the eye of an oblivious demon. Two. Another demon crashed to the dirt. Three, four, five. Arcelia didn’t shout commands. Her arrows spoke for her.

​At the front line, a bald giant named Bastion stood rooted like a fortress. His colossal Aura Shield radiated a dull gold hue, absorbing the fury of two demons simultaneously. Claws and horns hammered his shield repeatedly. Clang! Clang! Yet Bastion didn’t budge an inch. The veins in his neck bulged severely. "Over my dead body," he growled.

​Behind Bastion, a girl named Hexalia danced as she chanted incantations. There was no clean, organized rhythm of the Church’s magic academies here. This was pure, wild street magic. Thud! Jagged, thorny tree roots suddenly ripped through the earth, binding the demon’s ankles in an iron grip. When another demon tried to breach the side flank, Hexalia fixed her eyes on it.

​Instantly, the dry ground beneath the demon’s feet liquefied into a stone mire. The monster roared in panic before sinking into the stone mud within seconds.

​Across the rooftops, Noctis—the assassin—flickered in and out of the shadows. Just as a demon prepared to pounce on the wounded rear guard... Noctis manifested on its neck. Slash. His black dagger smoothly sliced through the scale gaps of the monster’s throat. The demon slumped to the ground without uttering a sound.

​Noctis melted back into the shadows before the carcass even hit the dirt. "Too easy," he chuckled softly from another roof. "Where’s the big one?"

​However, the euphoria of their defense was short-lived.

​The dimensional gate had not finished spewing its contents. The demons pouring out were no longer dozens, but scores. An endless, cascading wave.

​Gladius began to pant heavily after bringing down his fifth demon. Arcelia had exhausted her physical arrows and was now forced to squeeze her mana to forge illusory ones. Bastion’s golden shield began to display severe cracks. Hexalia was pale, drained of oxygen and mana. Noctis’s movements across the roofs grew sluggish.

​The regular forces finally began to drop.

​Thud! A youth who had been smiling during practice this morning was thrown into the air, his chest ripped open, landing lifelessly. One by one, their defenses fractured. The metallic stench of fresh blood mixed with sulfur began to dominate the battlefield.

​Watching the slaughter unfold before his eyes, Roland’s jaw tightened. He shot a glance at his party.

​"Dom. Naya."

​Dom instantly snapped his head to look at him.

​"Now."

​Sshk. Dom yanked the slipknot of the canvas bundle on his back. The fabric fell away, exposing a weapon barrel far too anomalous for this era.

​The Gauss Rifle. Pitch-black metal that devoured the light, with cooling circuits pulsing blue along its elongated barrel. Naya mimicked his movement within seconds. Two lethal Gauss Rifles were now secured in the hands of the Ghost Squad veterans.

​No more tattered cloaks. No more poor vagrant facades.

​A youth of the Pagan Order who was binding a wound on his arm accidentally looked up. His eyes bulged in horror at the device in Dom’s hand. "W-what kind of cursed relic is that...?"

​Dom ignored him. He lifted the heavy rifle barrel with one hand, braced the stock against his shoulder, and aimed at a demon preparing to shred Bastion’s chest.

​Whirrr... The circuits along the barrel hummed softly as the magnetic field condensed. Dom’s finger pulled the trigger.

​K-THUMP!

​The head of the demon targeting Bastion shattered instantly.

​An absolute hush seized the battlefield for a full second.

​Even the remaining demons temporarily stopped their roars, unable to comprehend what invisible curse had just obliterated their comrade.

​Gladius—standing atop a pile of demon carcasses, his breath ragged—turned his head slowly toward the source of the noise. His eyes widened as he stared at Dom, then at the Gauss Rifle, and finally at Roland, who stood calmly in the center of it all.

​"W-what kind of insane magic was that...?" Gladius muttered in disbelief.

​On the other side, Naya offered a thin smirk. She raised her Gauss Rifle and aimed at a disoriented, massive demon. Whirrr...

​K-THUMP!

​The head of the second demon dissolved into a red mist.

​"Two," Naya counted in a bored tone.

​Dom shifted his aim to the left flank. K-THUMP!

​"Three."

​K-THUMP!

​"Four."

​The two of them executed their targets with a terrifying, monotonous rhythm. No rush, no panic. Aim. Shoot. Head exploded. The demons, who usually fed on human terror, actually began to retreat in panic.

​Noctis emerged from the shadows of the roof directly above Roland. The young assassin let out a long whistle, his eyes sparkling with awe. "Phew. Damn... that black thing definitely isn’t magic."

​"Of course not," Roland replied without bothering to look up.

​"Then... what on earth is it?"

​Roland threw Noctis a brief glance. "Demonic Knowledge. At least, that’s what the Church calls it."

​Noctis let out a soft chuckle. "Hah. If that’s the case, I’m starting to like you, Mr. Foreigner."

​The Gate in the sky remained open, but no more demons dared to emerge.

​Only one last demon remained. Its body was already riddled with slashes from Gladius’s blade and pierced by Arcelia’s illusory arrows. The beast stared at Dom and Naya with burning red eyes filled with pure, dense hatred, preparing to launch a desperate charge.

​Dom raised his rifle once more. He pulled the trigger. Click. "Tch. Out of ammo," Dom reported flatly, lowering his barrel.

​The demon drew closer, swinging its colossal claws, primed to sever Dom’s head. Roland nearly reached for his own weapon, but...

​A single, fluid movement halted everything.

​There was no flash of light. No explosion. It was so silent it defied all logic.

​The massive demon mid-dive suddenly froze in the air. Its eyes bulged in pure horror, as if its internal organs had just been crushed by an invisible force. The colossal body convulsed violently, then crashed heavily to the ground. THUD. Dead instantly. Without a single drop of fresh blood spilled.

​Roland turned his head swiftly.

​Lobrecht stood tall right beside him. The man still rested both hands behind his back. His standing posture hadn’t changed in the slightest, as if he were merely enjoying the twilight view and had done absolutely nothing.

​"Close the Gate, Arcelia," Lobrecht spoke calmly, without a hint of being out of breath. "Our task is complete for today."

​Sure enough, the black tear in the sky began to shrink, narrowing, until it finally sealed shut like a healing wound. The twilight sky of Luminara turned clean once more.

​Down below, the battlefield was littered with piles of demon carcasses. The pungent smell of sulfur mixed with the metallic tang of black blood choked the air. But scattered among those piles lay the bodies of humans as well. Youths who had been laughing in the courtyard this morning now lay frozen forever.

​Gladius stood in the center of the sea of blood. He hung his head low, his hand trembling as he held his sword. Not a single word of victory left his lips.

​Roland walked up to Lobrecht. "What is the extent of your losses?"

​"Seventeen," Lobrecht answered. His voice sounded heavy, carrying an immense weight. "Seventeen of our youths fell today."

​"And if I hadn’t ordered my guards to fire?"

​Lobrecht turned his head slowly, meeting Roland’s grey eyes. "Perhaps that number would have doubled. Perhaps more." He let out a long sigh. "Those long black weapons of yours... they truly are not magic. Not a single fluctuation of mana. That is a killing technology I have never once seen in my entire life."

​"I understand your suspicion."

​"So that is why the Church labeled your artifacts as Demonic Knowledge?"

​"Yes."

​Lobrecht went silent for a moment, staring at a headless demon carcass in the distance. Then, the corners of his lips rose into a bitter smile. "If that is the case... I understand perfectly why those holy-faced old men in the Capital are so terrified of it."

​Night embraced the remnants of Geisterstadt.

​The citizens began to creep out from the underground bunkers. They moved swiftly without needing instructions—collecting the wounded, carrying the critical on stretchers, and draping sheets over the lifeless. There were no mothers screaming hysterically while tearing their clothes. There was only a profound silence and tears of grief falling, buried in tight embraces.

​In front of the town hall, Gladius walked up to Roland. The gash on his arm had been bound with a makeshift bandage. His grey eyes were bloodshot—either from extreme exhaustion or the remnants of mourning his fallen men.

​"Those black weapons," Gladius opened the conversation in a raspy tone. "Do you have more of them stocked in your carriage?"

​"Unfortunately, what I have right now are only those remaining two," Roland answered honestly.

​Gladius clicked his tongue in disappointment. Tch. "A pity." He stared at Roland sharply. "You hid weapons that powerful from us since you arrived. Why bother revealing them only when my men started falling?"

​"Because I needed to evaluate you," Roland answered without hesitation. "I needed to see firsthand how viable and how resilient the allies I am bringing to war against the Church truly are."

​"And? What is your conclusion?"

​Roland met Gladius’s gaze with genuine appreciation. "You are vastly more lethal than I calculated."

​Gladius didn’t verbally respond to the praise. But for the very first time since they met, the glint of suspicion and hostility in the scar-faced man’s eyes vanished entirely, replaced by a rigid, unspoken respect.

​Lobrecht emerged from behind the town hall doors, standing beside them. "Rest tonight, Roland. Tomorrow..." his eyes stared at the silhouette of the Capital beyond the mountains, "...we will negotiate the strategic plan to liberate your brother. And the strategy to burn the Capital down."

​Roland arched an eyebrow. "You already have a grand scheme in mind, then?"

​Lobrecht turned, carving a thin, lethal smile. "I always have a plan. It’s just that, until today, I lacked an adequate reason to execute it." Lobrecht gently patted Roland’s shoulder. "Until you arrived today."

​The supreme leader of the Pagan Order turned back, walking casually into the building with remarkably calm steps.

​As calm as a still lake at dawn.