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

Chapter 294: 294| Today, We Rewrite The History Of This Continent

​Whoosh...

​A low morning breeze swept through Geisterstadt, carrying the scent of barren earth mingled with the thick ash of yesterday’s battle.

​Roland stood in the courtyard of the town hall. From a distance, his eyes monitored a solemn funeral procession.

​Seventeen stiff bodies wrapped in pristine white linen were carried slowly toward the hillside behind the town—an abandoned mine shaft that had been forcefully converted into a cemetery for the fallen heroes of the Pagan Order.

​Beside Roland, Dom stood as silent as a stone monument. Naya, meanwhile, lowered her face, her hands clutching each other so tightly that her knuckles turned white. They didn’t personally know a single youth who had fallen last night. But they understood the bitter taste of losing comrades on the battlefield. That was more than enough to invite them into the mourning.

​Lobrecht stood tall at the edge of the open graves.

​"They died bravely to ensure their home remained standing," Lobrecht spoke softly. His voice did not boom, but its calm resonance successfully reached the ears of everyone present. "It is the finest death for a warrior."

​One by one, the bodies were lowered. The families—a trembling mother, a little brother biting his lip, a lover with swollen eyes—scattered a final handful of soil over the remains. Rustle... rustle... Then, without a word, they turned and walked away. There was no lingering weeping before the headstones. In Geisterstadt, death was a neighbor that visited far too often. They had long grown used to greeting it.

​Roland watched the procession until the last person disappeared over the hill. Only then did he turn on his heel, walking back into the town hall.

​The meeting room was unchanged. The worn, long wooden table was still in the center. But this morning, the atmosphere felt significantly more suffocating.

​Lobrecht sat calmly at the head of the table. To his left, Gladius leaned back—his left arm bound in a thick bandage, yet his fierce posture had not diminished an inch.

​To his right, Arcelia leaned her Aura Bow against the wall. The dark circles under her eyes could not conceal the remnants of extreme fatigue from last night. In the corner, Bastion sat squeezed into a small wooden chair, the pungent smell of herbal salve on his bandages filling the air.

​Tap. Tap. Tap. Hexalia’s fingers drummed against the wooden tabletop in a rapid, concentration-shattering rhythm. Meanwhile, Noctis—the assassin—as usual had no need for a chair. The youth stood leaning in the corner of the room, half-merged into the shadows.

​Roland pulled up a chair opposite Lobrecht. Dom positioned himself directly behind Roland’s back, while Naya stood vigilantly to his left.

​Gladius’s grey eyes immediately shot a sharp glare toward Dom and Naya. It was no longer a look of blind hostility, but the residual vigilance of a wolf. "Those two... are joining this secret meeting?"

​"They are the ones who held the black weapons yesterday," Roland replied casually, meeting Gladius’s gaze. "They are with me."

​Gladius stared at Dom for a long moment. Dom met the gaze without blinking. Silence hung in the air. Then, Gladius offered a sharp, decisive nod of his chin. That was more than enough to serve as approval.

​Lobrecht broke the silence. "We begin. Roland, lay out everything you know about Magniora Tower."

​Roland leaned his body forward. "Magniora Tower is not merely a prison; it is an absolute fortress. It sits precisely in the heart of the Capital, fortified by three layers of security. The outermost is guarded by regular soldiers, the inner layer by Paladins, and at the apex... there is a Master Arcanum stationed on rotating duty."

​"Do you know which Master Arcanum is currently on guard?"

​"The two who dragged my brother at the Colosseum yesterday," Roland replied, his jaw tightening slightly. "I don’t know their names. But I saw their attributes firsthand. Water and Earth."

​Roland looked at the faces around the table. "The Water wielder is a woman—her aura is exceptionally cold and her accuracy is terrifying. With just a flick of her finger, her water chains can decapitate a demon in a single strike. The other is a giant of an Earth mage. He eradicates enemies with stone pillars erupting from beneath the ground."

​Lobrecht narrowed his eyes slowly. "Water and Earth... Selene and Orion."

​Roland frowned. "You know them?"

​"All Master Arcanum on this continent know one another." Lobrecht’s voice suddenly fell flat and weathered. "Because once... I was one of them."

​The room was instantly blanketed by an oppressive silence.

​Roland held his breath for a split second. His brain spun rapidly to process this massive, unexpected piece of lore. So that’s why Lobrecht is so incredibly powerful. Roland chose to keep his mouth locked. Digging into the past right now was not an efficient move. He quietly filed the information away in his mind.

​Lobrecht stared at Roland in a prolonged silence. His calm brown eyes seemed to be weighing how far the man across from him was truly willing to go.

​Lobrecht then stood up slowly. Sshk. He unrolled a massive map of Luminara across the wooden table.

​"This is no longer merely a heroic mission to save your brother, Roland."

​Lobrecht pressed his index finger firmly to the Capital’s coordinates on the map.

​"This is the momentum of a revolution we have waited decades for."

​Lobrecht’s voice vibrated with fierce resolve. "Every time a demon gate opens, the Church’s military strength is depleted. Every time they launch a witch-hunt against us, our ranks grow stronger and more unified. Every time they brand us as ’Pagans’ in public, more of the common folk snap out of their daze and ask: ’How is it that these Pagans survive longer than the holy soldiers?’"

​Lobrecht shifted his finger to Geisterstadt. "This city is a living monument that we cannot be eradicated. And now... you walk to my doorstep carrying the weapons they fear."

​"The truth," Roland whispered.

​"Precisely. The truth." Lobrecht nodded firmly. "But even a grand truth means nothing if it only whispers in a vacuum. To force their ears to hear... we must prepare a grand stage."

​Gladius leaned his giant frame forward. A smirk tore across his face. "I know that smile. You’ve prepared the scenario, Leader?"

​"I always have a plan for everything, Gladius." Lobrecht took a piece of charcoal and drew two sharp lines across the map. Scritch. Scratch. "We will split our forces tonight into two divisions."

​The tip of his charcoal tapped Magniora Tower. "Team One: Infiltration. Primary target: Magniora Tower. Mission: free Rianor Sudrath. This team must be small-scale, exceptionally fast, and move like shadows. Not a single alarm must sound until Rianor has been extracted."

​The charcoal then shifted, drawing circles around the outermost perimeter of the Capital. "Team Two: Diversion. We will strike their outermost guard posts simultaneously. Not to occupy territory—but purely to trigger mass hysteria. The Church will panic, assuming the Pagan Order has finally launched an all-out war. They will deploy every Paladin and Master Arcanum to the front lines to slaughter us. And while their focus is fractured..."

​"The Infiltration Team slips in through the back door," Roland chimed in intelligently.

​"A hundred points to you."

​Gladius rubbed the scar on his cheek. "The division of tasks? Who holds command of each team?"

​Lobrecht looked straight at Roland. "The Infiltration Team... you will lead it yourself, Roland. Of everyone in this room, you are the most familiar with the stench of their bureaucracy and the layout of that city. You have an insane motivation to drag your brother out alive. Moreover, you are escorted by two soldiers with weapons that even the Master Arcanum have never dreamed of."

​Lobrecht shot a brief glance toward Dom and Naya. "Those two will be the main fangs of your team."

​Roland gave a firm nod.

​"To ensure your success, I will add two of our elite assets." Lobrecht pointed toward the shadowed corner of the room. "Noctis. You are the most thoroughly versed in the sewer lines and the tower’s blind spots. Ensure their path is smooth."

​Noctis emerged from the shadows with a wide, mischievous grin. "Heh. Finally, a job that fits my skill set perfectly."

​"Then, Arcelia." Lobrecht turned to look at the archer. "You will conceal yourself in a blind spot from a distance. You are their long-range sniper cover. If the infiltration team gets trapped in a worst-case scenario, your task is to rip open an exit for them."

​Arcelia nodded firmly. "You can count on me, Leader."

​"For the Diversion Team... I will lead it myself from the front lines," Lobrecht decided. He looked at Gladius, Bastion, and Hexalia in turn. "Gladius, you will be the opening executioner at the vanguard. Bastion, your priority is acting as a living shield for any civilians caught in the crossfire. Hexalia, prepare your AoE traps from the rear guard. Tonight, we will make those Church elites wet their pants thinking we are truly invading the Capital."

​Gladius laughed hoarsely. "Hahaha! An easy task. I’ve been itching to see the pale faces of those priests for a very long time."

​Suddenly, Lobrecht’s tone grew dead serious. He looked back at Roland. "Roland, listen closely. Once you manage to extract Rianor... our mission is not complete. We will not run and hide."

​"Meaning?" Roland’s brow furrowed sharply.

​"We will keep marching forward. Straight through the gates of the Grand Cathedral."

​"What? For what suicidal purpose are we going there?!"

​"To end this entire charade." Lobrecht’s voice remained stable, yet his eyes flashed with a fury suppressed for centuries. "I have no intention of burning the Church to ash. But I will force them to vomit the truth and evolve. And to achieve that... I need a face-to-face meeting with the Holy Maiden."

​Roland stared at Lobrecht’s face. There was a deep, personal vendetta laced within the leader’s tone. Something Roland didn’t dare probe at this moment.

​"What time do we execute?" Gladius cut in, heating up the air.

​"Tomorrow at dawn."

​The final night before the drums of war were beaten.

​Roland stood in front of the town hall pillars. He looked up. Tonight, the sky above Geisterstadt was filled with an incredibly brilliant canopy of stars. It was as if the universe had deliberately swept away the clouds to give them a stage.

​Crunch... crunch...

​The sound of pebbles being stepped on alerted Roland. Lobrecht walked up and stood directly beside him. "The night air isn’t good for your lungs. Why aren’t you asleep?"

​"My brain refuses to stop spinning."

​The two of them stood in silence for several minutes. Letting the desert wind fill the gaps of the conversation.

​"There is one thing that has been troubling my mind," Lobrecht murmured suddenly, breaking the quiet. "Why are you willing to dive into this death trap and do all this madness?"

​Roland was quiet for a long moment. His eyes drifted into the distance. "Because letting a lie live any longer is not an option."

​Lobrecht nodded slowly. "A highly satisfying answer."

​"My turn," Roland replied, turning his head to face the Leader. "Why are you doing all this? Willing to fight the institution. Protecting outcasts branded as Pagans. Planning a suicide mission for decades. Why?"

​Lobrecht didn’t turn. His calm eyes remained fixed on the sea of stars above.

​"Because once..." Lobrecht’s voice suddenly cracked. "...I swore to protect someone. And I failed completely."

​Lobrecht gave no further elaboration, locking that dark memory tight. And Roland, as an elite diplomat, knew exactly when to stop probing a person’s privacy.

​"Tomorrow," Lobrecht said, returning to his commander persona. "You will infiltrate the heart of that tower. You will find your brother. And you will drag him out. Whatever it takes."

​"Yes. Whatever it takes," Roland repeated slowly, like an oath.

​The two continued to stand side-by-side beneath the ocean of stars, gazing straight toward the northern horizon—toward the Capital that was sleeping peacefully, entirely oblivious to the storm that would descend upon them tomorrow morning.

​Dawn. Red light had just begun to peek over the horizon.

​The two massive divisions had already gathered in neat files at the front gates of Geisterstadt.

​Roland, Dom, Naya, Noctis, and Arcelia stood in a circular formation on the left flank. Team One. They would move first through the morning mist, infiltrating through the ancient sewer lines whose routes Noctis had thoroughly memorized.

​On the right wing, Lobrecht, Gladius, Bastion, Hexalia, and hundreds of armed Pagan Order soldiers stood lined up like a professional army. Team Two. They deliberately delayed their departure—giving Roland’s team extra time to position themselves before the bombs of chaos were detonated.

​Lobrecht turned toward Roland. "Are you ready, Roland?"

​Roland drew a deep breath, absorbing the freezing morning air. "One hundred percent ready."

​Lobrecht looked back toward the far north. There, the grand silhouette of the Grand Cathedral loomed arrogantly against the sky—its golden spire gleaming sharply under the dawn sun.

​"Today..." Lobrecht murmured lethally. "...we rewrite the history of this continent."

​At the exact same moment, deep within the main altar of the Grand Cathedral of Luminara.

​Flap... flap...

​A grey messenger falcon glided down through an open stained-glass window, landing gracefully atop the sacred marble of the main altar. Bound tightly to its right talon was a parchment scroll sealed with a dollop of pitch-black wax.

​A young monk tasked with opening the Cathedral doors for the dawn prayers accidentally found it. Curious, he broke the black seal and read the contents.

​Within three seconds, the monk’s face went as pale as cotton.

​It took less than ten minutes for the news to trigger absolute hysteria, sending the Church Elders, who had still been sleeping, running frantically like madmen.

​Inside her gilded private chamber, Holy Maiden Anneliese received the crumpled parchment.

​She broke the emergency seal. Her eyes moved rapidly across the rows of script written upon it. Her private chamber was instantly plunged into absolute silence.

​Not a single servant or knight-warden dared to make a sound to ask what was written inside the scroll.

​But for those who stood close to the throne... they could see it with terrifying clarity.

​As Holy Maiden Anneliese folded the parchment back up... the tips of her delicate fingers were trembling violently.