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

Chapter 299: 299| Give Me A Target

​Thick dust and pitch-black smoke billowed wildly over the Southern Gates of the Capital of Luminara.

​The late afternoon sky, usually a warm orange, was now completely smothered by an ashen fog and a rain of embers. Desperate screams and bloodcurdling war cries echoed endlessly along the city’s defensive walls.

​Lobrecht stood like a statue atop a small hill overlooking the gates. His faded brown cloak snapped violently in the scorching wind.

​Down below, the Heretic Order forces were fighting in a lethal formation, honed through decades of oppression. They clearly weren’t regular soldiers in pristine uniforms. There was no gleaming holy plate armor. Just a mob of people clad in patched-up rags, wielding scavenged, rusty weapons. Yet, their movements were... extraordinarily disciplined. Coordinated. And absolutely deadly.

​Gladius spearheaded the frontline.

​The scarred giant became the very center of gravity on the battlefield. Vwuum! A thick, blood-red Aura coated both his fists. Every swing of his massive arms laid waste to Paladin after Paladin. The Church’s vaunted holy white armor crumpled and cracked like eggshells beneath the sheer brute force of his raw Aura.

​"RETREAT?!" Gladius roared right in the face of a trembling young Paladin. "You bastards delivered your own lives right to our doorstep!"

​THWACK! His fist launched forward like a sledgehammer. The unfortunate Paladin was sent flying, his body shattering a wooden barricade into splinters upon impact.

​Right behind Gladius, Bastion stood as immovable as a volcano. His golden Aura shield expanded up to three meters wide, locking down the flank. Clang! Boom! Dozens of arrows and explosive magical shrapnel rained down on his shield—creating blinding ripples of golden light—but not a single projectile could penetrate it.

​Hiding safely behind Bastion’s impenetrable defense, Hexalia crouched low. Both her palms were pressed firmly against the parched earth. Her lips moved rapidly, chanting, awakening the primal instincts of the massive tree roots slumbering beneath the city’s foundation.

​"Awaken," Hexalia whispered sharply.

​CRACK... RUMBLE!

​The asphalt right beneath the Paladins’ second-line formation violently split apart. Massive roots lined with razor-sharp thorns tore through the surface, writhing to life and instantly wrapping around the holy knights’ ankles. Panic erupted. Their neat formation disintegrated in mere seconds.

​At the edge of the battlefield, two shadows blurred out from the ruined buildings.

​Noctis staggered forward first. His left arm hung completely numb, as if disjointed from its socket. The remnants of his sleek black cloak were torn wide open across his back. Arcelia flanked him, her steps cautious, one hand tightly gripping her readied Aura bow.

​"Noctis!" Bastion threw a quick glance from behind his shield, his deep voice booming over the chaos. "You can still walk, you bastard!"

​"Well... barely holding it together, to be honest," Noctis chuckled, forcing a grin on his bloodied face. He dropped unceremoniously beside Hexalia with a heavy thud. "B-But Donar... cough... that Wind Master is in a much worse state. Made sure he’s gonna be sleeping like a baby for the next week."

​Arcelia completely ignored the banter. Her emerald eyes rapidly scanned the battlefield, calculating positions and measuring effective firing ranges. Once she was certain the perimeter was secure, she quickly scaled the hill, approaching Lobrecht.

​"Roland’s team succeeded," Arcelia reported quietly, right by the Leader’s ear. "Rianor has been extracted from the tower. They’re making their move on the Cathedral right now."

​Lobrecht didn’t turn around. His eyes remained locked on the flow of the battle below. But the corners of his lips—which had been drawn in a tight, grim line since morning—slowly curled upward.

​"Excellent."

​"You’re not worried?" Arcelia frowned slightly. "There’s only five of them, barging in to challenge the entire Grand Cathedral."

​"I already sent my two best people to carve a path for them," Lobrecht replied casually. "You and Noctis did your jobs perfectly. Now... this stage belongs to Roland."

​Lobrecht finally turned, meeting Arcelia’s green eyes with his trademark, calm serenity. "Trust the man. He is a phenomenally infuriating bastard. A guy with a head like his wouldn’t dare let himself die before his business is finished."

​In the distance, behind enemy lines, the Church’s war drums roared deafeningly once more.

​DOOM! DOOM! DOOM! A fresh wave of Paladin reinforcements flooded through the breaches in the city walls—their numbers now double that of the first vanguard.

​Gladius grinned widely like a bloodthirsty demon, cracking his knuckles. Crack, crack. Bastion took a deep breath and expanded the diameter of his shield. Hexalia dug her ten fingers deeper into the soil.

​Lobrecht turned his gaze northward. Toward the peak of the Grand Cathedral, its golden dome gleaming arrogantly under the afternoon sun.

​Now... the rest of this show is in your hands, Roland.

​The streets of the Luminara Capital had mutated into a death maze.

​Roland led his group through the narrow, filthy alleys. The topographical map inside his head was working in overdrive—calculating every corner, every shortcut, synchronizing with the Paladin patrol schedules he had memorized since his first week in this wretched city.

​Behind him, Dom supported a limping Rianor. The older man’s left arm—blistered and rotting from a fireball graze—hung limply at his side, yet he didn’t utter a single groan of complaint. Dom’s face remained as cold as a block of ice.

​Naya covered the left flank, her Gauss Rifle raised chest-high, muzzle ready to bark. Eva guarded the right flank, her Scarlet Aura glowing dimly like a thin mist along her arms.

​In the center of the formation, Adul jogged, panting heavily. The boy hugged his radio comms box tightly to his chest as if it were a physical shield. His legs were shaking violently, but he forced himself to keep running and match their rhythm.

​Roland suddenly raised a hand. "Halt."

​Instantly, the formation froze.

​From the intersection right ahead of them, the rhythmic echo of static footsteps rang out. Clank... Clank... Clank. The grating sound of pure steel-plated boots. Judging by the weight and sync of the steps, it wasn’t just one or two men—it was a full strike squad.

​"Damn it, Paladins," Dom muttered quietly. He immediately let go of his grip, allowing Rianor to lean against the brick wall to catch his breath. "How many do you hear, Naya?"

​Naya tilted her head slightly, honing her hearing. "Six... or eight. Two of them have a different footfall weight. Elite officers, squad commanders."

​Roland immediately looked back at Rianor, who was looking down in sheer exhaustion. "Still capable of thinking, Brother?"

​Rianor lifted his head. His face was deathly pale, his lips cracked and dry. His charred left arm still emitted the nauseating stench of cooked flesh. Yet, when his eyelids opened... those gray eyes glared as sharply as a freshly honed razor.

​"Give me a target," Rianor hissed hoarsely.

​"Don’t act crazy," Eva snapped, glaring at the man. "You can barely even st—"

​"Dom," Rianor cut in with absolute authority, completely ignoring Eva’s scolding. "Watch the left flank. Right behind that stack of wooden barrels. The mana fluctuation from one of the Paladins there is highly unstable—likely a Fire attribute. He hasn’t mastered his mana circulation yet. That’s the blind spot in their formation."

​Dom simply responded with a crisp nod. Target locked.

​"Eva. You take the right side. The Wind attribute Paladin there has faster footwork than the rest. But you can cut off his air currents if you condense the density of your Scarlet Aura."

​Eva glared at him in annoyance, dying to curse out his sheer arrogance. But from the look in Rianor’s eyes, Eva knew trusting this man’s tactical read would heavily tip the scales in their favor. She clamped her mouth shut and gripped the hilt of her sword.

​"Naya. Find higher ground. Aim for and clear the first officer that shows up. Roland—"

​"I know." Roland reached into his coat and drew a small dagger—a backup weapon Dom had pressed into his hand before the mission began. His scorched left shoulder throbbed with excruciating pain, but adrenaline dulled the worst of it. "I’ll handle the one with the slowest reaction time."

​Adul opened his mouth hesitantly. "W-What should I do, Sir?"

​"You stay exactly where you are, Adul," Roland ordered without looking back. "Hug your box tight. If we all die in this alley, you’re the last person left to broadcast the coordinate signal to Northreach."

​Adul swallowed hard. Gulp. His fingers, slick with cold sweat, gripped the metal box even tighter.

​One second later, the Paladin squad rounded the corner. Eight holy knights in total. Two high-ranking officers in gleaming armor, followed by six vanguards with elemental attributes already glowing murderously in their palms.

​They didn’t even have the chance to open their mouths to shout the command to "Attack!"

​SWOOSH!

​Dom had already surged forward like a runaway behemoth. His massive frame charged straight at the first Paladin on the left flank—the one whose fire attribute was only half-ignited—slamming his broad shoulder directly into the knight’s chest.

​CRACK! The sickening sound of ribs shattering against solid steel echoed in the alley. The unfortunate Paladin was launched into the air, smashing into the alley wall until he was out cold.

​THWUMP! From atop a wooden crate in the back, Naya’s Gauss Rifle roared. The first officer’s head violently snapped backward, a clean hole punched right through his helm, before his lifeless body crumpled to kiss the asphalt.