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

Chapter 300: 300| He Has Returned

​On the opposite flank, Eva had already closed the gap with the Wind Paladin. Her Scarlet Aura exploded wildly—a dark crimson violently churning like a vortex of fresh blood. The barrage of wind blades sent by the Paladin was instantly cleaved in half mid-air, unraveling into nothing more than a harmless breeze.

​Without losing a shred of momentum, Eva’s left fist drove hard right under the knight’s jaw. CRACK! A precision strike straight to the central nervous system. The knight’s eyes rolled back, knocked out cold before he even hit the ground.

​Roland glided nimbly toward the most disoriented enemy—a young Water Paladin who was still stuttering through a defensive chant. Roland had no intention of killing him. The diplomat’s short dagger slashed across the young man’s wrist with razor-like speed. Slash! The young Paladin shrieked in terror, dropping his light-sword along with his bloodied hand.

​Their formation was utterly shattered. The three remaining Paladins scrambled to regroup. One of them, a Fire attribute vanguard, slipped past their radar and recklessly hurled a massive fireball aimed straight at Rianor, who was leaning defenselessly against the wall.

​But Rianor didn’t close his eyes, let alone flinch.

​Attack frequency: 3.8 Hz. Combustion molecular structure: Basic and severely unrefined. The fireball was absorbed and instantly replicated by his Mirror Attribute. However, Rianor didn’t fire it back as a projectile. He pressed his hand downward, manipulating the structure of the flame into an elongated wall of fire that scorched the asphalt—completely blinding the three Paladins on the other side.

​"Now," Rianor commanded, his voice as flat as ice.

​Dom, Naya, and Eva lunged in unison, piercing through the curtain of fire from three blind spots. Stripped of their visibility, the three Paladins were fatally executed in a matter of seconds.

​Silence reclaimed the grimy alley once more. Eight white-armored bodies lay scattered like broken toys in pools of their own blood.

​"My Gauss is completely dry," Naya reported, kicking an enemy’s sword away.

​"One left in the chamber," Dom added, lowering his barrel.

​Roland wiped a splatter of enemy blood from his cheek with his sleeve, then turned to look at Rianor. "Still got enough gas in the tank to keep going, Brother?"

​"That is a staggeringly stupid question given our current situation, Roland," Rianor shot back sarcastically. "Keep moving."

​They resumed their sprint. This time, their pace was even more aggressive. The resistance was thinning out—most of the Paladin combat forces had clearly been pulled back to blockade the southern front. After cutting through three narrow turns and dealing with a minor skirmish involving two Earth knights, they finally reached ground zero.

​The colossal plaza in front of the Grand Cathedral stretched out limitlessly.

​Towering, pristine white marble steps welcomed a pair of impossibly massive oak double doors. The Cathedral’s golden dome reflected the twilight sun, as if mocking anyone who dared to defile the sanctity of the grounds.

​Strangely... there wasn’t a single guard standing watch at the main entrance. It was completely deserted.

​"Too quiet. This doesn’t make any sense," Naya grumbled, her eyes narrowing suspiciously as she scanned the perimeter.

​"The entire remaining battalion was clearly deployed south," Roland analyzed quickly. "But don’t drop your guard for a second. They definitely know we’re in this sector."

​Rianor pushed himself off a stone pillar. His gray eyes looked up, locking onto the sheer architectural majesty of the Cathedral. And for the first time since he was dragged out of the Magniora dungeon, the gleam in his eyes wasn’t the cold logic of data calculation. It was the pure, unadulterated intent to destroy.

​"I’ll go inside," Roland decided. "Dom, Naya—you two hold the perimeter at the main doors out here. If the Arcanums or Paladins show up..."

​"We’ll hold the line," Dom cut in instantly. His heavy baritone was absolute, leaving zero room for negotiation.

​Roland stared into the veteran bodyguard’s eyes for two full seconds before giving an understanding nod. The sacrifice was agreed upon without needing a dozen words.

​"Adul. Eva. You two are coming inside with me," Roland continued. He turned to his brother. "And you, Rianor—"

​"I am going inside that building as well," Rianor interrupted, his tone irrefutable.

​"Brother, look at the state of your bo—"

​"I didn’t drag my feet this far just to sit on the porch like a guard dog, Roland."

​Roland let out a long sigh, staring at his brother’s battered face. His lips parted to argue the logic of his medical condition—but closed again. He was far too familiar with Rianor Sudrath’s tone of finality. Arguing with this brick wall was just a waste of precious time.

​"Fine. Have it your way." Roland adjusted his coat. "But remember, if you pass out in there, I won’t hesitate to drag you out by the neck."

​Rianor scoffed softly. "Information duly noted."

​The four of them began ascending the sacred marble steps side by side. Tap... tap... tap... Every footfall of their dirty boots echoed sharply, staining the quiet twilight air of the plaza.

​At the bottom of the stairs, the silhouettes of Dom and Naya split up, taking their respective positions by the flanking pillars. Two loyal sentinels, ready to welcome the furious storm from the lords of Luminara.

​High up on the top floor of the Magniora Tower, lay the supreme hierarchical boardroom of the Arcanum Masters.

​A massive round table carved from a single block of solid marble dominated the center of the room. Nine high-backed chairs symbolizing the Arcanum’s absolute power surrounded it—yet only seven were occupied.

​One chair, sitting in the darkest corner, was left empty and gathering dust. The Shadow Chair. A legacy that had been forbidden for anyone to claim for years.

​And another chair belonged to Donar, who was currently beaten to a pulp by Noctis.

​At the head of the table, with her back to the window, Holy Maiden Anneliese sat like a goddess descended to earth. Her simple yet elegant white silk dress created a sharp contrast with the room’s arrogant decor. Her silver hair fell perfectly around her shoulders.

​Her pale blue eyes slowly swept across the faces of the Arcanum Masters, who were all currently teetering on the edge of their tempers.

​Pyrrhus was the first to shatter the silence—and the temperamental man did so by slamming his fist brutally onto the marble table.

​BAM! Wild orange sparks flared reflexively from between his whitened knuckles. "This is an unforgivable insult!" Pyrrhus barked, his chest heaving. "That lab rat managed to escape the underground cells of Magniora right under our noses! And as if that wasn’t enough of a slap to the Church’s face, now we’re getting reports that the Heretic Order’s hounds are launching a massive invasion on the Southern Gates! Two absolute disasters erupting on the exact same day right after a Demon Gate attack?!"

​Across the table, Selene remained seated with painfully elegant posture. Her fingers were calmly intertwined on the table, acting as if the furniture hadn’t just been assaulted. "Blowing your top in this room isn’t going to rebuild our city walls, Pyrrhus."

​"My temper, you say?!" Pyrrhus snapped his neck toward the Water Master, glaring daggers at her. "Did you not hear the field reports?! Those Heretic dogs just killed Donar!"

​"Donar isn’t dead," Selene corrected coldly, devoid of emotion. "He is only severely injured. The latest data from the medical team confirms his condition is stable and he will recover—though he may require an extensive hospital stay."

​"To hell with dead or alive! What’s the difference?!" The veins on Pyrrhus’s neck bulged. "The fact remains, the pride of an Arcanum Master was just trampled into a coma by a pet cockroach of the Heretic Order! By some lowly rat who only relies on cheap Aura manipulation!"

​"If Donar was actually beaten into a coma..." Orion’s heavy baritone cut through the argument, echoing from his broad, boulder-like chest. "...that means the enemy we’re facing can no longer be labeled as a ’lowly rat’, Pyrrhus."

​Pyrrhus merely gave a condescending snort, though he did pull his fist off the table.

​Aella—the Lightning Arcanum Master—slowly leaned back in her chair. Her chic blonde bob reflected the golden glow of the chandelier’s candlelight.

​"Enough, Pyrrhus. Stop wasting energy fussing over Donar’s pride," Aella reprimanded bluntly. "Focus on the root of our problem. This crisis isn’t a single variable. Our key prisoner broke out, thousands of Heretics are battering our city gates, and we just lost an Arcanum Master in our combat formation. We have to divide our core forces tonight."

​"I will head down to the southern sector," Rhiza chimed in, breaking her silence. Her voice was as soft as rustling leaves, yet her gaze hardened like solid oak. The dark-green-haired woman who served as the Root Arcanum Master stood up slowly. "Our regular forces at the front gates need a safety net. My Root attribute is the perfect area-of-effect counter to halt their siege."

​"I’ll back you up," Aella added, standing up to adjust her belt.

​Beside her, Berthold—the Light Arcanum Master and headmaster of the Luminous Academy—nodded in agreement. Though his thinning white hair and wrinkled skin were testaments to his old age, his posture was as straight as a knight’s. "I shall lend my hand as well. The young students of the academy are still trapped near that district. I will never allow this city’s next generation to become sacrificial lambs for your war."

​"Good. Then the composition is set. The three of us will head to the southern front lines," Aella concluded firmly. Her eyes then shifted to the other end of the table. "And you, Pyrrhus? Orion?"

​"I’m going to the Cathedral," Pyrrhus growled, small embers still popping on his shoulders from his simmering rage. "I’m going to roast that boy into charcoal with my own two hands."

​"The Cathedral?" Rhiza frowned in confusion. "You genuinely believe that gang of rats is crazy enough to march right in there and hand themselves over?"

​"It’s just intuition, Rhiza! But my intuition is sound. There’s no way they can break through the outer borders. We’ve locked down every single exit gate in the Capital. The only insane destination left in their suicide run... is storming the heart of the Cathedral." Pyrrhus pointed toward the head of the table. "They must have a deranged obsession with claiming the Holy Maiden’s life."

​Hearing that hypothesis, Orion slammed both his hands on the edge of the table and stood up, towering over them. The grinding sound of his stone chair against the floor was deafening. "In that case, I’ll join you, Pyrrhus."

​Selene glanced at the mountain of a man in surprise. "Why the sudden interest, Orion?"

​"Firstly, because I’m very curious to see the face of this prisoner who wields that bizarre magic with my own two eyes," Orion rumbled, his eyes narrowing maliciously. "Secondly... because I am deeply offended that some street monkeys dared to underestimate and breach the security of Luminara’s pride, the Magniora Tower."

​Pyrrhus had already turned around and was walking out. "Don’t walk too slow, Orion. I can’t promise I’ll leave enough ashes for you to inspect later."

​The two monsters with polar-opposite attributes marched out side by side. The heavy thud of their steel boots echoing down the marble corridor sounded incredibly intimidating, slowly fading into the distance.

​Aella, Rhiza, and the elderly Berthold followed suit a few seconds later—turning toward the south, heading straight for the real slaughterhouse at the gates.

​Now, the hierarchical boardroom was empty. Leaving only Selene, who remained unmoving in her chair, and Holy Maiden Anneliese, who sat in total silence at the head of the table.

​Selene slowly turned her head to look at her holy sovereign. "It is highly unusual for you to remain this quiet during an emergency meeting, Your Eminence."

​Anneliese didn’t respond to the bait directly. Her pale fingers remained intertwined quietly on the lap of her dress. Her gaze wasn’t fixed on Selene at all; instead, it was dead-locked on the single empty chair at the opposite end of the table.

​The Shadow Chair.

​"I... was simply thinking hard," Anneliese finally answered, her voice chiming like a church bell in the dead of winter.

​"Thinking about what, if I may ask?"

​"Thinking about the riddle of an identity... who exactly is the brilliant mastermind leading the Heretic Order’s suicide charge today."

​Selene’s brow furrowed skeptically. "Them? They’re nothing more than a pack of wild dogs moving without a command structure. There is no hierarchy in—"

​"They have a leader," Anneliese cut in decisively. The Holy Maiden’s voice sounded incredibly calm, yet if one listened closely... there was a faint, chilling tremor slipping through. "Can you truly not guess who it is, Selene?"

​"No. Who is the bastard?"

​Anneliese’s eyes remained mournfully glued to the empty wooden chair before her. The only piece of furniture that was never replaced after the Shadow faction was officially erased from the Church’s holy scriptures. The only chair that miraculously still cast a dark shadow across the table’s surface—as if its very existence violently refused to be forgotten by time.

​Lobrecht... Anneliese’s heart ached, her chest tightening. You truly are still alive out there. And even now, this conflicted heart of mine still doesn’t know... What kind of prayer should I offer to the Goddess. A prayer for the victory of my forces of Light... or a prayer for your safety.

​Anneliese slowly raised her face to look at Selene. Her pale lips uttered a singular, taboo secret.

​"The man who once sat comfortably in that chair, Selene. He... has returned."

​The blood in Selene’s body instantly felt as though it froze straight to her brain. For the very first time in the Water attribute master’s life, her cold mask of composure cracked, revealing a profoundly human trace of sheer panic.

​"H-How is that possible... that completely defies logic. That traitor... he died a long—"

​"He is alive. And that man is the field commander leading the thousands of Heretics battering our gates this evening."