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

Chapter 301: 301| That Is My Absolute Order

​Thud.

​The massive oak doors shut tightly behind them. Instantly, the interior of the Grand Cathedral swallowed them in an absolute, suffocating silence.

​Roland took point. Behind him, Rianor followed with a heavy limp, trailed by Eva, whose arms were wreathed in the dim glow of her Scarlet Aura. Adul brought up the rear, hugging the comms box to his chest for dear life.

​The fading twilight pierced through dozens of colossal stained-glass windows, casting a mystical kaleidoscope of colors that danced across the polished marble floor—frigid sapphire blues, majestic golden yellows, deep violets, and a crimson as dark as fresh blood.

​At the far end of the grand hall, the high altar loomed. A towering statue of the Goddess of Light stood mute, gazing coldly down at them. Her crystalline yellow eyes almost seemed to track their every movement with magical sentience.

​Roland scanned the perimeter meticulously. Rows of long teakwood pews sat completely empty. Massive candles on either side of the altar burned serenely, releasing the distinct, sweet scent of beeswax. There was zero trace of human activity.

​"Too quiet. Unbelievable," Eva whispered, her grip tightening on her daggers.

​"Makes sense. The Cathedral’s entire remaining defense unit has been drained to fortify the southern gates," Roland replied softly. "But there’s no way a location this vital is left completely unguarded."

​Rianor ignored the banter. His uninjured right hand reached out weakly toward his brother. "Roland. The compass."

​Roland immediately dug into his coat pocket and handed over the Ancient Mana Compass. Rianor stared at the needle—it was spinning wildly, erratic and utterly directionless.

​"Tch. The largest energy fluctuation in this cathedral... it’s completely unstable. I can’t mathematically map its exact coordinates," Rianor muttered, a deep crease forming on his forehead.

​"In that case, we do this my way," Roland stated, confidently leading the group toward a side corridor. "Every grand cathedral on this continent shares an identical architectural blueprint. The main altar sits at the center, the high priest’s quarters in the left wing, while the Holy Maiden’s chambers..."

​Roland looked up at a spiral staircase in the right wing. "...should be on the upper right floor, facing east. The design intentionally ensures her room catches the very first rays of dawn."

​Rianor gave his brother a side-eye. "Is that a logical deduction, or just a wild guess?"

​"Cultural education, Brother," Roland offered a thin smile without dropping his pace. "I’m a diplomat who’s often forced to read mountains of boring history books."

​They moved swiftly down the silent marble corridor. Eva took the vanguard, Rianor was escorted in the middle, Adul trailed fearfully behind, while Roland actively scanned their flanks. Along the hallway, reliefs of ancient Saints were carved flawlessly into the walls, staring at them with majestic yet dead expressions. The wall torches burned with a stable, mystical blue flame that didn’t flicker.

​"Hold!"

​Eva abruptly stopped, raising her left hand. Everyone froze on instinct.

​From around the corner ahead, an elderly monk stepped out unexpectedly. His pristine white robes contrasted sharply with his wrinkled, time-worn face. His trembling hands carried a silver tray stacked with unlit prayer candles.

​The moment his eyes locked onto the group of filthy, cloaked intruders, all the color drained from the old monk’s face.

​CLATTER!

​The silver tray slipped from his grasp, slamming into the marble floor and scattering candles everywhere.

​"G-Goddess protect us..." the monk squeaked in sheer horror. He spun on his heels and bolted away as fast as his frail legs could carry him.

​Eva readied herself to dash forward and silence him, but Roland grabbed her shoulder. "Let him go. He’s just an old civilian monk. Conserve your energy."

​They resumed their rapid advance. However, at the very next intersection, an oak door carved with a rising sun motif was violently shoved open.

​A young Paladin leaped out, panic written all over his face. His white plate armor hung loosely on his shoulders—a clear sign he was a junior cadet, barely seventeen. Still, he was already raising his hand, ready to chant a spell.

​"Halt! You trespassers are not all—"

​The warning died pathetically in his throat. Eva had already blurred the distance in the blink of an eye. Her hand clamped onto the cadet’s wrist, twisting it painfully behind his back in a brutal joint lock.

​Crack!

​Thwack! A precision strike from Eva landed squarely on the nerve cluster at the back of the cadet’s neck. The young man went limp instantly, collapsing unconscious onto the floor.

​"Non-lethal takedown," Eva reported coldly, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow.

​Roland crouched beside the unconscious cadet, lightly slapping his smooth cheek. "Hey. Wake up, kid."

​The young cadet groaned softly. His eyelids fluttered open in a daze, only to widen in absolute terror when he found Roland’s face inches from his own. His body began shaking violently.

​"Where is the Holy Maiden right now?" Roland asked. His voice was incredibly calm; he even offered a friendly smile. Yet, his gray eyes radiated a chilling, predatory intimidation.

​"I-I... I don’t know..."

​"Listen to me, kid. We didn’t come here to defile this holy cathedral," Roland leaned in closer, closing the gap. "We just need to have a polite conversation with her. So, please... where is she?"

​The cadet swallowed hard. Gulp. "E-Emergency council... at the Magniora Tower... Her Eminence has already gone there..."

​Roland straightened up, looking back at Rianor.

​Rianor clicked his tongue. "Tch. Damn it. We swung and missed."

​"Not a miss, Brother," Roland casually brushed some marble dust off the knee of his trousers. "Just a slight miscalculation."

​He glanced at Eva. "Leave him. We need to head back to the main hall."

​They turned back quickly, completely ignoring the young cadet, who scrambled backward in terror until he hit the wall, hugging his trembling knees.

​Meanwhile, in the Cathedral’s outer plaza...

​The marble square that had been dead silent just minutes ago abruptly transformed into a terrifying arena of death.

​BOOM! BOOM!

​The heavy, authoritative footsteps seemed to shake the very foundation of the Cathedral’s grand staircase. Pyrrhus led the charge. His fiery red robes billowed majestically in the wind, with small embers dancing wildly across his shoulders, fueled by his simmering rage.

​Right behind him, Orion marched with a gravitational pressure so heavy it made the loose pebbles around them bounce uncontrollably.

​The two Arcanum Masters halted at the base of the lowest steps. Their eyes locked viciously onto the two figures standing guard at the main entrance.

​A giant of a man stood with his arms crossed, a massive greatsword slung across his back, flanked by a slender woman who was twirling twin daggers through her fingers.

​Pyrrhus narrowed his glowing, reddish-orange eyes. "Hah. Just two rats?"

​Dom didn’t entertain the cheap insult with words. Slowly, he and Naya unrolled a long canvas duffel they had set on the marble steps earlier.

​One by one, they extracted and equipped alien gear that the people of Luminara had never laid eyes on.

​Shhhk. Active camouflage cloaks—woven from specialized fiber-optics designed to distort and refract ambient light. Click. Tactical sensor goggles—crystal lenses engineered specifically to dissect mana fluctuations in the air. And finally, a pair of lightweight metal exoskeletons, bolted across their leg muscles to exponentially boost vertical thrust and bodily stability.

​Lastly, Dom handed the Gauss Rifle—now carrying only a single, final electromagnetic slug in its chamber—over to Naya.

​"Your accuracy is far sharper than mine," Dom stated with a heavy grunt.

​Naya took it without question, instantly slinging the black rifle over her shoulder.

​Watching this entire arming sequence, Pyrrhus’s eyes glinted dangerously. "Demon’s knowledge..." the Fire Arcanum Master hissed, his voice dropping into a low growl of absolute disgust. "So this heretical filth has actually managed to slither its way into the sacred courtyards of our Cathedral?"

​Dom unsheathed his colossal greatsword from his back. The heavy steel reflected the crimson twilight with a cold, unforgiving gleam. Naya lowered her stance, ready to launch.

​"Do you even know what that junk they’re wearing is, Pyrrhus?" Orion asked, glancing over his shoulder.

​"I don’t care," Pyrrhus answered ruthlessly. "All I know is... my fire is more than enough to melt that scrap metal down right along with the flesh of its owners."

​FWOOSH!

​Both of Pyrrhus’s palms instantly detonated, erupting into a roaring blaze of boiling flames.

​"Naya. Execute," Dom commanded quietly. The exoskeleton on his legs hummed with a low magnetic whine as it charged.

​The death match erupted.

​Pyrrhus hurled a massive fireball that roared as it tore through the evening air. Its sheer heat was intense enough to melt the surrounding marble pillars. But Dom was already gone.

​Vwuum! The mechanical thrust of his exoskeleton launched the giant’s body high into the air, allowing the fireball to slam into the marble steps beneath him. It exploded, leaving behind a crater of blackened, smoking stone.

​Dom plummeted toward Pyrrhus’s right flank, instantly swinging his greatsword in a lethal horizontal arc. Pyrrhus reacted with lightning speed, conjuring a curtain of fire as a shield. Dom’s heavy slash cleaved the firewall cleanly in half, but the tip of the blade missed Pyrrhus’s robes by mere inches.

​Simultaneously, Orion stomped his left foot into the marble floor. CRACK! The stone beneath them violently shattered. A jagged fissure raced forward like lightning, aiming straight for Dom’s landing spot. But before the fissure could reach him, Naya’s silhouette flickered out of the shadows right behind Orion’s back.

​Snikt!

​Naya’s razor-sharp dagger sliced cleanly into the Earth Master’s sturdy shoulder, drawing fresh blood.

​Orion let out a furious roar. He spun around in a blur, swinging a massive, stone-coated fist to crush Naya’s skull. But Naya was no longer there. Her optical camouflage cloak activated perfectly, melting her physical form into thin air, leaving behind only a faint, dizzying ripple in the space.

​"Tch. They aren’t amateur grunts," Orion muttered, wiping the blood from his shoulder with a sour grimace.

​"No matter how skilled they are, it means nothing before my flames!" Pyrrhus roared savagely. The fire wreathing his arms doubled in size, painting the Cathedral’s twilight air a violent, scorching red. "I’ll burn them to ash!"

​Meanwhile, far away on the Southern Front...

​Gladius had just caved in a Paladin’s breastplate when his combat instincts suddenly caught a massive anomaly vibrating in the air. Three colossal mana signatures were descending from the sky at an absurd acceleration.

​They had arrived on the battlefield.

​The moment the three Arcanum Masters landed atop the ruins of the shattered gate watchtower, the tide of the war instantly flipped one hundred and eighty degrees.

​Rhiza, the Root Arcanum Master, immediately pressed both her palms against the blood-soaked earth. Her face was phenomenally calm, yet her eyes radiated a chilling, oppressive aura.

​"Arise," Rhiza whispered.

​CRACK! RUMBLE!

​Instantly, dozens of colossal, thorn-covered tree roots tore through the ground directly beneath the Heretic Order’s vanguard. Their movements weren’t sluggish like Hexalia’s—Rhiza’s roots struck with the blinding speed of a starving cobra. Heretic fighters were instantly launched into the air, bound tightly, and violently slammed against the cobblestones.

​Hexalia snapped her head up from the rear defense line. Her eyes immediately locked onto Rhiza atop the rubble.

​Two Root attribute masters—one serving the Church’s false sanctity, the other fighting for the outcast Heretics—exchanged murderous glares amidst the storm of war.

​Rhiza tilted her head slightly, dissecting her enemy’s technique in a fraction of a second. "Your root patterns... they are far too wild."

​Hexalia gritted her teeth so hard they bled. "But this is exactly what’s going to bury you!"

​"Fascinating," Rhiza gave a slight, emotionless nod. "But sadly... reckless desperation alone will not save your life."

​Hexalia dug her ten fingers deeper into the clay. Her conjured roots shot forward ferociously, rushing to intercept Rhiza’s onslaught.

​BOOM!

​The two forces of nature collided in the center of the battlefield—creating a massive wall of thorny timber that tangled, crushed each other, shattered, and frantically regrew. The earth between the two women violently cracked and heaved.

​On the right flank, Berthold—the Light Arcanum Master and Headmaster of Luminous—walked serenely through the chaotic slaughter. A holy, golden radiance enveloped his palms.

​Spotting him, Gladius instantly broke into a massive grin. "Hahaha! So an old fossil like you still has the guts to step onto the battlefield!"

​Berthold didn’t acknowledge the cheap provocation. He simply raised his right hand vertically.

​Vwuum—BOOM!

​A hyper-condensed pillar of pure light shot straight forward, aiming dead for Gladius’s chest. The frontline leader of the Heretics reflexively crossed his arms, blocking the assault with fists heavily coated in blood-red Aura.

​But the kinetic thrust of Berthold’s light pillar was staggering. Gladius was pushed back three meters across the asphalt, his boots smoking from the friction.

​"Heh," Gladius wiped a streak of fresh blood from the corner of his mouth, his eyes burning with excitement. "Not a bad punch for a senior citizen."

​High above the ruined gates, Arcelia drew her Aura bowstring to its absolute maximum tension. Her green energy arrow sliced through the twilight sky, aiming straight for Aella’s heart.

​However, Aella’s body abruptly vanished in a flash of light.

​A split second later, a massive bolt of blue lightning struck down from the heavens. CRACK! Arcelia desperately combat-rolled to the side. The spot she had occupied a second ago was now a one-meter crater, smoking with the stench of ozone and sulfur.

​Aella landed gracefully, completely weightless, on the opposite side of the ruins. Her blonde bob fluttered constantly from the static electricity dancing across her entire body. "Highly impressive archery reflexes," Aella praised monotonically.

​Arcelia had already nocked a new illusionary arrow on her bow, glaring back coldly.

​In the center of the formation, Bastion stood as immovable as a steel fortress. His golden Aura shield expanded wider than ever, tanking the relentless barrage of projectiles and AoE spells bombarding the Heretic forces. His face was deathly pale from mana exhaustion, cold sweat drenching his robes, but his feet refused to retreat even a single millimeter.

​"HOLD THE FORMATION!" Bastion roared hoarsely. "DO NOT YIELD A SINGLE INCH!"

​Gladius threw a glance at Bastion from the corner of his eye. "You still got enough gas to hold that line, Old Man?"

​"Shut your mouth! You’ll drop dead long before this golden shield even cracks!" Bastion shot back without bothering to turn his head.

​Amidst the symphony of destruction, Lobrecht still stood calmly atop the same small hill. His serene brown eyes swept across the battlefield, absorbing every single dynamic detail of the war in one precise scan.

​He saw Hexalia running out of breath, pressured by Rhiza’s roots. He saw Gladius laughing off the concussive force of Berthold’s light pillars. He saw Arcelia nimbly outmaneuvering Aella’s static lightning strikes. And he saw Bastion’s unwavering resolve holding the defensive line, even as micro-fractures began spiderwebbing across his golden shield.

​And at that exact second... Lobrecht understood.

​All of them... they were fully capable of surviving and fighting independently without needing his presence anymore.

​"COMMANDER!" Gladius roared from the middle of the bloodbath below the hill, parrying yet another of Berthold’s light pillars. "We can hold them here! Now, go!"

​Lobrecht stared at Gladius’s broad back. The scarred man was still flashing a wide grin in his direction, even as fresh blood streamed down the side of his face.

​"You heard what I said, didn’t you?!" Gladius pounded his own chest with a bloodied fist. "I am Gladius! I refuse to die before our hopes are realized! Now get the hell out of here!"

​Lobrecht took a deep breath, taking in the dusty twilight air. Then, the corners of his lips lifted into a faint, genuine smile.

​"Survive," Lobrecht said softly, yet the vibration of his mana reached every single one of his elites. "That is my absolute order."

​Gladius offered a military salute, slamming his crimson fist over his heart. "Understood, Commander!"

​Lobrecht closed his eyes tightly. In that instant, his body slowly began to dissolve, melting seamlessly into the dark shadows stretching beneath his feet. His movement was incredibly smooth and absolute, like water fully absorbing into parched earth.