Reborn as a Hated Noble Family, We Start an Industrial Revolution-Chapter 160: THE NIGHT BEFORE THE STORM
Two days after leaving Iron Hearth, the convoy reached the final ridge overlooking Northveil.
Rianor raised the crystal binoculars to his eyes. In the distance, the city stretched out under the fading twilight—or rather, what remained of it. The Needle Spire, once the graceful icon of Northveil, was now a jagged stump. Snapped. Shattered. Like a broken bone that had never been set.
Faint plumes of smoke still drifted from several spots, the lingering embers of a destruction that refused to die. Buildings that once soared were now skeletal husks. Rubble was everywhere.
Beside him, Hektor remained silent. His hands were clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white. His face—usually rigid and clinical—had shifted. There was a coldness there. A burning, frozen rage.
"Hektor," Rianor said, lowering the binoculars.
"I’m fine." Hektor’s voice was flat. Too flat.
Rianor didn’t push. He knew. He knew the agony Hektor felt, seeing his own city reduced to such a state.
From the rear, Thamrin stepped forward. His face was pale, his eyes locked onto the ruins that used to be his home.
"Thamrin," Kaelen said, approaching him. "You—"
"I remember," Thamrin interrupted. His voice trembled. "That day... I was there. I watched my mother get crushed by the debris. I tried to pull her out, but it was too heavy. And my sister..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "My sister was at the market. I saw that cyborg cleave her. Her body was cut in two. Right in front of my eyes."
Kaelen said nothing. There were no words to soothe that kind of trauma.
Thamrin tightened his fists. "But I didn’t run. I survived. And now I’m here, with weapons better than theirs." He turned to Kaelen. "I’m going to make them pay."
From a distance, Zoldrak observed with a piercing gaze. The veteran dragon simply grumbled, "Humans... your grudges are just as deep as a dragon’s."
Inside the command tent, a large map of Northveil was spread across the table.
Hektor stood at the front, pointing without preamble. His fingertips moved swiftly across the parchment.
"Rudigor’s headquarters is here," he said, pointing to the former city administration building. "Dual Railguns—two units—are located here and here." He marked two spots on the city outskirts. "The central ammunition depot is here, near the harbor. The communication tower is here, the former watchtower."
The commanders remained silent, their focus absolute.
"And the secret tunnels?" Rianor asked.
Hektor nodded. "There are three paths, but only one is still secure." He pointed to a spot outside the city, near the cliffs. "Here. The entrance is at the Maritime Observation Building. If you enter through here..." His finger traced a path. "...you will emerge behind the ruins of the market. Right behind their defensive lines."
Borch, who had been quiet, spoke up. "Travel time inside?"
"Thirty minutes at a fast pace. But it is pitch black. No light at all."
Dom, beside Borch, simply nodded. That was enough for them.
Zoldrak crossed his arms. "And us? The dragons?"
Rianor pointed to the sky on the map. "You and Seraphina wait here, above the clouds. When the missiles launch, you descend. Primary target: their heavy artillery. Don’t give them a chance to retaliate."
Zoldrak gave a thin, predatory smile. "Easy."
Leofric puffed out his chest. "Where are my tanks?"
"West." Rianor pointed to the sector. "You advance after the missiles. Do not go early. Wait for the signal."
Leofric nodded—no shouting, no extra words. Gideon, beside him, was already busy recording coordinates.
Thorne stood tall. "Infantry in the east?"
"East," Rianor confirmed. "You move in once the tanks begin their push. Don’t be reckless. Their cyborgs are brutal."
Thorne remembered them well. Cyborgs that felt no pain, no fear, moving forward even after their legs were blown off. "I know."
Rianor looked at every commander, one by one.
"We have only one chance. One night. One surprise strike." His voice was low but firm. "Rudigor must not know we are coming. The Ghost Squad must succeed in locking the targets. The missiles must hit home. And after that..." He paused. "...we take the fight to them."
No one spoke. Only nods followed.
The sun began to sink below the western horizon.
Thamrin sat beside his Sky-Hunter. His eyes were vacant, but his mind was flooded. The memories came again—his mother, his sister, the blood on the market streets.
He gripped the flight controls of his helicopter tightly.
"Thamrin."
He turned. Kaelen was standing beside him.
"I know you’re remembering your family." Kaelen sat down next to him. "But don’t let those memories consume you. Use them."
Thamrin was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "I’ll fly for them."
In the western sector, Leofric walked among his tanks. Gideon followed behind, crystal tablet in hand.
"Hydraulic pressure stable. All units ready," Gideon reported.
Leofric simply nodded. No shouting. No swearing. Gideon looked at him in surprise.
"You’re awfully quiet today."
Leofric stopped. "I’m not an idiot, Gideon. I know when to scream and when to shut up. Tonight... tonight we stay silent."
Gideon gave a faint, almost invisible smile. "You’re right."
In the eastern sector, Thorne gazed at his men. Eight hundred infantry, fully armed, ready to move. Their faces were tense, but not a single one flinched.
"Soldiers," he said softly, yet loud enough. "Tomorrow morning, this city returns to its rightful hands. But tonight... tonight we prepare. Get some rest. Save your strength."
The soldiers nodded. Some began checking their weapons again. Others sat in silence, lost in thought.
In the sky, above the clouds, Zoldrak and Seraphina flew in their human forms. They sat on a high ridge, watching the city in the distance.
"Are you tense?" Zoldrak asked.
Seraphina shook her head. "I am a dragon."
Zoldrak chuckled. "Dragons can get tense too, Crown Princess."
Seraphina didn’t answer. Her eyes searched—searching for something that wasn’t there. Roland, perhaps. Or just an illusion.
"He will be fine," Zoldrak murmured. "That human is tough."
Seraphina remained silent, but a small smile touched the corner of her lips.
Night fell.
Borch, Dom, and the Ghost Squad stood at the tunnel entrance—at the Maritime Observation Building. The structure had long been abandoned but remained sturdy. From here, they could see the distant city lights.
"Thirty minutes inside," Borch reminded them. "Total darkness. No lights. You get lost, you die alone."
Dom adjusted his night-vision goggles. "We won’t get lost."
Borch gave a thin smile. "I know." He looked at his team—six of his best. "We go in, find the targets, plant the markers, and get out. No heroics. No shots. Just shadows. Understood?"
Everyone nodded.
Borch took a breath and stepped into the tunnel. The others followed, one by one, disappearing into the blackness.
At the command hill, Rianor sat on a folding chair, staring at the map. Hektor stood beside him, silent.
Rianor reached into his pocket. His fingers touched something soft—the petal of a Snow Chrysanthemum. The flower from Elara.
For a heartbeat, he closed his eyes.
Elara...
Then he opened them. His face returned to its flat, focused mask.
"Report from Ghost Squad?" he asked.
Hektor checked the communication device—a newly developed crystal pager, more advanced than previous versions. "They’re in. Estimated emergence: thirty minutes."
Rianor nodded. "Ensure Garrick’s Fury is ready. We launch at exactly 03:00."
02:30.
Borch emerged from the tunnel exit inside the city. Silently, without a sound, like a phantom. Dom and the team followed.
They were now behind the ruins of the market. Before them were dozens of military tents and sentry posts. Cyborgs patrolled with heavy footsteps. Human infantry slept in makeshift barracks.
Borch gave a hand signal. The team moved—splitting up, vanishing into the shadows.
Dom crawled to the roof of a ruin and set up his scope. In the distance, he saw two massive silhouettes—the Dual Railguns. Right next to them was Rudigor’s headquarters—a heavily guarded building.
He planted a crystal marker at the location. A small red light, visible only through Sudrath technology.
Other teams moved toward the ammo depot and the comms tower.
One by one, the markers were set.
Borch, from his position, saw all points were locked. He activated his crystal pager.
Targets locked. Ready for launch.
At the command hill, Rianor’s pager vibrated. He read the brief message.
"Ghost Squad is in position," Hektor whispered.
Rianor checked his watch. 02:45. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝓮𝒘𝙚𝙗𝒏𝙤𝙫𝓮𝒍.𝓬𝒐𝙢
Fifteen minutes left.
He looked toward Northveil. The city was calm, unaware that death was lurking within the shadows.
03:00 sharp.
Rianor raised his hand. One word.
"Launch."
The operator for Garrick’s Fury pressed the button.
WHOOOSH—!
The first missile roared from the launcher tube. A trail of fire blazed across the night sky. Seconds later, the second, third, and fourth followed—one by one, leaving streaks of light like falling meteors.
Every eye on the command hill followed them.
Rianor held his breath.
Hektor gripped his hands tightly.
Thamrin, from behind the hill, watched the light. He whispered, "For Mother... for my sister..."
The first missile slammed into the Dual Railgun.
BOOOMMMM!
An orange explosion lit up the northern sky. Shards of metal flew everywhere.
The second missile—the ammo depot.
KABOOOM!
The second explosion was even larger. The chain of ammunition ignited, creating a massive firework display at the harbor.
The third missile—the communication tower.
CRASH!
The tower buckled, its antenna snapping as debris rained down.
The fourth missile—Rudigor’s headquarters.
THE LARGEST EXPLOSION.
The administration building disintegrated. Concrete walls crumbled. The roof collapsed. Dust and fire billowed high into the air.
Rianor stared at the inferno. He didn’t blink.
Inside the city, amidst the panic, Borch gave a thin smile. "Mission accomplished. Withdraw."
The Ghost Squad vanished back into the shadows before the fire could illuminate their faces.
At the command hill, Rianor lowered his hand. His voice was calm. Too calm.
"All units, stand by. We move in one hour."
The commanders began to move. Tanks in the west started warming their engines. Infantry in the east stood up. Helicopters began spinning their rotors. Dragons in the sky opened their eyes.
And amidst the ruins of the headquarters, a bloodied hand pushed aside the rubble.
Rudigor stood up.
His face was smeared with blood—human blood, not machine oil. His eyes—half human, half optical—glowed red.
"Report!" he roared.
A cyborg officer ran up. "Dual Railguns destroyed! Ammo depot gone! Communications cut! Headquarters... headquarters is leveled!"
Rudigor didn’t panic. He smiled—the cold smile of a veteran.
"Good. They’ve finally shown themselves." He picked up a shard of the missile nearby. "You’re more advanced than I expected, Sudrath."
He tossed the shard aside. His eyes glared toward the hill, toward where the missiles had come from.
"But you’ve just made a fatal mistake."
He stepped over the debris, walking out of the ruins.
"MARSHAL THE FORCES! WE GO ON THE HUNT!"
In the distance, at the command hill, Rianor stared at Northveil. Fires still raged at the four points.
The war had truly begun.
