Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Early the next morning, Hughes and his group set off for the residence of the Chief Scribe.

The conditions on the island were rather simple. Hughes’ manor had undergone extensive renovations, but Alexei and the others’ residences were much more basic.

Fortunately, land was not scarce on the island, and since the royal family was paying, simple wooden houses were quickly built one after another.

Hughes had not been on Castel Island for long. The walls had just been completed, and at a glance, the place somewhat resembled a modern residential community.

Connor had already come in advance to test the waters, and both sides quickly found common ground, making the subsequent matters proceed smoothly.

Bringing along some gifts, Hughes and his party arrived at the residence of Chief Scribe Alexei.

After exchanging a few pleasantries with Alexei, they ”coincidentally” encountered a lady who was taking a stroll outside the house.

This was Alexei’s relative. Naturally, he stepped forward to make an introduction.

Hughes seized the opportunity to invite both of them to visit his manor, and Alexei and his sister readily accepted.

Unfortunately, the Chief Scribe was suffering from a slight cold and was feeling unwell. Hughes immediately arranged for someone to take him to rest in a nearby room.Connor led Alexei away.

Thus, through a series of reasonable coincidences, Hughes now found himself sitting in the reception hall with Alexei’s ”sister,” each occupying a chair.

Hughes glanced toward the doorway. A servant gave him a nod before closing the door.

Only then did Hughes breathe a sigh of relief and carefully observe the girl sitting across from him.

She had pure white hair, including her eyebrows, resembling frost that had settled upon the branches.

Hughes had heard that this was a unique trait of the people from the White Raven Principality.

Unlike the whitening of hair due to aging, the girl’s long hair was not a faded silver but a strikingly pure white, like freshly fallen snow.

She was much shorter than Hughes, petite in stature, yet she was wrapped in thick outerwear, with a scarf covering most of her face and a hat further concealing her features to avoid being seen.

Now, she was removing the clothing used for concealment, carefully folding them and placing them to the side.

She then stood up, lifted the hem of her dress, and gave a light curtsy.

”Hello, my name is Hughes.”

Hughes extended his hand. This was a new habit he had developed under the influence of Brother Kaeski.

Now, whenever he met someone new, he would shake hands as a way to check whether they were made of flesh and blood.

The girl expressionlessly reached out and shook his hand. ”Nora.”

Though she was dressed warmly, Nora’s hand was ice-cold. The power of the Symbiotic Contract emerged in Hughes’ mind as he sensed her. There was no issue, she was human.

Perhaps she simply had naturally cold hands and feet, or maybe it was a trait of the ”Burier”?

Speaking of Buriers, Hughes narrowed his eyes. He was still unsure about the exact meaning of the title.

Connor had given him a set of detailed information, which he had gone through, but it seemed somewhat vague.

”I heard you come from the White Raven Principality. I’m quite interested in the customs and traditions there. Could you tell me about them?”

Nora glanced at him, nodded, then jumped down from her chair and took out a peculiar metal sphere.

The sphere had several slits running across it, with a thin chain attached to the top, resembling a meteor hammer but far more delicate.

At first, Hughes thought it was some sort of mechanical device, but after searching his memory, he was surprised to recognize it as a portable censer.

Strange, why would a censer need to be portable?

Nora did not offer further explanation, merely raising the censer and motioning for him to observe.

Hughes shot Nora a curious look. Could ”Silent” in ”Silent Sanctum” literally mean silence? From beginning to end, the girl had been reserved, speaking only when necessary.

But how could one spread a faith without speaking? Hughes found the thought amusing.

Setting aside his scattered thoughts, Hughes composed himself and focused on the censer in Nora’s hand.

It was exquisitely crafted and small, with a carving of a white raven spreading its wings, ready to take flight. However, upon closer inspection, the raven had no flesh or feathers, its form was entirely skeletal, like a corpse buried beneath the snow.

Gazing at the white raven, Hughes felt an inexplicable sorrow, as if he were witnessing a life gradually fading from the world.

Nora moved her hand slightly, and wisps of smoke gently rose from the censer.

A faint incense fragrance drifted in the air, a dry, woody scent, reminiscent of early winter snowfall.

Hughes felt momentarily dazed.

At some point, images began to appear before his eyes.

It was as if he had arrived in the extreme north, where the Empire’s lush forests and blooming meadows no longer existed.

Snowflakes drifted down, and he heard the howling wind in his ears. Turning his head, he saw a group of people standing in a circle, their backs facing him, observing something in silence.

They wore thick fur clothing, with unruly white hair poking out from under their hats.

People from the White Raven Principality?

The wind and snow howled, yet the people stood in solemn silence, wordlessly gazing ahead.

Curious, Hughes leaned forward for a better look.

Before them stood a newly built tombstone, its rough stone surface lightly dusted with frost. Behind it lay a small pit, within which rested a simple wooden coffin.

At the forefront stood a robed man. He wore a fur hat, with a thick book hanging at his waist, its spine and corners reinforced with brass fittings. A chain secured it in place.

Hughes recognized the sacred glow on his attire, he was a priest of the Silent Sanctum.

The priest held a shovel. The permafrost of the icefield was as hard as mountain rock, yet he dug with ease, as if slicing through cake.

Frozen soil and snow gradually covered the wooden coffin, forming a small mound. The priest gently patted the soil into place before setting the shovel down and silently offering a prayer.

The mourners stood before the tombstone, grieving in silence.

In their homes, they gathered by the fire, drinking.

In the forests, they hunted for food.

They lived upon this land, and in the end, they were buried here.

Tombstones stood one after another. The living paused here, while the dead rested eternally.

The wind and snow suddenly intensified, obscuring everything. As Hughes shook his head to clear his vision, a church appeared before him.

No spires, no grand doors, no beautiful stained glass, only cold, unyielding stone walls.

The last image he saw was a great bell atop the church, engraved with a single line of text:

”The wind and snow bury the past, but the Sanctum never forgets.”

Hughes closed his eyes, absorbing the flood of images in his mind.

The history of the Silent Sanctum surged forth, yet it did not feel overwhelming. Instead, it felt as if these memories had always been there, deep within his soul.

”It was like watching a movie,” Hughes thought to himself. The profound sense of solemnity and gravity sent shivers down his spine, making his hair stand on end.

”Truly breathtaking,” Hughes murmured after a long silence.