Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Hughes had heard of this matter. There were no Extraordinary individuals in the Cult of the Hidden; all who secretly guarded him were mere mortals. They were easily dragged out by Granny, who, after asking clearly about the situation, let them go.

After all, they had not done anything bad, nor violated any laws. Hughes merely gave a few words of warning.

Hughes actually found this group rather troublesome.

A team loyal to him could play a significant role in secret, especially in a place like Blood Harbor, where good and evil were all mixed together. Hughes did not actually mind finding people to do dirty work.

But the bond maintaining this group was personal worship, even religious adoration that treated him as a God. This was a serious problem.

Fanatical and irrational faith could easily bring about immense backlash—the more loyal they were now, the more thorough their betrayal would be in the future.

Therefore, Hughes had always been trying to weaken his divinity. He often appeared on the streets before people, chatting casually with all sorts of individuals, making them realize that he was just an ordinary person, and guiding their reverence and faith toward knowledge.

Of course, this had to be kept within limits—too much fanatical worship of technology would only lead them down the same path as the Moths Chasing Fire. This was also why he had to suppress the Holy Guard’s explosive yield worship.

So Hughes ultimately did not acknowledge the Cult of the Hidden’s faith. Instead, he spent great effort explaining matters, at least ensuring that on the surface, the Cult of the Hidden no longer worshiped him personally.

That was enough. He had no intention of enforcing thought control. What others thought was their own business. Hughes only needed to put the brakes on certain ideological currents.

Very soon he arrived at the Cult of the Hidden’s gathering place. This was originally their hideout, located in the slums of the Lower District. Now, those shabby shacks had all been demolished, replaced by a grand church.

Yes, the Cult of the Hidden had begun building churches as well. The Holy Text they used was Josh’s previous version, of course with many sections about Hughes deleted and a lot of other content added.

Speaking of which, Josh’s approach coincided with Hughes’. Both the Cult of the Hidden and the Imperial Truth’s Holy Text contained large amounts of basic knowledge and general education, reducing the weight of the religious portion.

The Imperial Truth simply had even less religion—so little that aside from the name “Church,” one could hardly find anything a religion was supposed to have. Its position in Castel was closer to that of an academic organization.

Hughes was open-minded. Since the locals’ faith could not be overturned in the short term, then why not join in, and build them a more civilized religion to believe in?

Moreover, the Cult of the Hidden was now under Castel’s direct administration. Hughes’ influence over Blood Harbor was even greater than the Prince’s. At least in the Lower District, the Prince’s administrative orders were not as effective as the Cult’s announcements.

“Lord Hughes.”

The believers bowed their heads in greeting. He had been here many times, and most of them had seen him before.

At this time, the Cult of the Hidden was very quiet. The believers were taking their monthly exam. Several priests stood in the room as proctors, while a group of believers scratched their heads with pens in hand below.

The Cult of the Hidden’s system had been devised by Josh; Hughes had not intervened. But Josh and the senior members with him were all workers by background—what would they know about running a church?

But they had attended advanced classes, so they borrowed that set of learning–assessment procedures.

Now, the Cult’s believers had monthly exams and yearly exams. To become a priest required strict mastery of knowledge—every advancement demanded an exam.

This also meant that although the Cult had many nominal believers, its official members were relatively few.

To become an official believer, one had to at least complete the literacy classes; otherwise, they could not even pass the most basic exams—this was directly tied to the distribution of Holy Water.

The Cult’s Holy Water had also become an old tradition: priests personally brewed it and distributed it to each believer.

Hughes had witnessed such distribution scenes. Though the believers were merely holding bowls of hot porridge and not particularly solemn, the atmosphere nonetheless carried a trace of the sacred.

Perhaps that was the meaning of a Church’s existence.

“Lord Baron, you are here.”

The believers of the Cult of the Hidden did not address Hughes as Lord, but Josh did. Hughes raised his head just in time to see Josh carrying a large pile of papers over.

“I came to check your progress here. How is the team your organization forming?”

If the Cult of the Hidden wanted to gain a foothold in Blood Harbor, it naturally needed some basic fighting force. The Holy Guard was a proper army, no problem in fighting external battles, but not too suitable for handling public security.

Their firepower was somewhat excessive. If they were sent to clear out some cultists in Blood Harbor, they might cause more collateral damage than the cultists themselves.

Of course, the Prince’s Harbor Guard could assist, but Hughes still needed some teams to protect the factories. He could hardly have the Holy Guard come set up heavy machine guns, could he?

This was where the Cult of the Hidden came into play.

They lived in Blood Harbor, knew the local situation, and were just right for handling public order.

So Hughes had transported a batch of weapons over, arming them.

The weapons given to the Cult were specially made short-barreled shotguns, with little technical complexity. Richard had simply asked a few Moths Chasing Fire researchers, and they had produced them.

Low in technical content did not mean ineffective. This weapon’s killing power at close range was considerable. And by “close range,” it was only relative to rifled muskets—in fact, its effective range was close to that of the Empire’s muskets, roughly within 80 meters.

The projectiles fired were lead pellets, designed by Hughes after the size of buckshot, enough to injure and incapacitate people. They were more than sufficient for maintaining Blood Harbor’s order.

“This unit of armed believers is still in recruitment and training. Oh, right, Lord Baron, please give them a name.”

Hughes was momentarily troubled. He was not very good at naming.

“This is an internal matter of the Cult of the Hidden. You decide… hmm, and this is?”

“This is Gwen. As you can see, she is also a refugee from the Northlands. Her family is gone. Now she is in the Cult of the Hidden. Come, Gwen, greet Lord Baron—”

Hughes looked down and met the gaze of a little white-haired girl.

She was short, appearing about ten years old. Her complexion was rosy, and her eyes looked curiously at Hughes.

“Hello, boss.”

“How can you call him boss? Call him Lord Hughes, or Lord Earl would also do!” Josh tapped her head with the papers, then turned back to Hughes: “Don’t be fooled by her young age. Gwen’s grades are excellent—she’s already studied several courses in the advanced classes!”

He proudly raised his head.

Hughes crouched down, meeting Gwen eye-to-eye. His own reflection appeared in her pure white pupils.

“Hello, Miss Gwen.”

Hughes extended his hand. Gwen hesitated for a moment, then extended hers and clasped his.

Their hands joined for a moment, then parted. Hughes stood up, using all his strength to control his expression, though inside him surged crashing waves.