Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

The next day, Hunter went to the Tribunal to pay the bail and brought out Grand Duke Alvare, whose face was filled with exhaustion.

“What’s wrong, Uncle? Did someone beat you inside?”

“That’s not it. The guards were quite dutiful—it’s just... hard to explain.”

Alvare waved his hand, unwilling to talk further. He looked around. The morning air of Blood Harbor carried a thin mist; the sea breeze was warm and humid, utterly different from the chill of the Northlands.

“You’re familiar with this place, aren’t you? Take me for a walk.”

Hunter wanted to say that he wasn’t, really. Back when he was sent here, he hadn’t stayed long before being transferred straight to Castel. He hadn’t spent much time in Blood Harbor at all.

But he had even been to Castel itself—how could mere Blood Harbor possibly intimidate him?

“Mm, then let’s go to the docks first.”

He had asked around about Blood Harbor’s current situation before coming. The city was now divided into the Dock District, Industrial District, Residential District, and Central District.

The Central District was composed of the school, the Tribunal, the railway, and the office building where Hughes worked—it was considered the busiest part of Blood Harbor.

The former Upper District had gradually declined. Without the nobles, the area had lost its old prosperity.

With the Prince’s subtle machinations behind the scenes, many of the Upper District’s buildings had been destroyed. After taking over the nobles’ estates, he hadn’t rushed to restore them.

When Blood Harbor’s industry had developed for a while, the area was reclassified as a residential district. Many workers moved in, and those who once lived in the Lower District now found themselves neighbors of Duke Tis—a rather ironic twist of fate.

It was early morning. Workers poured out of their homes and streamed toward the factories.

Alvare carefully studied these workers, a flicker of surprise flashing in his eyes.

“What is it, Uncle?”

“These people… hmm, they seem very…”

“Full of life?”

Alvare shook his head, then nodded, unable to describe the feeling.

He had seen many kinds of people in the Northlands—free commonfolk renting land to farm, craftsmen in cities, bureaucrats and nobles in the city hall—but the workers before him were unlike any of them.

“I can’t put it into words,” he finally said, shaking his head in slight frustration and burying the question in his heart.

Hunter led Alvare toward a small shack near the docks of Blood Harbor. Calling it a “shack” was hardly accurate—it was a neatly built street stall made of timber.

Above it hung a tall sign that read “Yami Fries & Fried Fish.”

“This is my friend’s stall. Let’s grab something to eat before we go.”

Alvare nodded.

This area was close to the factories, and the line was full of workers from nearby. The queue was long but moved quickly. Soon, Alvare could see inside the stall.

A short girl stood on a wooden crate, tiptoeing as she used a long pair of tongs to flip pieces of fish in the fryer. A freshly fried portion, still steaming and fragrant, was set aside, while a young man beside her fumbled awkwardly with the wrapping.

“Ah, this one’s come loose—I’ll wrap it again,” the young man said with an embarrassed smile. “I just started today. Still not used to it.”

“You’re a new employee here?”

“No, I’m just helping out. I used to make porridge nearby. Bettys couldn’t handle everything alone, so she asked me to lend a hand.”

The little girl nodded seriously. “Yes, everyone else in my stall ran off. It was just me left. I was about to close, but the local believers—ah, I mean, the nearby workers—really love the fried fish here, so I asked Mr. Josh for help. I didn’t expect him to come personally!”

Then, as if remembering something, she added, “When you have time, you should try Mr. Josh’s porridge—everyone loves it!”

Alvare smiled and nodded, taking the newspaper-wrapped fried fish from Josh’s hand and lowering his head to sniff.

“Smells wonderful. This isn’t oil pressed from beans, is it? That kind never has such rich aroma.”

“That’s right—it’s olive oil, one of Castel’s specialties. They say it supports the island’s entire industrial base!”

Alvare didn’t understand much about industrial foundations—but he certainly understood fried fish.

“This fish is great too. Sea fish used to have a strange smell I could never place, but this one doesn’t. Is it also a specialty of Castel?”

Josh’s lips twitched slightly, as though something had come to mind.

He vaguely recalled Castel’s investigations—marine creatures were said to have been born from the flesh of the Sea God himself. Since the sea’s pollution had been purified… could the fish have changed too?

He tore off a piece of fried fish and chewed thoughtfully. It didn’t seem any different to him.

When he looked up, he saw Bettys glaring at him furiously, her long twin braids bouncing with each tremor.

Josh froze, the piece of fish still in his hand.

“S-sorry!”

The workers in line burst into laughter.

Alvare watched the people around him. They seemed genuinely happy—an open, heartfelt happiness rarely seen on the faces of Northlanders.

Whether freemen or nobles, rich or poor, few in the Northlands ever smiled like this. There was always something holding them back, something binding them down.

The doubt in Alvare’s heart grew deeper.

He and Hunter ate their fried fish as they strolled toward the Port District.

The place was bustling. In the distance, a tall lighthouse stood upon the sea. The blue of the water, the gray of the tower, and the morning mist rising over the waves—together, it was as beautiful as an oil painting.

Alvare admired the view for a while, preparing to leave, but when he turned around, he suddenly froze.

He slowly turned back, raised a hand to shade his eyes, and squinted carefully.

“Hunter, help me look—is that lighthouse built directly out of the water?”

“Huh?”

Hunter looked as well. The two studied it for a long while before realizing in astonishment—the lighthouse wasn’t standing on an island or reef at all, but straight out of the sea itself.

“Could it be high tide? Maybe the land appears again when the water recedes?” Hunter asked uncertainly.

His studies included architecture, so he knew well how difficult it was to build a lighthouse in the sea.

Even with Castel’s concrete, sturdier than stone itself, that would still be nearly impossible.

“Hunter, I don’t know much about tides, but they change at regular times, don’t they? If the water rises again later—how could they build during that?”

“Well, they do have some very strong construction materials. The houses we passed earlier were built from it… Maybe it can even work underwater…”

Hunter’s voice trailed off.

He suddenly realized—he didn’t know much about Castel at all, this mysterious island that rose from the sea.