Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

What ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍kind of place was Rhine?

Freyr ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍could not answer. When he had first stepped into that city, he had only felt novelty.

The ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍crowded streets, the dilapidated buildings—there was a certain familiarity to it all. He had spent more than a decade in White Stone Fortress and knew such slums all too well.

But ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍how could Rhine also have slums?

Forget ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍it. Even if it was a slum, it did not matter. At least he was familiar with such places, Freyr had comforted himself.

Thus, ‍​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍following his own experience, Freyr intended to find areas where crowds gathered to gather information and, incidentally, make contact with the local gangs.

In slums like these, they were usually controlled by various gangs. Official decrees rarely worked here—if the city’s rulers could establish order in such a place, it would not be a slum to begin with.

But Freyr quickly sensed that something was wrong.

He wandered through the lower district for a long time and found that the only places where crowds gathered… were the Church.

No—not churches. There were no churches in the lower district. It seemed the churches disdained opening their doors to the people mired in this filth.

In their place were distribution points where the Church handed out meals.

Yes, in the lower district the Church distributed food. As long as one was a believer of the Candlelight Society, one could receive it. The Church called it relief.

At every relief point, there were long lines. The people were gaunt with hunger, dressed in rags, yet all wore devout expressions as they chanted praises to the Candlelight.

This truly shocked Freyr.

After spending an entire day investigating the lower city, that shock reached its peak: throughout Lower Rhine, there were no gangs whatsoever. Public order was excellent. Though the people had neither proper clothing nor sufficient food, their expressions were serene, their faith exceedingly devout.

Even those who had starved to death by the roadside bore smiles upon their faces.

Freyr shuddered.

He suddenly recalled the believers at the city gate, lining up to receive the machine’s lashes. They seemed carved from the same mold, reminding him of the lambs by the Wall of Despair.

The lambs of White Stone Fortress were extremely docile. Even when whipped, they would not resist. Freyr had once seen a wolf slip into the sheepfold and devour a live lamb, bite by bite.

The lamb had been eaten alive—no resistance, no bleating—as if it were not its own flesh being torn apart.

Only at the moment it collapsed and died did it let out a long breath.

The sheep beside it merely watched. They did not cry out, nor did they flee, as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

After the wolf had eaten its fill and sauntered away, the flock finally reacted—

They crowded forward and began gnawing at the remnants of their own kind left behind by the wolf.

Looking at the believers kneeling in prayer before him, Freyr felt as though they, too, had grown square pupils and hooves, chewing the fodder delivered to them, transformed into silent lambs.

But if the believers were lambs, then who was the wolf?

Freyr raised his head to look at the sky—though in the lower district, the sky could not be seen. All he saw were churches upon churches above, densely packed, blotting out heaven and sun.

This was Rhine.

After wandering the entire day with no results, Freyr touched his empty stomach and joined the line at one of the food distribution points.

If they would give him food, he did not mind praising the Candlelight a few times.

But gradually, his brows furrowed.

There was a fragrance in the food being distributed—rich and intoxicating. Merely smelling it made him swallow.

Yet the believers who received the food reacted strangely after eating it.

After taking two bites, they would immediately drop to their knees in prayer, not even bothering to swallow. Sometimes they knelt directly in the mud, splashing muck across their faces and into their mouths.

Their expressions during prayer were fanatical, as though witnessing a divine miracle.

They would pray for a long time before calming slightly, taking another two bites—then instantly beginning to pray again with desperate fervor.

Some happened to stand amid scattered stones and simply knelt down upon sharp rocks. When they raised their heads, their faces were covered in blood—yet even so, they did not shift an inch.

Freyr even saw a man kneel before a sharp tree branch jutting outward. As he kowtowed, the branch pierced straight into his eye.

He seemed utterly unaware, continuing to bow. Each time he lowered his head, it stabbed in again. By the time he stood, his face was completely ruined. He staggered a few steps and collapsed to the ground.

This time, he did not rise again.

From a distance, Freyr saw that the mangled flesh on the man’s face twisted into a faint curve.

He had died smiling.

The memories gradually faded. After recounting what he had witnessed, Freyr drew a deep breath and looked at the Untouchables around him.

The surroundings were silent. These people were also stunned, standing blankly in place, unable to comprehend what they had just heard.

Freyr paid them no mind. He walked straight to the bonfire in the settlement, picked up two skewers of rats roasted until charred and dripping with grease, one in each hand, and began eating in large bites.

Rat meat did not taste good. It carried a strange stench and fishy flavor. There were no seasonings here, so he could only swallow it down together with the foul odor drifting from the nearby garbage heap.

Even so, Freyr would rather eat this than consume the Church’s relief.

When he thought of the Candlelight painted upon the dome of the lower district, he felt only a chill in his heart.

The Untouchables beside him erupted into argument.

“How is that possible! The Church isn’t like that!”

“Then tell me, what is the Church like? Have you ever seen it?”

“I haven’t seen it—but have you?”

“Lord Freyr saw it with his own eyes. Could it be false?”

“But that’s the Church—that’s the Candlelight… If it’s truly like that, then… then…”

Freyr continued eating, grease covering his mouth. He did not intervene, merely watched coldly.

Amid the commotion, Xiao Bu timidly approached. She first glanced at Freyr’s expression before cautiously asking, “Brother Freyr, is the outside world truly as you described?”

“Not necessarily. I haven’t been here long. I could be lying. Why don’t you go see for yourself?”

“I… I don’t dare.” Xiao Bu lowered her head. Her gaze flicked toward her crude prosthetic limb before snapping back as though shocked.

Her hand had been broken by surface dwellers. Had she not fled quickly, she might have lost her life as well.

“Xiao Bu, if you drove that ‘big one’ out there, wouldn’t no one dare bully you?”

Xiao Bu started. Her already large eyes widened even further. She looked toward the “big one” in the distance, which was using its mechanical arms to feed garbage into its incinerator, and for a moment did not know how to respond.

“I’ve heard them say that the ‘big one’ was assembled by your own hands. If you went to the surface, you wouldn’t have to struggle so hard to collect these parts anymore.” Freyr pointed at the discarded components she held like treasures.

“With that ‘big one,’ you could punch a hole in the sky itself—drag those lofty figures of Upper Rhine down and make them suffer a little.”