Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Bettys stood on tiptoe, her whole body leaning slightly forward.

The Holy Text beneath her feet swayed a little. She froze at the highest point of the forward swing, passed over the wrapped fries in her hand, and when she swayed back, she had already taken the Leo in return, casually pushing the uncooked fries into the oil pot along the way.

A sweet smile hung on her face, and her tone was soft and adorably syrupy, yet her eyes were nothing but cold.

She had been frying fish here for a year; her heart had long since grown as cold as frozen fish.

One set of fried fish and fries cost half a Leo. Every day, she sold several crates of potatoes and sea fish.

She tossed the Leo in her hand into the money box beside her. The box was made of metal—she had specially hired a craftsman to forge it.

Because when coins were thrown into a metal box, they made a pleasant sound. That was the sound of money, and she liked it very much.

While skillfully flipping the fish fillets with tongs, Bettys glanced at the money box.

It was already half full again.

When it was completely filled, she would pour out all the money inside, then sit on the floor and sort it bit by bit.

She had to set aside money for rent, money for purchasing goods, and the portions for Yami and Little Gwen. The rest would all belong to her.

She would wrap the coins in bundles with straw paper, tie them up with hemp rope, and stack them beside her bed. Leaning against those cold Leos, her heart would feel warm.

Bettys subconsciously turned her head to glance back. Her bed was in the inner room. The small nest she once had in the slums had long since been torn down; now she lived in the shop.

The space beside the bed was empty.

Every time she saved some money, she would take it to the Church to donate.

The Holy Text of The Imperial Truth accepted donations. Aside from certain designated fundraisers, it also accepted free donations—these would not inform the donor of how the money was used, but in return, they could help the donor accomplish certain matters.

Every time Bettys made a request, it was to search for the whereabouts of Little Gwen.

Little Gwen had suddenly disappeared. Bettys had been trying to find her all along. After donating several times, the search area had already been narrowed down to the Northlands.

It was getting late. The morning workers heading to their shifts gradually dispersed, and the line in front of the shop grew sparse.

Bettys finally had a brief moment of leisure. She stretched lazily, loosened her stiff neck, and hammered at her sore waist.

She pinched a few fries from the basket and tossed them casually out the window. Before they even touched the ground, several seagulls snatched them midair, letting out sharp cries.

Seagulls were so nice—carefree, without worries.

Bettys returned to the inner room and sat on the bed, her two legs dangling over the edge, gently swinging.

“Bettys!”

A shout suddenly came from outside. Bettys hurriedly jumped off the bed, took a few quick steps, and leapt onto the box padded with the Holy Text. Only then did she poke her head over the counter and see the person waving at her.

“.Yami?”

The one who had come was indeed Yami. When he saw Bettys, he smiled and waved at her.

“Yami, why are you here? I remember you said you wouldn’t be back until later. Could it be…”

There was worry in Bettys’ tone.

Yami had been exceptionally admitted into Castel’s Research Institute. It was said that he had obtained a teaching position on the island and could even participate in research.

Every time Bettys saw those massive cargo ships and trains, she would think of Yami. She did not understand research; she only felt it was something very impressive. Perhaps one of those steel giants had been designed by him personally.

“I came over with Grand Duke Alvare to handle some paperwork, so I dropped by on the way,” Yami said, stepping slightly aside. A somewhat round head emerged from behind him.

“Hello there, little girl. I heard the fried fish here is the best in Blood Harbor.”

Grand Duke Alvare extended his hand toward her. The tips of Bettys’ ears flushed red. Standing on tiptoe, she shook his hand shyly and said, “I-It’s not that amazing… it’s just ordinary fried fish and fries!”

Even as she said so, a smile bloomed across her face, and she handed over a portion of fried fish.

The custom of shaking hands had been started by Hughes. He always instinctively shook hands with people, and over time, everyone else followed suit.

Especially the people of Castel Island—except when encountering Banshees—they would always subconsciously shake hands.

The main reason was that Banshees had too many hands, and no one knew which one to shake.

Grand Duke Alvare opened the paper bag of fried fish. Although it had been fried in advance, it had not been out of the oil for long and was still very hot.

So he blew on it while making slurping sounds, hastily stuffing it into his mouth. The heat made him hiss and suck in air, yet he was unwilling to spit it out.

Bettys did not look down on him for his unrefined eating. Instead, she stood there blankly, shock written across her face.

She had just shaken hands with a Grand Duke?!

Both Bettys and Yami had come from the slums, but before her parents died, her family’s situation had actually been somewhat better. At least in her memory, she had been able to afford food as a child.

And in those somewhat blurred memories, her parents had always shown great reverence and humility toward the nobles.

This was not innate—it was learned through harsh experience.

Bettys vaguely remembered that her father had often been bullied. The one who bullied him was arrogant and domineering, said to have certain connections above.

And that so-called connection was merely the servant of a noble—not even someone who held a title—yet it was enough to make her family’s life unbearably difficult.

And a Grand Duke stood at the very pinnacle of nobility.

She had just shaken hands with one?

“A-Are you a very important and powerful person?” Bettys stammered.

The moment the words left her mouth, she regretted them. Such a question must be extremely presumptuous. Back then, even the servant of a noble had been able to push her family to the brink. And this noble lord before her…

“Of course!”

With fried fish stuffed in his mouth, Grand Duke Alvare spoke somewhat indistinctly, but that did not stop him from lifting his chin proudly.

“My ancestor was among the very first to pledge allegiance to the Empire. His portrait is still hanging in the Imperial Palace.” After saying that, he suddenly seemed a bit uncertain.

“Hmm… it should still be there, right? Even if the Church of Candlelight has hollowed out the Empire, they wouldn’t go so far as to tear down the Imperial Palace, would they?”

“In any case, the Alvare family is very impressive!”

Standing atop the Holy Text, Bettys suddenly felt a sense of unreality.

She, a girl from the slums, was chatting with a Grand Duke, listening to him proudly boast about his family history.