Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Galahad sat on the chair, legs tightly pressed together.

He lowered his head, quietly recounting everything he had seen on Castel Island, not even daring to lift his eyes to meet his lord’s.

What had he seen on that island?

Steel-forged ships that were nothing more than disposable experimental models, densely packed factories whose daily output could pile a mountain of steel in Blood Harbor, fill a lake with explosives, and then send an entire city skyward with a single, metal-glinting bullet.

Not to mention the web-like underground tunnels, the fortress-like structures towering like mountains, the sky obscured by the Celestial Behemoth, and the bombs falling like rain.

As for the Heretical God limbs scattered across the entire island, and the churning pollution in the Stellar Furnace... merely describing them brought on a creeping madness.

Galahad had gone fully prepared, wearing the most ornate armor and wielding a longsword forged with utmost care by the Blacksmith.

But now, he felt like a monkey that had wandered into the imperial palace, clutching a carefully chosen stick.

Ah, that longsword had later snapped in his duel with the train—a stationary train.

Galahad held nothing back, not even the most humiliating parts, confessing every detail to the Prince.

The Prince listened quietly, his fingers lightly tapping on the table.

Occasionally, he would ask about certain details—like the soldiers’ food on the island, the width of the concrete roads, or the topics that the Banshees chatted about.

The Prince showed no particular reaction, but Galahad grew increasingly despondent the more he spoke.

Castel—Galahad was certain he hadn’t seen the full scope of that island; there must be more deeply hidden constructs.

But even what he had seen was already far beyond what Blood Harbor could resist.

No, not just Blood Harbor—even if the entire Principality of Tis were united, would they truly stand a chance against Castel?

The generational gap in firearms could be handled. His Highness’s soldiers were brave and fearless; if they charged into musket range regardless of casualties, twenty against one was still feasible.

But how many times could the army and city withstand bombing?

The Celestial Behemoth—no, even just an ordinary airship attacking from the sky—what countermeasures did they have?

Galahad was an Extraordinary; he could shoot down an airship, but he was the only Extraordinary here. How many airships did Castel have?

Perhaps the Mechanical Sanctum might offer help, but His Highness had already severed ties with all the churches.

Galahad had tried to think of a solution—he had done so every day since returning—but no matter how hard he thought, His Highness stood no chance before Castel.

Castel was an indescribable iron behemoth—just gazing upon it invited madness—and now, its gaze had turned toward Blood Harbor.

Galahad shut his eyes in despair.

Suddenly, a flurry of footsteps came from outside the door.

A servant stumbled into the room, and upon seeing the Prince, looked as if he had seen a savior. Struggling to catch his breath, he cried out, “Your Highness, the Life Mother Church has rebelled again!”

“What did you say!?”

The Prince leapt from his chair, glaring fiercely at the messenger.

The servant flinched, trembling, not even able to open his mouth before the Prince snatched the paper from his hands.

The Prince’s eyes scanned the letter, and within moments, his face darkened.

It was a report from the Harbor Guard—urgent and brief—stating that the Life Mother Church had launched a rebellion. The lower district was in chaos, casualties were severe, and the Harbor Guard was urgently mobilizing.

“How dare they!? Do they truly believe they can succeed in Blood Harbor without my support?”

Galahad’s eyes widened in shock. His lips parted, but no words came out.

He instinctively sensed something was off, though he couldn’t pinpoint what.

That the Life Mother Church would rise up again wasn’t surprising—cultists never acted with the logic of ordinary people.

But...

Galahad remembered the look Mira gave them as she departed—anger, hatred carved into her emaciated face.

Was she here for revenge?

While he stood frozen in thought, the Prince had already rung his bell to summon his men, issuing orders methodically, each part of his network springing into action like well-oiled gears.

After the death of the commander, the Harbor Guard had been taken over by the Prince, and within a short time, most of the personnel had been replaced. Now, it was a brand-new force, loyal only to the Prince.

Soon, sounds of activity arose outside the room as soldiers began to assemble.

Galahad’s heart stirred. He stepped forward and spoke softly, “Your Highness, Castel sent over a batch of weapons and Holy Guards. The numbers were not small. We—”

The Prince waved his hand dismissively. “No need. While you were away, I’ve already reorganized the entire army. Let the Harbor Guard face them head-on. Perhaps Castel’s weapons are more powerful, but this is Blood Harbor—my Blood Harbor!”

He cast a glance at Galahad and sneered. “A useless man who can’t even defend his own territory doesn’t deserve a seat at the negotiation table. You’ve seen Castel’s advanced bombing—now witness my backward muskets.”

Galahad froze for a moment, then lowered his head, emotions surging within.

His journey to Castel over the past few days had almost shattered his confidence. Castel’s might overwhelmed all those around it. He simply couldn’t imagine a way to win.

But when the Empress ascended the throne, her situation was far worse than it was now.

Her decrees couldn’t even leave the palace. The five Grand Dukes eyed Rhine like hungry wolves, and the royal family teetered on the edge of collapse—she was just a thirteen-year-old girl.

Eleven years later, the four corners of the Empire had no rivals left. And then she turned her gaze toward the Church, that colossal power—without hesitation, she gave up everything and started over from scratch.

Galahad remembered that day clearly, when the Prince had just returned to Blood Harbor from Rhine.

She had only brought a single knight. The two rode their horses and stood before Blood Harbor, staring at that decaying monstrosity.

She held only a nominal title—real power had long since been divided among the nobles.

Yet she didn’t mind at all. Holding her riding whip, she pointed forward, her face filled with excitement. “Look, Galahad. What a beautiful city. It’s about to welcome its new master.”

The light in her eyes made Galahad unable to meet her gaze, even though he was already an Extraordinary.

Isabella—his Majesty—arrogant, fearless, unwilling to cling to anything in her hands. Time and again, she cast all her chips on the table and then rose to receive the world’s worship and cheers.

Galahad lifted his head. The confidence and arrogance on the Prince’s face now were no different from that thirteen-year-old girl’s.

That was the sovereign he pledged his loyalty to.

The knight’s heart gradually calmed.

Fear, confusion, despair—all faded away.

He was the Empress’s sword—cutting down thorns, pressing forward without pause, never needing to look back.