Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Erwin solemnly opened the parcel; inside was a handful of soil.

It was the earth he had dug up with his own hands that morning from the Northlands.

It was still dawn there, yet he had already arrived at Blood Harbor.

In the past it had taken a full half month to travel from Blood Harbor to the Northlands; even mysterious extraordinary individuals could hardly arrive in under a week.

But now that time had been shortened to just a few hours.

For natives like Erwin it was fine, but the Prince, who stood not far away watching the ceremony, was already stirred.

“From here it only took a day to reach the Northlands. Then if a railway were laid from here to Rhine, how much time would that take?” he mumbled to himself, and suddenly tilted his head as if listening to a sound from the air.

After a while, he smiled.

Galahad stood aside, looking at everything before him with a face full of emotion.

To be honest, at first he had not been able to agree with the Prince’s actions.

Allying with Castel would not only lose control over Blood Harbor, but would also offend northern allies — Castel might have greater potential, but their population was still small; they were not in the same league as the Northlands or the Empire.

And the Empire’s threat was real. The Principality of Tis had many internal troubles; one could say the Prince had taken enormous risks by allying with Castel.

But the developments of the past half year had shattered his thinking.

Castel indeed had a small population, but their efficiency bordered on terrifying. The steel that once required thousands in Blood Harbor to smelt, Castel could reach half a steel mill’s output.

Complex processes, difficult manufacture, firearms that required paying alchemists to operate — on the assembly line they piled up into mountains in half a day.

Navies that needed decades or centuries of accumulated experience, which even the Empress could not handle, Castel sank two ships to test and stubbornly produced a usable hull form.

Galahad realized he was wrong — ridiculously wrong. Castel had never been a mere power, a country, or a count’s domain; it was an existence that defied language.

They paved roads with steel, poured forests with concrete and rebar, used heretical gods as energy, and negotiated with machine guns and gunpowder.

Galahad glanced down at the long sword hanging at his waist.

He drew it casually and flourished a few practiced sword-flowers. Before he had become an extraordinary, he had been the Empress’s strongest knight; after touching the extraordinary, he felt his swordsmanship had few rivals.

Swordsmanship

  Galahad smiled, his finger lightly tracing the spine of the blade; its cold gleam was cutting — this was excellent steel, a precious treasure even in the Imperial Palace.

On the sword was a small inscription: Castel made.

Hughes, to show friendship, had once gifted the Prince some presents; this sword was one of them.

The steelworks had specially fired a furnace to smelt that batch, and now Galahad had hundreds of such precious swords in his room.

Hughes had casually given them away — this was merely the morning output of a production line at the steelworks. If Galahad broke one a day, they would last him for years.

Hughes had promised lifetime replacement — when they were all broken, another furnace of hundreds would arrive.

Looking at the long sword in his hand, Galahad felt an indescribable sensation in his chest; he was already a remnant of the old era, the sort who should have been crushed by the wheels of time.

Galahad touched the bolt-action rifle slung across his back. He had never told others that he no longer loved using the long sword as much; a plain rifle, more than a precious sword, pleased him.

  But he still carried a sword at his side — it was his vow, and also a kind of memorial.

“Don’t stand there daydreaming, Galahad. Come with me to Hughes!” the Prince said, glaring at him and speaking in a low voice.

Galahad hurriedly gripped the sword’s hilt and followed the Prince with a serious face toward Hughes.

Hughes shook the Prince’s hand and embraced him. Now Castel and the Principality of Tis were allied and cooperating in all respects.

The Prince maintained Blood Harbor’s security and resolved internal troubles, but ceded portions of administrative control so Castel could operate Blood Harbor without bearing heavy management costs.

He also provided large numbers of people, merging nearby villages and towns into the city and freely permitting their movement so Castel would no longer lack fresh blood.

Castel provided batch after batch of industrial workers for Blood Harbor and assisted in its basic industrialization, even signing some weapons export agreements; now the Prince’s Harbor Guard had almost entirely rearmed with rifled muskets.

The Prince had fully boarded Castel’s great ship; for a time the links between the two were tight — a bond that seemed unbreakable.

The Expeditionary Army matters also owed much to the Prince.

From providing maps and assisting with field surveys, to helping suppress bandits and maintaining order around the railway, he had invested considerable effort.

Of course he had selfish motives: he had built stations in important cities along the railway, ostensibly to supply the Expeditionary Army, but in the future these stations would serve as anchors to spur development along the route.

This was real change. Countless princes had conquered the continent many times over the millennia, but the footsteps of industrialization had fallen here for the first time.

Because he had supported it so tirelessly, Hughes had invited him to the Expeditionary Army’s ceremony.

Hughes looked at the Prince not far off, smiling and applauding; he looked at the Expeditionary Army members standing tall and solemn before him; he looked at the masses of Blood Harbor workers and citizens surrounding them, and his heart surged.

Half a year ago this place had just experienced the Mother God Church’s rebellion; prosperity had been reduced to ruined walls — an empty ruin of a city. Now there was no trace of the old appearance.

The impoverished people who had once worn numb, pained faces now gathered around him, staring at him steadily, their eyes full of hope.

They had knowledge, they had hope, they had a future.

People joined Castel willingly without bribery; they fought for Castel without being mobilized.

The people’s hearts inclined that way.

The Expeditionary Army carried weapons; their clothes still bore some dust. They straightened their backs.

This was Castel’s first war abroad; the enemy had personally chosen the Northlands as the battlefield, and Hughes would build their graves there.

After half a year of lengthy preparations, Castel was finally to take its first step on this distant land.

Hughes solemnly received the soil, and then handed over Nora’s head. What should have been a ridiculous scene inexplicably took on a touch of sanctity.

Nora would witness Castel’s revenge with her own eyes; it was Hughes’s promise. A place had been reserved for her on the armored train.

“Nora, from now on the Expeditionary Army would be your body. They would carry you to the Northlands, cut down your enemies, and avenge you.”

“Go, capture Earl Bazel, bring him back to the island, and hang his head on the top of the Church.”