Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

“Then go back and come up with a concrete plan,” said Hughes. “We’ll need more people this time—let several battle groups move together. Prepare plans for supplies and retreat as well, and also figure out how to make contact with the Resistance Army.”

“Why not just take Nora with you?” someone suggested.

“That’s not a good idea,” Hughes replied. “If Nora meets Nora and they… merge similar elements—I mean, if some kind of extraordinary accident happens—it’d be a real mess.”

Hughes thought for a moment, then pulled over a sheet of paper.

“How about this,” he said. “I’ll write a letter, and Nora will… uh, sign it. Then we’ll attach a few of her personal items. You take those to the Resistance Army—it should make things more convincing.”

“Alright, but Nora’s only got a head left. What personal items could she possibly have?”

Hughes’s mind flashed to Nora’s head of pure, flawless white hair.

“Forget it. Why don’t you go ask Isaac?”

“Didn’t he lock himself in his room?”

“Exactly why you should go. Try to do a bit of… ideological work with him.”

“No problem!”

Nini flicked her snake tail and darted out of the room, vanishing in an instant.

Hughes watched her retreating figure and suddenly had a bad feeling.

Isaac—the leader of the Ashen Alliance, Castel’s external intelligence chief, and once the logistics director of the Moths Chasing Fire—was now shut up in his room, looking utterly dejected.

He was a strong man, but he’d taken too many blows.

A dual-path Transcendent, yet he’d been utterly thrashed by his opponent.

The Lina who beat him had, in turn, been injured and forced to retreat by Gwen—a normal human.

Then, when the injured Lina came back, she again completely overpowered Isaac, who’d been ready for her.

Back in Castel, he’d failed to recognize someone and made a whole string of humiliating mistakes.

Because of him, Monica didn’t pass her assessment and had been pestered endlessly afterward.

He’d spent ages analyzing the Northlands’ situation for Hughes, only for it all to turn out wrong—Earl Bazel’s elite troops had been wiped out by the Resistance Army, while Lina, one of Bazel’s subordinates, had effortlessly crushed him.

He’d always been considered reliable—so why was he performing so disgracefully now?

Isaac was a tough man. He could recover—he just needed time.

Bang!

The door behind him suddenly burst open.

Isaac jumped, nearly activating his extraordinary power. When he saw Nini’s serious face, he let out a sigh of relief.

“Nini, what are you—”

“Mr. Isaac! Join my battle group and come to the frontlines with me! We’ll interview the hell out of them!”

Isaac froze.

---

Hunter stood trembling at the doorway of the Tribunal.

The soldiers escorting him were members of the Mystics. Compared to the Expeditionary Army soldiers Hunter had encountered before, these men had a grimmer air about them. At their waists hung not bolt-action rifles, but shotguns—short-barreled, with thick black muzzles gleaming with brutal menace.

Clad in long, pitch-black robes, they carried an inexplicable religious aura.

They urged Hunter forward several times, but he wouldn’t move—not because he didn’t want to, but because he was shaking too badly.

Hunter had a strong premonition: once he stepped through that door, his life would change drastically. As for how—

Well, once you entered the Tribunal of the Church, how else could it end?

Seeing him still frozen, the two guards finally lost patience and simply dragged him in.

The Tribunal was dimly lit. They passed through a long corridor, turned several corners—then suddenly the space opened up.

It was a grand hall.

At the center was a circular, sunken platform surrounded by rows of ascending seats.

The guards strapped Hunter to a fixed chair at the center. His shackles were looped through iron rings on the chair, trapping him completely.

There weren’t many people inside—only two guards near him.

He was still glancing nervously around when a sudden clang! echoed from the front. Hunter flinched and looked up.

A long, curved table stood above him, towering high over his seat. Around it sat several hooded figures in long robes, gazing down at him with cold, judging eyes.

The sound came from one of them—he held a great steel hammer and had struck it down onto a massive iron anvil beside him. Each blow sent scarlet sparks flying, briefly illuminating the dark chamber.

“The Tribunal is now in session.”

Hunter shrank back, afraid to look, then froze again. Something felt off.

He lifted his head for a quick glance and confirmed—he wasn’t mistaken.

The central seat of the Tribunal—the presiding judge’s chair—was empty.

Normally, that was where the one who judged and sentenced him should sit.

Why was it empty? Was that person not here yet?

Just as confusion crept in, the unremarkable book on the table before that empty chair suddenly began flipping its pages on its own, rustling without wind.

“An—An Extraordinary?” Hunter stammered. He was of noble birth and a scholar, so he knew a bit about Transcendents.

“No,” someone said hoarsely, “she’s an extraordinary dead one.”

“Cough! Josh, don’t talk nonsense! Everything said after court opens will be recorded!”

“Huh?”

The figures whispered among themselves. Hunter couldn’t make out the words, but his trembling worsened.

So, the one in the presiding seat was a permanently invisible Transcendent? Hunter had never heard of such an ability before—it must be a new Path.

And behind this Castel-based Tribunal stood a vast Church and countless believers.

A Church that had quietly emerged from nowhere into the Storm Ocean… surely it was connected to that legendary Sea God.

Now that he knew such a secret—could he possibly leave here alive?

Hunter let out a long sigh, his body going limp. He gave a bitter smile.

He probably really was doomed.

The whispering above ceased. From the left, a hoarse voice asked,

“Hunter, you—”

“No need to say it!” Hunter interrupted loudly. “Just put me on the pyre already!”

“…???”

Hunter looked down at the shackles on his wrists, dazed.

It seemed… he’d survived.

Even now, as he walked out of the Tribunal, everything still felt hazy—like a dream.

The Tribunal hadn’t been as terrifying as he’d imagined. Though the decor was dark and the atmosphere grim, the people there weren’t impossible to talk to.

At least, they’d given him a chance to defend himself.

They’d questioned him in detail about what he’d done while serving with the Allied Forces, then read out several clauses of Castel’s law, and finally delivered the verdict.

He was sentenced to fifteen years of penal labor.

That meant forced work within Castel. If he committed no other crimes during that time, he’d regain his freedom afterward.

Good behavior could even earn him a reduction.

Fifteen years… Hunter was twenty now. Nearly half his life so far would be spent there.

And since Castel was his place of exile, it probably wasn’t a good one.

But at least—for now—he was alive.