Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Grisha lay on the table, holding the pen in his hand with a slightly unfamiliar grip, carefully spelling out words on the paper.

His expression was solemn, almost reverent.

『Sister Gwen, this is Grisha, this was the first time I wrote a letter. This time.』

『It had already been one month since arriving at Castel. I had been attending the Literacy Class, words, learned many, friends, learned many.』

『Literacy Class good, friends, also good.』

『I liked it here.』

Grisha lifted the pen tip, a silly smile appearing on his face. Only after quite a while did he return to himself. He dipped the pen tip into the ink bottle and continued writing.

『Blood Harbor, very big, Castel, also very big, had ships of steel, had roads of iron, had Steam Engines that cursed at people.』

『When we first arrived, many people fainted from fear. They were frightened by steel, frightened by the church, frightened by the Stellar Furnace.』

『Grisha did not understand.』

『They said Grisha did not understand, so it was fine. They had seen too much of this world, so they dared not believe.』

『This sentence, Grisha also did not understand.』

『Fortunately, everyone recovered, in the end.』

『Uncle Wood went mad, for a long time. Lady Nini needed both hands to pin him down, even.』

Actually, Uncle Wood was not the only one who went mad. Grisha really wanted to write about the specific situation, but those bizarre appearances were difficult to describe in words—especially given Grisha’s limited vocabulary.

The nurse lady once told him it was some kind of Castel something-something disease. The word was somewhat difficult to pronounce, and Grisha had already forgotten it.

Another doctor had told him that when he really could not hold on, he could recite the name of Lord Hughes. This part he remembered, but Grisha did not understand what “when you cannot hold on” meant. He had never felt a moment when he needed to grit his teeth and endure—but the other wounded who came with him often went mad.

Grisha lowered his head again, but the thread of thought had been severed. Holding the dip pen, he dazed out for a while. His gaze drifted to the “Nini” he had just written, and a smile appeared on his face again.

『Lady Nini was very good, she took Grisha to see a shark. Sharks not good, sharks died.』

『Grisha wanted to see sharks, with Sister Gwen.』

『The sea was very big, very blue. There were many sunken ships in the sea, everywhere, piled very high.』

『Sunken ships could talk. They said, no one heard them, Grisha heard them.』

『Grisha liked being by the sea, speaking with sunken ships, and with the sea.』

『Grisha had never seen the sea, in the Northlands.』

『In Blood Harbor, in Castel, Grisha ate very well every day.』

『There was a kind of food, fries, very delicious, very very delicious, very very tasty.』

Grisha recalled the scene when he first arrived at Castel, sharing fries with everyone inside the carriage, and his nose turned slightly sour again.

Clearly it was a very good thing, yet tears always fell.

He would think of those companions who died along the road, and the friends who fell in the final battle.

『In Castel, friends could be together for a very long, long time. In the Northlands, friends would disappear in the blink of an eye.』

『Grisha could not forget friends. No matter what, could not forget.』

『I had never thought I would survive, grow up. I had never thought, after leaving the Northlands, that I would have a home.』

『The White Raven People lost the Bone-White Raven, lost their homeland, lost themselves.』

『I should have died, like chicory weed, the chicory weed that died every year on the plains of the Northlands.』

『Friends were good. Grisha not good. But friends all disappeared, Grisha.』

A tear drop wet the letter paper. Grisha quickly wiped it with his sleeve. Seeing the slight wrinkle it left, a hint of annoyance flashed across his face, and he knocked his own head hard.

This was a letter to Sister Gwen. He had clearly planned to write it very, very seriously.

『Castel very good.』

『Everyone in the Resistance Army said this place was heaven. Grisha did not understand.』

『But Grisha liked it here.』

『In Castel, everyone could read, everyone could eat, every child could grow up.』

『Work hard, then you could eat fries.』

『No war, no White Calamity, no nobles’ whips, and curved blades.』

『They helped Grisha replace his prosthetic. A new one, of steel.』

『Grisha had new legs now!』

『Grisha liked it here. This land very good. The people here very good. The friends in the sea also very good. Grisha had many new friends. Grisha was willing to stay here, for a lifetime.』

Grisha showed another silly smile. He carefully tapped the ground with his metal foot, and a crisp metallic sound rang out.

He felt he had never been so happy. Everything here was beautiful—so beautiful that it felt unreal. In the Northlands, Grisha had never imagined such a bountiful place could exist, such friendly residents. What they faced was not blades and swords, but fries thrown into the carriage.

Perhaps this truly was heaven—the heaven he had not dared to dream of, even in his loveliest dreams.

But he was about to leave this heaven.

Grisha wrote on the letter with trembling hands.

『Sister Gwen, Grisha wanted to return to the Northlands.』

『In the Northlands, my fellow countrymen, my friends, friends who had fallen.』

『Grisha wanted to avenge them.』

『Grisha had new legs now, could charge again.』

『Uncle Wood, Brother Rick, Sister Hela, everyone, all wanted to return to the Northlands, back to the battlefield.』

『Castel very good, this was home, but Grisha was going to leave here.』

『When you see this letter, I had already boarded the train, heading for the Northlands.』

『Grisha.』

The boy solemnly wrote his name, then placed the pen aside. He gently picked up the letter, waiting for the ink to dry.

This was a very important letter. It was the first letter he had written after learning to read—perhaps also the last. He wanted to write it well.

Grisha waited quietly like that for a long time—until the sky turned completely dark, until deep into the night.

He carefully folded the letter and slipped it into the envelope he had prepared, then placed it solemnly beneath his pillow.

This was the dormitory assigned to him. He had already folded the quilt neatly, and the floor had been thoroughly cleaned.

Looking at the tidy room, he nodded, placed the key on the table, and stepped out of the door, without locking it.

He gazed into the distance. That direction was Blood Harbor. He knew that there was the train heading toward the Northlands—a train that could take him away from this dreamlike beautiful place, back to the desolate, blood-soaked battlefield of the Northlands.

In his eyes gleamed a deep blue light, like surging seawater.

Grisha did not hesitate. He left the dormitory just like that, walking into the night without looking back.