Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Grand Duke Alvare looked like a short, plump middle-aged man, his tiny eyes always darting around, and the two sharp little mustaches above his lip gave him a somewhat comical air. At this moment, he was sitting inside the train, staring wide-eyed at Hunter, who sat across from him.

“Alvare. Uncle, you came alone? Without even a single attendant?”

Hunter looked at the smiling middle-aged man with disbelief. This was one of the Three Grand Dukes of the North, someone even the Empress—if she still existed—would have needed to treat with respect, one of the most powerful figures on the entire continent.

Of course, now there was no Empress, and likely no Grand Dukes left in the Northlands either.

“Hehe, Hunter, when it comes to surrendering, you’re still not professional enough.” Alvare shook his head and swayed it slightly as he spoke.

“When to surrender, to whom to surrender, and in what posture—these all have rules. You young people… truly too young. You’ve lost the ancestral craft!”

Hunter almost cracked on the spot. “Your territory… was it all obtained through surrender?”

Alvare revealed an appreciative look. “Not bad. You young ones have a bit of insight after all.”

“Back in the day, my family was nothing but hunters. Don’t give me that look—your father’s family was even worse. They raised pigs.”

Hunter’s eyes widened. He had never heard his father say such a thing. Wasn’t the Watts family supposed to be a scholarly clan? Knowledge and wisdom flowing through their blood? Raised pigs!?

“In any case, when the Holy Mill Empire was just being founded, the Great Sage Bruno was personally leading troops into battle. The ancestor of my family surrendered to His Excellency the Sage alongside Old Watts the pig-breeder, and exchanged that surrender for the right to follow him into war. Only then did we gain such vast lands.”

“You mean… allegiance?”

“What allegiance? It was surrender.” Alvare snorted. “Back then the Northlands were crawling with barbarians. Our tribe was an enemy of the Great Sage Bruno. My ancestor made the decisive choice to surrender, and your ancestor guided His Excellency through the terrain. Together they exterminated the tribe, and only then did we secure our current status.”

As he spoke, he proudly shook the luxurious robes draped over him.

“But you’re not bad either. Selling out that pile of useless trash in your family at just the right time—very much in the spirit of your ancestor.”

“You—don’t talk nonsense. How can that be the same? I defected to the light!”

“Yes yes yes, exactly that. Looks like you’ve really grown up. You were always reading as a child. I worried you’d read yourself stupid and forget our ancestral craft.” Alvare patted Hunter’s shoulder with emotion.

Hunter brushed at the wrinkles on his shoulder with a look of distaste. After a moment of silence, he still couldn’t help but ask, “What does this have to do with you not bringing attendants?”

Alvare grinned.

“Castel—was that the name? New powers like them always try to find excuses to purge old nobles like us. That’s when you need to surrender at exactly the right moment—fast enough, precise enough—so they can’t even find a proper reason to make trouble.”

“They summon me for judgment, then I come the moment I’m called. They say I’m guilty, and I go alone. The attitude must be perfect, the posture impeccable. Then these Castel people won’t be able to do a thing to me—only watch helplessly as I surrender!”

“You’ll see. After I undergo the judgment, my status might not drop at all—in fact, it might even rise.”

Alvare patted Hunter’s shoulder again, messing up the clothes he had just flattened.

Hunter listened, dumbfounded, unable to stop marveling at how thick-skinned his uncle was. Was this the magnanimity of a great noble? No wonder being a noble wasn’t easy.

“But… if they want to purge you, won’t any excuse do? How do you know you won’t go and never return?”

“Hunter, you still read too much and think too little.” Alvare waggled a thick, stubby finger.

“I’ve lived in the Northlands for so many years. They’re the only force that distributed grain to the starving masses. Their resistance forces keep growing. Even if those Castel people knew nothing else, they could rely on that alone to stand firm—let alone the fact that they can fight extremely well.”

“Then why didn’t you distribute grain?”

“The Northlands have low grain yield. There’s only so much of it. If I give it away, my own commonfolk will starve. You expect me to starve my people to feed outsiders? Impossible.” Alvare shook his head, the flesh on his face wobbling. “I don’t really understand warfare, but I can at least keep my people from starving.”

“And why bother working so hard? Once a force like that appears, all you need to do is surrender.”

Hunter was left speechless.

“Look at this marvelous carriage. Now I get to ride it too, and Soldiers are guarding us.”

“It’s called a train!”

“Yes, yes, a train.” Alvare nodded, then asked with curiosity, “Hunter, you know a lot. Tell me, how does this train run? I’ve never seen such a heavy carriage run so fast.”

As he spoke, he tapped the carriage wall, producing a crisp metallic sound.

“See? All steel. Fine steel. Using such good steel to make a carriage…”

This question truly stumped Hunter. He had learned some things in Castel, but not how to build a train.

“This… mm… Uncle, I’ll be honest. I may be a formidable scholar in the Northlands, but in Castel? I barely count as anything. Even the owner of the fried chicken shop knows more than I do.”

“It’s alright, Hunter, don’t worry.” Alvare comforted him with a laugh. “You weren’t exactly a formidable scholar in the Northlands either.”

Hunter’s expression froze like he had been choked.

“But I still can’t believe it. A fried-chicken-shop owner knowing more than you? Impossible.”

Hunter didn’t argue. Instead, he glanced around and casually waved over a member of the Expeditionary Army. “Friend, could you come here for a moment?”

Hunter picked up a sheet of parchment in front of Alvare. It was the receipt he intended to submit to the Tribunal.

“Can you read it aloud for us?”

“Of course… ‘Respected Tribunal, esteemed judges, I am of the Holy Mill Empire’s Northlands—’”

As Alvare listened to the Soldier from the Expeditionary Army fluently reading the letter he had written, his eyes grew wider and wider.

He couldn’t help turning to look. The Soldier was a young man, no more than twenty, wearing only an ordinary Soldier’s uniform, a rifle slung over his shoulder—seemingly unremarkable at first glance.

But he was literate. He could read. With such knowledge, he could easily become a scribe. Why was he serving as a Soldier?

And the letter he wrote used refined vocabulary—this Soldier clearly had a high level of literacy.

“This word is spelled wrong,” the Soldier paused, pointing at one line. “The grammar here is a bit off too—perhaps this is a Northlands dialect?”