Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Rhine ‍​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌‌​​​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​​​‌​‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​​‌​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​‌​‌​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​​​​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌​​​‌​‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌​​​‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌‌​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​‌​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌​‌​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌‌​​​​​​‌‌‌‌​‌‍City.

The ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍capital of the Empire, a miraculous city raised from nothing, a paradise for factory owners and newly risen nobles, the sacred ground of the Mechanical Sanctum.

Of ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍course, those were titles from the past. Ever since the Empress had been assassinated, such names were seldom mentioned.

In ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍the beginning, it had been established single-handedly by the Royal Family. In order to foster the Mechanical Sanctum to rival the Church of Candlelight, the Royal Family’s investment could be described as sparing no expense.

Rhine ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍had not disappointed expectations. As sack after sack of Rio was poured in, factories rose from the ground in great numbers. A new noble class centered around factory owners emerged, and the old nobles gradually extended olive branches. Many even lowered themselves to personally open factories.

At ‍​‌​‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​‌​‌‌​​​​‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​​‌‌​‌‌​​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌​‌‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌‌​‌‌​​‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌‌​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌‌​​​‌‌‌‌​​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​‌​​‌​‌‌​‌‌‌​​​‌​​​​​​‌‌‌​‌​​​‌‌​‌​​​​‌‌​​‌​‌​​‌​​​​​​‌‌​​‌​​​‌‌​​​​‌​‌‌‌​​‌​​‌‌​‌​‌‌​​‌​‌‌‌​‍that time, the city had once been full of vitality. Although the workers at the bottom were still treated as expendables, at the very least the nobles had been willing to divide off some Residue from their profits as a carrot dangling before the people, leading them forward.

Back then, the city had been vast, chaotic, dangerous—yet full of opportunity.

But gradually, everything began to sink, with no turning back.

When Frey arrived before Rhine City, he felt as though he was looking at the corpse of a giant.

This was the city gate of Rhine. Frey tugged at the stained hood over his head and cautiously craned his neck from within the line.

He had traveled by Airship with Zoe and the others through the Empire for some time, found a concealed location to land quietly, and then they had split up.

Aside from him, there were also several soldiers under Erwin. Those men were primarily tasked with contacting the Ashes’ Alliance, while he was to infiltrate the city using his own identity as much as possible.

This was not difficult. Frey had grown up roaming the streets; dealing with all kinds of people was second nature to him.

With a forged identity obtained from the Ashes’ Alliance, along with several sacks of Rio as capital, slipping into Rhine should have been a simple matter.

—At least, that had been what he thought.

Standing in line, Frey looked at the gate guards and the supervising Fathers, and a trace of disbelief appeared on his face.

The queue he was in was not long—at least, not for a large city like Rhine. There should not have been so few people.

But Frey did not feel surprised in the slightest. In fact, he thought it was already a miracle that there were this many people.

The reason was simple: the inspection to enter the city was utterly absurd.

Frey had dealt with city guards countless times. They were a pack of greedy wolves. When they set their eyes on you, you could neither be completely penniless nor too plump with wealth, or else you would invite trouble.

Yet the people before him completely overturned his understanding.

A Fathers dressed in long robes held a long whip in his hand, his face brimming with excitement as he lashed a man kneeling on the ground.

“Recite! Recite! You must memorize the Candlelight prayer! If your mouth does not chant the doctrine, how will you know the greatness of the Church?”

Smack!

The whip fell. A pale welt appeared across the man’s back, which immediately swelled and turned a glaring purplish-red. Faint blood began to seep out.

To enter the city, one had to recite the doctrine of Candlelight.

The Fathers lashed out with a savage grin, and the people in the queue stood in silence as if frozen.

Frey opened his mouth as if to say something, but in the end he merely adjusted his hood, hiding his expression in shadow.

What kind of ridiculous demand was this?!

Even in White Stone Fortress, the greedy soldiers had only wanted Rio. As long as one paid, one could buy peace.

But here, that Fathers seemed to take pure pleasure in tormenting people.

—The man kneeling was not incapable of reciting the doctrine. He was struggling to chant it. Yet with each sentence he uttered, the sound of the whip slicing through the air followed, and soon another bloody mark would appear on his back. The Father’s voice echoed at the city gate, accompanied by manic laughter:

“Everyone has sinned, and all must atone—hahahaha, recite!”

“This flame… is not the leavings of the sun… Pain is the ritual of light… ah!”

“Damn it! Useless trash! Who allowed you to defile the doctrine of Candlelight with your vile tongue!”

“With candle tears wrap your eyes, with the candlewick nail your tongue—ha! Do you feel the sanctity of Candlelight?”

Frey stared at the scene in shock. The Fathers seemed neither interested in money nor concerned with whether the man was devout. He simply wanted to vent.

Frey’s gaze fell upon the kneeling man. He was small and thin, his face full of misery, his clothes tattered.

But those ragged clothes were likely important to him. Unwilling to let them be torn by the whip, he had carefully set them aside and offered his own flesh to receive the lashes.

Perhaps the Fathers had grown tired. After whipping for a while longer, he set the whip on a nearby table and shook his hand.

“Next.”

Another man stepped forward—equally gaunt, equally destitute, as though cut from the same mold.

He removed his clothes, carefully placed them aside, then knelt and began mumbling the prayer under his breath.

The Father waved his hand. “Tired.”

After saying that, he sat down in a cushioned armchair. A sunshade had already been set up above him. The gate soldiers hurried over, offering him drinks.

Frey’s eyes shifted. Perhaps the previous man had simply been unlucky—perhaps the Father had merely wanted someone to vent on at that moment…

“Quick! Hurry and bring the machine over!”

A soldier who appeared to be a Squad Leader fanned the Father while shouting at the others.

Soon, several soldiers carried over a large iron machine.

Frey cautiously craned his neck to look. Over the past few days, he had followed the Castel Delegation and seen many kinds of machinery. Those Steam Engines that cursed at people and spat coal briquettes when angered had left a deep impression on him.

But the machine before him left him bewildered.

He stared at it for quite some time and still could not determine its purpose.

It appeared to be a wheel. Along its rim were cylindrical grooves, connected at the center by a crankshaft, and on the other end was a finely crafted handle.

It somewhat resembled a Flywheel on a Steam Engine, yet there were subtle differences.

The soldiers set the machine before the Father, loaded fuel into it, and the wheel began to rotate slowly.

Perhaps it was a fan? Frey had seen similar structures on Airships. For the sake of cool air, some Stokers would add a few gears to a Steam Engine to create a simple Gearbox, then connect a fan with a Bearing. Once the engine started, a breeze would follow.

Of course, if you angered the Steam Engine, you could expect a typhoon to pass through.

“Your Grace, please~”

After the soldiers had arranged the machine, the Squad Leader respectfully presented the Father’s whip using a handkerchief.

The Father responded with a hum, casually inserted the whip into the rotating wheel, then reclined comfortably in the armchair and began turning the handle on the other side.

The wheel spun. The whip snapped down in rhythmic cracks.

Now, without exerting himself, he could continue whipping the kneeling believers.