Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord
Chapter 221: Fire and Light in the Storm

Beatrice sat numbly on the stool while the surrounding nuns carefully adjusted her garments and applied her makeup.

Her attire was extremely simple—a pure white church robe. However, the fabric was exquisite, and if one looked closely, they would see intricate dark patterns woven into it.

This fabric was woven using a steam-powered loom in the factory. Due to the machine’s high failure rate, only a few meters of this precious fabric were produced each year. Only individuals of noble status could enjoy such luxury—far superior to any handwoven cloth.

Even so, this fabric merely served as the base layer of her priestly robes. Draped over her shoulders was a red cloak.

This was an ornament reserved for clergy of the rank of bishop and above. The Church of Candlelight had far more churches than bishops, and only senior bishops who managed medium or large churches had the opportunity to obtain this light yet prestigious red fabric. These individuals were called cardinals and were entitled to wear red priestly robes.

Yet, compared to the scepter in her hands, all these ornaments seemed insignificant.

It was the Cardinal’s Scepter. Whoever held this scepter governed the entire church on behalf of the Pope. Only seven individuals in total held this authority, collectively known as the Council of Keepers, from which the Pope was selected.

By coincidence, the Church of Candlelight currently had no Pope.

"W-wait!" Beatrice suddenly turned around, instinctively letting go of the scepter. The silver staff began to fall toward the ground.

In the next moment, four or five hands reached out simultaneously, catching it before it could hit the floor. The nuns carefully passed the scepter back to her and placed it in front of her once more.

"N-no, this isn’t right! Why are you giving me this? I’ve been in the church for less than a year!"

Beatrice looked at the scepter in horror. By accepting it, her status would be equivalent to that of any duke in the Empire. With the Pope’s seat vacant, she would stand at the very pinnacle of power in this world.

But how could this be possible?

"Lady Beatrice, this is the honor of the Joanne family. This Cardinal’s Scepter was bestowed upon the Joanne family by the first Pope, and the Council of Keepers has always reserved a seat for the Joanne family."

"But this should belong to Uncle Euler… to Lord Euler! I’ve only just become an Extraordinary, and I haven’t even advanced to the rank of Keeper yet! How… how can this be given to me?"

"This is Lord Euler’s decision. He is preoccupied with other matters right now, so you need not worry too much." The nun’s eyes shifted slightly, and the other attendants quietly left the room.

A nun, her face veiled in black, slowly leaned in and whispered into Beatrice’s ear, "Even the Empress has approved of this."

"The Empress…"

Beatrice’s eyes widened instantly. Her pupils trembled as she slowly turned to look at the nun whispering in her ear. "You are…"

"Just a nun, my lady. No need to dwell on it." The nun chuckled softly.

Beatrice closed her eyes briefly and asked in a hushed voice, "Did Lord Euler leave me anything else, like a letter?"

"No, Lady Beatrice. Lord Euler never writes letters."

Beatrice fell silent, quietly nodding as she allowed the returning nuns to wrap her in layer upon layer of ornate vestments.

"Your Eminence, you will be attending a royal ennoblement ceremony next. The Empress will personally preside over it, so please be mindful of your etiquette."

"Alright. Who is being ennobled?"

"A minor figure—not worth your attention. After the ceremony, the Empress will also announce the conclusion of the Western War and distribute rewards. That is the main event."

"The Western War has ended?! We won?!"

The nun remained silent, raising a single finger to her lips. "The Empress will take care of everything."

Beatrice clenched the fabric of her robes tightly, using all her strength to suppress her emotions.

The Western War had lasted for years, and now it had simply ended?

She suddenly recalled something Hughes had once told her back on Castel Island—

"The Empire’s wars never truly stop. This vast machine moves forward through expansion. If it ever stops…"

Beatrice lowered her gaze to the silver scepter in her hands.

The nun winked at her.

The Joanne family had always sworn loyalty to the royal family, serving as the most faithful chess piece of the throne.

"The Empress will take care of everything," Beatrice silently repeated in her heart as she gently closed her eyes.

"Mr. Jeremiah, I beg you! Please, don’t go into the sea! Something is wrong—it’s not right!" Ken clutched Jeremiah’s coat tightly. "Let’s wait for the ‘Prince’ to return. He will complete his ennoblement ceremony today. Once he’s back, we can go to Castel Island together."

"Get lost!"

Jeremiah shoved Ken backward. Ken stumbled several steps before collapsing onto the dock. Josh hurried over to help him up.

Jeremiah didn’t even spare him a glance as he strode toward his ship.

The seawater had receded too much. The dock, once submerged, now revealed its foundation stones.

It was as if the sea had opened up a vast hole, slowly yet inexorably drying up.

No one knew how far the water would retreat, nor what lay beneath it. Most sailors had already abandoned their ships, standing on the dock trembling as they watched the water level drop lower and lower.

A massive crowd had gathered at the docks—some screamed, some cursed, others knelt in prayer.

Jeremiah reached the edge of the pier. As the water receded, he now stood taller than the ship’s bow. A single leap forward would land him directly on the deck of the Black Pearl.

Just as he stepped forward, he suddenly hesitated, glancing down at the young man who had once again grabbed onto his coat.

"Jeremiah!" Ken panted heavily, his clothes stained with mud. "Don’t go! Let’s wait for the ‘Prince.’"

"Are you still hoping for someone else to save you?" Jeremiah’s voice was unexpectedly calm. Though his eyes were bloodshot and his face twisted with a mixture of rage and madness, his words did not waver in the slightest. "I am a pirate. I am a captain. I will not abandon my ship. I will not die on land!"

"But…"

Jeremiah unsheathed his cutlass. The crowd instantly backed away. He tapped the flat of the blade against Ken’s pale cheek. "Go back, kid. You’re destined to die in a soft bed. I’ll find Castel Island for you."

With that, he turned and leaped onto the ship’s bow, rolling once before standing up straight. His grip on the cutlass remained steady.

The crew erupted into cheers.

"Anyone else want to get off? Do it now!"

The pirates exchanged glances. One of them spoke up, "Boss, ever since the Storm Ocean was unified, those who wanted to leave already did."

After the Pirate King unified the Storm Ocean and established the Pirate King’s Court, there were no more battles left for pirates. They were reduced to collecting sea taxes for Gem Bay—pirates in name only.

Most had either settled on land or joined the Pirate King’s Court, playing political games over the tiny territory of Gem Bay.

Jeremiah looked up at the dock. Countless eyes were on him, just as they had been when he left Gem Bay.

Back then, former pirates had stood on the shore, watching as his ship sailed into the open sea.

The seawater was disappearing.

Perhaps one day, the entire ocean would vanish.

So what?

He was a pirate captain—nothing would change that.

The pirate captain turned around expressionlessly, gazing at the ever-diminishing sea.

Behind him, there was a heavy thud as something fell to the ground.

Jeremiah did not look back.

He grinned ferociously, raised his curved blade, and roared with all his might:

"Set sail! Boys, full sails—we’re heading for the sea!"

The sky over Rhine was always gray.

But today, it was especially dim.

Before long, it started to rain.

The gas lamps in the palace lit up, their cold light piercing through the rain in the darkness.

Beatrice held the scepter and walked silently through the crowd.

Everyone who saw her attire was shocked.

Everyone knew Beatrice.

Not long ago, the soap she had introduced was highly sought after among the upper class of Rhine.

Many noble ladies had tried to order some privately, only to find that she had mysteriously disappeared.

And now, seeing her again—she was holding the cardinal’s scepter?

It was as if only at this moment did people recall her surname.

They remembered that she was also a member of the Joanne family.

But there were many members of the Joanne family.

Why would they let her take up the scepter?

Come to think of it, it had been a long time since anyone had seen the Joanne family members.

The nobles all wore smiles, but a certain emotion spread quietly through their eyes.

It seeped through the entire palace.

The Joanne family, the royal family, the church—those who were well-informed were beginning to grow uneasy.

The Empress had been on the throne for eleven years.

She had many enemies, but only she had emerged victorious.

Who would she strike against this time?

The nobles were silent and fearful.

They were mere chess pieces, at the mercy of the Empress.

The only ones still standing outside the chessboard were perhaps the few dukes of the frontier.

The crowd slowly parted.

A few maids led the way.

The Empress had arrived.

Beatrice lifted her head, curiously watching the approaching figure.

The Empress of the Holy Mill Empire—the most powerful person in this world.

As a member of the Joanne family, she was the most loyal subject of the royal house.

Yet, she had never seen the Empress in person before.

The empire was like a precise machine, where every cog had its own role.

Those she served, those she despised, her enemies, her friends—these had been determined the moment she inherited the Joanne name.

The scepter in her hand, the red robe on her body—these were more important than her flesh and soul.

Countless precise gears formed various organizations.

Countless organizations constituted the empire.

Now, the one at the helm of this vast war machine had revealed her true face.

Beatrice blinked, then bowed her head in greeting.

She had imagined the Empress’s appearance countless times.

Yet when she truly saw her, she suddenly realized—just like herself, the Empress was merely a symbol.

She was the Empress of the Empire.

She was also a cog in the vast machinery of the Empire.

She was the crown, the throne, the gem-encrusted sword.

The flesh and blood were nothing more than the vessel that bore these identities.

It was as if she were not a living being, but the very embodiment of the word "Empress."

She was an empty symbol.

Beatrice quickly shook her head.

She had spent too much time exploring the Corridor of Truth lately.

The aftereffects of mental exhaustion made it difficult to distinguish reality from illusion.

She steadied herself, then looked again at the Empress.

It was a face of cold beauty, flawless beneath its exquisite makeup.

She wore a smile, yet all who met her gaze were gripped by fear.

Only when Beatrice saw a fleeting silver light in the Empress’s eyes did she realize that her aftereffects had not yet faded.

She quickly steadied her mind.

Looking at the Empress again, everything seemed normal.

The hallucinations had vanished.

The Empress took her seat.

Beatrice was guided to sit at her left hand.

She was secretly surprised but showed no reaction.

The Empress had already made her plans.

All she had to do was play her part as a cog in the machine.

A court senator began reading a lengthy document.

Soon, a handsome man stepped forward.

Beatrice looked at him but felt as if she were staring at a blazing fire.

Another hallucination.

She sighed inwardly.

Taking a deep breath, she focused once more.

Everything returned to normal.

For some reason, the side effects were particularly severe today.

She hesitated, wondering whether she should discreetly take a pill to suppress them.

But under so many watchful eyes, there was simply no opportunity.

The senator continued reading.

His steady voice was almost like a lullaby.

Beatrice struggled to endure her discomfort, trying not to let it show.

She listened in a daze.

It seemed to be an introduction for the man before her—

The only son of the Grand Duke of Tis.

For his meritorious report of a traitor, he was to be rewarded.

She had heard about this.

This man had betrayed his own father.

He had betrayed his loyal subordinates.

He had sold out everything and everyone he could—

All in exchange for a nominal title.

Even his own subjects looked down on him.

They mockingly called him "Prince."

Beatrice suddenly remembered something.

When she was just a little girl, she had once admired this "Prince."

Back then, he was a true prince—

Righteous and fearless, always extending a hand to the weak, just like the knights in storybooks.

Even in Rhine, there were many tales of his deeds.

The "Prince" knelt before the Empress.

The Empress drew her ceremonial sword and lightly tapped it on his shoulder.

Beatrice couldn’t help but sigh.

If only she hadn’t seen this today.

It seemed that every dream would eventually shatter.

The hero she had once admired was now kneeling like a dog, wagging his tail and begging for mercy.

He would surely become an even more loyal subject of the royal family than she was.

No other faction would accept him now.

Let this end quickly.

The real show was about to begin.

Beatrice was more interested in how the Empress planned to use her.

The fall of Tis, the pacification of the North, the victorious war in the West—

The Empress had moved from one triumph to the next.

The Empire was growing ever more invincible.

She had already written a glorious history.

But where would she lead it next?

Thunder boomed outside.

The storm had arrived.

Once again, Beatrice’s vision blurred.

She lifted her head.

Another hallucination was coming.

What would the "Prince" turn into this time?

Surely not an actual dog?

Amused, Beatrice raised her head and blinked.

The "Prince" was still fire.

A blazing fire, illuminating the dull palace.

Beatrice rubbed her eyes in confusion.

As the hallucination faded, she saw blood splattered across the floor.

The "Prince" gripped the blade.

The sword was razor-sharp, cutting deep into his hand, exposing the bone.

Yet the "Prince" seemed oblivious to the pain.

His eyes locked onto the Empress, seething with the rage he had suppressed for countless days and nights.

The tip of the sword pierced the Empress’s throat.

The Empress’s eyes were filled with disbelief.

At this moment, she finally no longer seemed like an empty symbol.

Her eyes widened.

Her expression shifted from shock to fury, then to confusion and fear.

She opened her mouth as if to say something.

But all she did was slowly collapse.

Her flawless makeup was smeared with blood.

Her crown fell to the ground.

She was dead.