Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord
Chapter 222: Pope

A bolt of lightning streaked across the sky, illuminating the palace. The nobles’ faces were pale, as if they were ducks with their necks grasped, standing dumbfounded in place.

Beatrice widened her eyes, staring at the absurd scene before her, momentarily unable to tell whether what she saw was an illusion.

The Empress was dead?

The Empress who sat high upon the Iron-Thorn Throne, whose imperial forces crushed all opposition, was just dead like that?

She lay in a pool of her own blood, her face frozen in terror and confusion, like any mortal facing death.

No one had ever imagined that the weak and hypocritical "Prince" would suddenly rise up and assassinate the Empress.

Beatrice trembled as she looked at the "Prince." His determined eyes were filled with hatred and fury—where was the slightest trace of weakness?

But he wasn’t—he wasn’t—

Beatrice’s pupils contracted sharply. Suddenly, she understood. The "Prince" had never betrayed the people of Tis. Perhaps his followers had willingly sacrificed themselves just to allow him to stand before the Empress at this moment.

Tis was a weak nation. No matter how they resisted, they would only be crushed by the Empress’s army. Everyone knew this.

Yet now, the Empress lay dead here, in her own palace, in her own pool of blood.

"Prince"—was he truly such a noble person?

The "Prince" dropped his longsword, panting heavily, his eyes bloodshot as he scanned the surrounding nobles. Wherever his gaze landed, people instinctively retreated. The court senator, who had been standing not far from him, was so frightened that he collapsed to the ground.

They were all dogs raised by the Empress, long since had their fangs removed.

Suddenly, someone screamed.

"Impossible!"

"Her Majesty the Empress... is dead!?"

"Seize him! He is the murderer!"

"He actually killed the Empress!"

"Guards! Where are the guards!?"

The crowd erupted in chaos. Everyone pointed at the "Prince" in outrage, gritting their teeth. Several noblewomen fainted on the spot, and the palace fell into utter disorder.

"Your Majesty! No—!"

The Captain of the Empress’s Knights pushed through the nobles, rushing to the front of the crowd. He kicked aside the court senator in his way, then knelt on the ground, reaching out with trembling hands to touch the Empress’s lifeless body.

The court senator rolled to the side, stunned, before suddenly reacting. He turned his head toward Beatrice, his face twisted in rage as he roared:

"Aren’t you one of the Church’s monsters!? Why didn’t you protect the Empress!?"

Beatrice’s face turned pale. She was indeed an Extraordinary being, while the "Prince" was merely a mortal. His movements just now had not been fast—she had countless ways to save the Empress.

But—but she had experienced hallucinations just now. She had never expected the "Prince" to suddenly attack the Empress. He was supposed to be her most loyal follower, wasn’t he?

She had indeed failed in her duty. The Joanne family was supposed to be the most loyal cog in the imperial machine, yet today, it had jammed.

The Empress had placed her by her side for protection. She was an "Investigator," and dealing with mortals was an absolute certainty.

A sudden image of Hughes flashed through Beatrice’s mind. Losing contact with Castel had led her to explore the Corridor of Truth. Over-exploring the Corridor had caused hallucinations, the hallucinations had prevented her from seeing the "Prince’s" attack, and ultimately, this had led to the Empress’s death. Everything seemed like a series of coincidences.

A phrase her uncle Euler once told her surfaced in her mind—

"Investigators possess the strongest Extraordinary path of their rank, with barely any drawbacks. There’s just one small issue—your luck will be somewhat bad."

Luck. A tiny bit of bad luck, accumulating over time, like a butterfly flapping its wings in Castel, yet causing a storm in Rhine.

"She! She must be in league with the assassin! She allowed the ’Prince’ to kill Her Majesty!"

The crowd grew restless, scrutinizing gazes fell upon her, and some even revealed expressions of sudden realization.

Beatrice took a step back. She wanted to defend herself, but when she saw the expressions on the nobles’ faces, she suddenly stopped.

She was naïve, but she wasn’t stupid.

Since returning to Rhine, she had seen too many noble schemes. She knew these people did not care about the truth. They only wanted someone to take the blame.

The figures before her stretched and distorted, turning into monstrous beings, their bodies covered in mouths that never closed, whispering ceaselessly. Their bloated forms resembled swine, their faces adorned with mosquito-like proboscises, all pointing at her, ready to drain her blood.

Hallucinations again!?

Beatrice frantically took out some pills from her clothing and swallowed them, but her heartbeat thundered like a war drum, and the hallucinations refused to fade.

[Run.]

Her intuition gave the answer.

But why?

If she ran, wouldn’t that confirm her as the Empress’s assassin’s accomplice? She looked around, her mind in turmoil, unable to make sense of it.

[Run.]

Her heartbeat grew faster. Her intuition screamed at her.

A phrase from her uncle Euler’s letter surfaced in her mind.

"When reason fails you, trust your instincts."

Beatrice hesitated only for a moment before gritting her teeth, discarding her red robe and silver staff, and dashing toward the door.

The Captain of the Empress’s Knights shouted at her, but she ignored him completely. Following her instincts, she used her Extraordinary abilities, gliding past his obstruction like a gust of wind, rushing toward the door.

The heavy wooden doors shattered like biscuits in an instant, unable to slow her down at all.

It was her first time using her abilities against others, and as expected, an Investigator’s power was terrifyingly strong. Soldiers and high walls alike were effortlessly bypassed.

As she used her abilities, her hallucinations gradually faded. She realized that simply following her instincts had led her smoothly to the palace gates.

She turned back in confusion. The Empress had died before her, and she had fled. The Empire would never have a place for her again.

But why had her instincts told her to run?

Never mind. She needed to leave Rhine, find a place to hide. Maybe she could seek out Earl Hughes—but without her noble status, would he still take her in?

Lost in thought, Beatrice climbed over the palace gates—only to freeze in place.

Perhaps she didn’t need to run anymore.

Her luck seemed rather bad.

A dense crowd stood silently outside the palace gates.

Lightning flashed across the sky, wind billowed through their robes.

Beatrice’s gaze fell upon the silver sacred emblems gleaming even in the pouring rain.

A faint candle flame—this was the Holy Guard of the Church.

A nun stepped forward, her face veiled in a faint black mist, untouched by the rain.

She held a triple crown in her hands, walking up to Beatrice. She gently brushed aside the rain-soaked strands of Beatrice’s hair, then slowly raised the crown and placed it atop her head.

Beatrice stared at the nun’s face beneath the veil—filled with mechanical components and gears.

"You left in such a hurry, you forgot to wear your crown."

"Your Holiness, the Pope."