Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Chapter 22: Interlude, To Investigator Beatrice

The metal keys were pressed down, gears and transmission shafts meshed together, and the copper type molds engraved with letters clattered onto the parchment, like raindrops falling from the sky.

"Beatrice, I’m very sorry. This time, I’m writing to ask you for a favor."

"What makes me feel even more guilty is that I still can't tell you too much. You know, I am the Church's Secret Keeper."

"However, I heard that you passed the test and became an investigator... I can hardly describe my feelings upon hearing this news. You have always been a child who loves to get to the bottom of things. Now, as you wish, you will be closer to the truth."

"In any case, congratulations. I have always been busy with Church affairs. Even though I promised your mother I would take care of you, I haven’t done much for you."

"My own situation is not great either, especially recently. They say my methods of executing a cultist were too extreme..."

The parchment in the mechanical typewriter reached its end.

A pair of hands made of gears and intricate mechanical structures pulled it out and set it aside.

Meanwhile, another pair of similarly mechanical arms skillfully retrieved a fresh sheet of parchment, placed it into the typewriter, and secured it in place.

The clattering sound rang out once again.

"They always have too many reasons, saying I offended the factory owners, saying it will worsen relations between the Empress and the Church... No one actually cares what happens to those cultists."

"Damn it, how did the Church end up like this?"

The figure in the red hood paused typing, shook his head, and sighed.

"He was an extremely dangerous cultist, and the corruption he brought was utterly terrifying... But fortunately, I have already executed him."

"But some workers were still affected by the corruption. My proposal to completely purge them was rejected by the Church’s higher-ups. They only agreed to exile these workers."

"This is my request to you, Beatrice, please monitor them for me. Ensure that the corruption has ended and will not spread further."

"They will be exiled to the Empire’s frontier, reportedly to an island."

"Trust me, Beatrice, staying away from the heart of the Empire is not a bad thing, especially right now."

"I know you just became an investigator. You want adventure, you want to see the true world."

"But the dangers of this world always exceed your expectations. Some things are so perilous that even speaking of them is a form of corruption."

"This is precisely why we, the Secret Keepers, exist."

"In short, stay away from here, away from the Rhine, away from the Empire’s lands. The Empress's ambition is too great, perhaps she will need the entire Empire to satisfy it."

The fingers typing on the keyboard came to a stop. The priest sitting at the desk stretched lazily before reaching for the teacup on the table.

Pale fingers grasped the cup, which held steaming hot tea.

This was a custom brought over from the New Continent, people there used a cup of hot tea to relieve fatigue.

The priest took small sips of the scalding tea.

Meanwhile, the mechanical arms on his back whirred as they transformed, one now equipped with a screwdriver, skillfully opening a few mechanical panels on his body.

Another arm picked up a can of machine oil and poured it into the reserved slots beneath the panels.

The priest set down his teacup, leaned over the desk, and resumed typing on the typewriter.

At the same time, the mechanical arms on his back never ceased their work, swiftly maintaining the mechanical components of his body, precise and silent.

"Stay on that island for a while. It is very safe there."

"But do not slack off on your task. Keep an eye on those corrupted workers. If they show any abnormalities, report to me immediately."

"If the corruption becomes uncontrollable, do not hesitate, execute the purification process at once."

"Do not hold onto false hope. Do not waver. Do not be deceived by appearances. Many cultists do not look evil; some are even genuinely kind by nature, but that does not stop them from endangering this world."

The priest’s movements paused again, as if something had come to mind. He sat in silent contemplation.

After a long time, he let out a deep sigh.

His pale fingers lifted the teacup, but when he took a sip, he found the tea had already gone cold.

Shaking his head, he continued typing.

The mechanical arms on his back had lifted his robe, now cleaning the dust from the pipes on his thighs.

His skin was unnaturally pale, almost sickly, making the embedded metal components appear even colder and more rigid.

"You need not worry about me. The Church has placed me on administrative leave. I will find a scenic place to recuperate... Yes, lay low for a while."

"I haven’t decided exactly where to go yet. Perhaps I’ll visit the Northern Territory, I've heard they have some unique local customs. Recently, it seems they even unearthed some ancient ruins underground."

The priest scratched the skin on his back, where a mechanical arm was already wiping the bolts along his spine.

"Perhaps I’m getting old and long-winded, but I still want to remind you of a few things."

"What I say next may not make sense to you, but that doesn’t matter. Just remember it, one day, you may need it."

"When you have time, read more of the Church’s teachings, not just the Candlelight Order’s, but also the scriptures of the other four major churches. The Church may conceal the truth, but it does not lie."

"When reason fails to guide your judgment, trust your intuition."

"Humans are worthy of trust. Believe in humanity."

"Anything that is not human cannot be trusted, whether it is a living being, a machine, or..."

The priest’s fingers hesitated on the keys. Eventually, he chose not to continue that thought and instead pulled the parchment closer, starting a new line.

"No matter how friendly or reliable they seem, do not trust them."

"Remember, beneath the surface, this world is always madness."

The mechanical arms were nearly finished with their work. One reached up to the priest’s neck, tightening a few screws embedded in his flesh.

The priest’s letter also reached its end. He typed the final signature.

"Cardinal of the Rhine Diocese, Seventh-Rank Priest of the Candlelight Order, ‘Secret Keeper Council..."

His fingers hovered over the keys, then he pulled open the typewriter’s tension spring, removed the parchment, and crossed out the lengthy signature.

Placing the parchment back, he typed a new signature.

"Your uncle, Yule."

He took the parchment, wrapped it in stationery, dropped hot wax on the envelope, and pressed a seal onto it.

The wax bore the image of a lit candle—the sacred emblem of the Candlelight Church.

After finishing everything, the priest sat at the desk in a daze, watching the flickering candlelight beside him.

After a while, as if suddenly remembering something, he slapped his forehead.

"Almost forgot... I really am getting old."

As he moved, a fissure appeared down the center of his skull, splitting open to both sides.

Inside, there was no brain, only a mess of steel components, tubes flowing with various fluids, and mechanical structures spinning in place.

A mechanical arm immediately reached inside, tightening screws, applying oil, and performing maintenance.