Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Chapter 18: Jeremiah

Inside the room, the gazes of the two pirates fell upon him.

A careless voice rang out.

"Too slow. Do you still want to pay the tax or not? I don’t have all day to waste here!"

Alexei frowned.

From the moment he stepped through the door, he had smelled a strong scent of alcohol.

Expressionless, he looked around the room.

The empty space was devoid of unnecessary decorations.

A heavy long table was placed in the center, neatly arranged with papyrus and ink bottles.

A pair of dirty deerskin boots were propped up on the table, impatiently shaking.

The man slouched in a reclining chair, with several empty bottles scattered haphazardly at his feet.

He held another bottle in his hand, tapping it against the scimitar at his waist, producing a crisp clinking sound.

"Kid, I remember you." He raised the bottle, glanced at Alexei at the doorway, and sneered, "That so-called Count of yours doesn’t dare to come again, huh? No problem. As long as the tax is paid on time, Dark Sails doesn’t care whose name hangs over this place."

The Dark Sails Fleet of Gem Bay ruled the Storm Ocean without rival. When this fleet patrolled the seas, even the Empire’s navy would retreat to their ports to avoid confrontation.

The man lifted the bottle and poured its contents into his mouth.

Amber-colored liquid dribbled from the corner of his lips, running through his curly beard, soaking into the dirty scarf around his neck before staining his grimy clothes.

"Hmm? Empty already?" He drunkenly raised his head, shaking the bottle in front of his eyes. "If you ask me, the only good thing on this lousy island is the fruit wine."

Then, with a flick of his hand, the bottle arced through the air, landing on the floor near Alexei before rolling aside, leaving a trail of spilled liquor that splattered onto his polished military boots.

"Kid, bring me two more bottles of wine."

Good.

It seemed he wouldn’t have to think about how to start a conflict.

He set the documents aside, stepped forward abruptly, and stood before the pirate, looking down at him with an expressionless face.

It was said that the people of the Northern White Raven Duchy carried the blood of giants. When Alexei stood straight, he was nearly as tall as the doorway.

His pale golden, almost translucent short hair shimmered under the midday sun, resembling an icy mist.

He had only taken a single step forward, yet the pirate by the table felt as if a towering wall had crashed toward him.

For a moment, panic flashed across the pirate’s face.

Then, as if remembering something, he suppressed his reaction, instead curling his lips into a mocking smile.

In the corner of the room, within the shadows cast by the wall and the cabinet, a figure slowly stood up.

As he rose, the entire room seemed to darken.

Alexei suddenly felt an overwhelming pressure, as if the air itself had turned into thick sludge.

His vision blurred, darkness creeping at the edges of his sight, while the man in the shadows seemed to grow taller.

The figure was an immensely muscular man, his bronzed skin taut with bulging muscles, resembling an anvil repeatedly hammered by a blacksmith. He had no hair—not even eyebrows.

Every inch of his visible skin was covered in black lines and symbols of varying thickness, twisting and eerie in their design.

But what terrified Alexei the most were his eyes.

His pale eyeballs did not have normal pupils; instead, at their center were square-shaped pupils, like those of a cold-blooded creature.

Sticky, cold, slimy, twisted.

All sounds around him gradually faded. He felt as if he had plunged into the deep sea, where the noise of the world above was reduced to a distant, muffled gurgle. In front of him, only this strange man remained.

Chaotic murmurs emerged near his ears.

No, they did not emerge—they had always been there. It was just that he had never noticed them before. Only now could he hear them.

The tattooed man stared at him, yet it seemed as though his gaze was not focused on Alexei himself, but on something behind him.

Alexei dumbly stared into those abyssal black square pupils, feeling as if they were a doorway.

A doorway that was slowly opening.

Suddenly, a hand rested on Alexei’s shoulder.

The endless fall came to an abrupt stop, as though someone had grabbed hold of him.

"Why are you standing there frozen? Our guest wants wine—bring them a bottle."

Hughes turned toward the pirate at the table, flashing a grin of sharp, white teeth. "Two gold rums. No credit."

Alexei finally snapped back to reality. He coughed violently, as if choking on water.

"Two gold rums?! Why don’t you just rob me? Do you dare to mess with Captain Jeremiah?" The pirate shot to his feet, sneering as he lifted the hem of his coat, revealing a scimitar and two short flintlock pistols gleaming at his waist.

As he spoke, a thought crossed his mind.

He discreetly glanced toward the tattooed man behind him.

Jeremiah’s pupils contracted slightly. He noticed that the usually expressionless man now bore a look of hesitation.

That man… hesitated? He could hesitate?

Jeremiah knew his background well—that man was directly under the Pirate King’s command, someone even he could not order around.

Jeremiah loosened his grip, letting his coat fall back into place. He sat back down. "I’m here to collect the sea tax on behalf of the Governor. Is this how you treat your guests?"

Jeremiah was not particularly strong.

The only reason he had become a pirate captain was his ability to read the wind and adjust accordingly.

The moment he sensed something unusual, he immediately switched to a more reasonable tone.

Hughes lightly patted Alexei’s back. Only when Alexei stopped coughing and gradually caught his breath did Hughes sit down at the table, looking at the pirate captain who was now feigning composure.

Jeremiah snorted and reached into his coat, pulling out a roll of filthy parchment.

"This is the tax list from the Governor. Castel’s required tax payments are all recorded here."

He slapped the parchment onto the table and pushed it forward before leaning back with a smirk, as if waiting for a good show.

The list was real.

The Pirate King’s court had indeed issued it for tax collection.

However…

It was written in pirate script.

"Pirate script" was a general term.

Most pirates were illiterate, so they recorded their loot using a crude system of drawings and marks.

Over time, this evolved into a rudimentary script, just enough for basic communication.

After the ruler of Gem Bay unified the pirates of the Storm Ocean, he mandated the use of pirate script.

This reform was still relatively new. Jeremiah was confident that Hughes would not be able to read this tax list written in pirate script.

Ha! A nobleman experiencing the frustration of illiteracy—he could already think of ways to mock this so-called earl.

Hmm, but not too harshly. Jeremiah had no intention of burning bridges just yet. Still, watching this pampered noble lose his temper would be entertaining.

Just as he was about to enjoy the spectacle, Hughes’s next words stunned him.

"No need to look. From today onward, Castel will no longer pay sea tax."