Industrial Cthulhu, starting from the island lord

Chapter 408 Grisha

"Grisha, you're just spacing out here again."

"Don't call me Grisha, call me Grigory. I'm an adult now."

"Okay, Grisha~"

The boy angrily turned around and ran into the bushes, leaving the laughing children behind.

The children formed a small team and patrolled daily in a seemingly serious manner, saying that they would join the resistance army when they grew up.

They said all they could, but they still couldn't save Lady Nora, could they? Grisha lashed the ground with a branch.

Lady Nora
Grisha felt a pang of pain in his heart when he thought of the figure that stood in front of them.

Lady Nora died while covering the retreat.

At that time, the nobles of the North sent many cavalry to sweep through the area. The resistance was called an army, but in reality, most of them were ordinary people who had fled. They had been hiding in the forest. This time, they finally managed to gather a group to go to the town to exchange for some food, but somehow they were discovered.

Lady Nora told them to run, and then one of them, carrying a flail, charged towards the cavalry.

Grisha wanted to help her, but when he saw the cavalrymen's scimitars, his heart pounded wildly, and fear filled his mind. When he came to his senses, he was already collapsed in the camp with everyone else, panting heavily.

Thinking of this, Grisha slapped himself hard, stood there for a while, then sat down on the ground and started sobbing.

He would never see Lady Nora again.

Nora is a very serious person. She will scold him, make him stand as punishment when he does something wrong, and also give him roasted chestnuts.

Everyone in the resistance revered Lady Nora.

Lady Nora never says where she comes from, but everyone knows she is the one who buried the Silent Sanctuary.

Several priests from the Silent Sanctuary came here and had an argument with Lady Nora. They tried to lead them away, but no one moved.

Even the oldest, Ivan, turned his head away—he was the most devout believer in the church.

The Silent Sanctuary never saved them, but Nora did. They didn't care about the Silent Sanctuary; wherever Nora was, that was the sanctuary.

But now, Nora is gone.

Grisha's tears streamed down his face, dripping onto the ground and freezing into ice.

In the beginning, there were arguments every day in the camp.

They were just a group of ordinary people, yet they managed to become a rebellion that gave the noble lords a headache.

With Nora gone, they were once again a group of penniless refugees.

But gradually, the camp quieted down.

The crowd quieted down. The noble lords' raids continued one after another, and many people were arrested. The remaining people grew increasingly silent.

Surrendering is useless; their lives aren't worth much money, and the North has no shortage of refugees.

It's impossible for them to break out. Even when Lady Nora was alive, the resistance was barely holding on. Now that she's gone, they're just slowly dying out.

They were like salmon gradually freezing in the river, and all they could do was wait to die.

But that's for adults. The children are too young. Although they can sense that the atmosphere is becoming increasingly oppressive, they still play patrol games and fantasize about joining the resistance when they grow up.

They don't realize that they will never grow up.

Grisha cried until he was exhausted and then silently got up. In the winter in the North, you can't sleep on the ground. Although it's comfortable and warm to sleep on, you won't see the sun tomorrow.

Grisha struggled to his feet, feeling dizzy and disoriented. He walked forward for a while before realizing he was going the wrong way. The forests of the North were covered in white snow, but Grisha had been there for almost a year and knew how to find his way.

He chose an unfamiliar path and could roughly tell that it led to the camp. He was almost out of the woods. He trudged through the snow, his small figure leaving a long trail on the pure white snowfield.

Click.

The sound of metal clashing was extremely jarring in the quiet field.

Like a startled animal, Grisha hurriedly turned his head, but it was too late; a dark shadow was rapidly enlarging in his field of vision!
Boom!
The metal hammers of the flail clashed together before his eyes, and he could even see the scriptures engraved on them, mixed with countless marks of flesh and blood, creating a strange sense of holiness.

The person holding the weapon held back at the last moment, and the link almost cracked open Grisha's little head.

Grisha was so frightened that he collapsed to the ground. After a moment, he suddenly remembered something and looked at the person in front of him with anticipation in his eyes.

The heavy fur boots were worn and frayed, and a few glimpses of them could be seen through the gaps in the armor.

The pure white heavy armor of the ice plains, like the unmelting glaciers of the North, is cold, hard, and sturdy, covered with layers of frozen blood, like inlaid patterns.

A massive tower shield blocked the small figure. It was a figure that Grisha knew all too well. She had stood in front of him countless times, and when she raised her shield, it seemed as if the cold wind slowed down for a moment.

Grisha's tears welled up again.

He didn't bother to wipe it away, letting it flow down his cheeks and freeze together with his snot.

He rushed forward and embraced the cold armor with the same reverence he would show to his mother.

"Lady Nora, you're back. Is that you?"

The frozen blood on the armor thawed slightly and smeared onto Grisha's face, but he paid no attention and looked up—

But that wasn't the face he longed for day and night.

That girl, who should have had white hair, had a resolute and fearless gaze. She always had a stern face, but as long as you saw her, a sense of peace would arise from the bottom of your heart.

But now, it's empty.

A headless body walked across the snowy plains of the North and stood before Grisha.

Grisha should have been terrified, should have screamed, should have run away, but his feet seemed rooted to the ground. The feeling of fear lingered in his mind for a moment before being blown away by the howling cold wind, leaving only warmth in his heart.

She is Nora, and no matter what, she is Nora. With Nora around, there is nothing to be afraid of.

The fingers gripping the flail twitched.

Grisha shuddered, closed his eyes, but refused to let go. He would rather be killed by Nora than abandon her and run away.

The escape to the North is too bitter. It would be better to die here than to continue living like this.

He clutched Nora's armor, his face streaked with blood and tears, making it impossible to tell whose blood or whose tears it was.

The clanging and rubbing of metal, the flail being raised high, the incense burners gently touching each other, as if delivering a verdict.

Grisha suddenly felt calm.

He should have died long ago, in the White Disaster. Nora jumped off the carriage and pulled him out of the collapsed house.

Nora's hand fell, her metal-clad gauntlets cold and hard, and gently touched Grisha's head, seemingly offering clumsy comfort.

Grisha's tears flowed again.

(End of this chapter)