Industrial Cthulhu, starting from the island lord

Chapter 719 Grisha, do you still remember the hardships of the North?
"Do you want your fried fish spicy?"

"Give me a little."

Bettis sprinkled some chili powder on the fried fish, then placed it in a pre-prepared cardboard box, skillfully loosely fastening the four corners—not tightly, otherwise the fried food would become mushy and lose its crispy texture.

He packed up the fried fish and handed it forward, but his hand didn't catch it properly, and the box fell to the ground. The lid, which was already slightly ajar, popped open, and a lot of the fried fish fell to the ground.

"Oh, I'm sorry!" Betty paused for a moment, then looked up to apologize. The fish and chips shop was short-staffed; both of her employees had gone to the North, leaving her to work alone.

She was so busy she was completely overwhelmed, constantly repeating the action of frying fish, and she felt like a machine, becoming numb.

But when she looked up at the other person, she suddenly froze.

He was a boy even younger than her, but his childishness had long since disappeared. Children in this world always grow up very quickly; if they don't become adults sooner, they might never grow up.

But what stunned Betty was the boy's right hand.

That hand had long been severed at the root, and now it was replaced by an exquisite steel prosthetic.

The prosthetics produced by Castel may have been exquisitely designed, but they were far from reaching the level of the Mechanical Sanctuary. They could hardly replace the original hand, let alone maintain a basic life.

The boy, who was already used to his prosthetic leg, still couldn't catch the food box that was handed to him.

Betty stood there blankly for a while before realizing what had happened. An indescribable emotion welled up in her chest, making her feel suffocated and unable to breathe.

She should at least look up.

Somewhat flustered, she wiped her hands on her apron, opened the side panel, and ran out to help the boy pick them up, only to find that the fried fish had scattered all over the ground and was covered in dirt.

But what tormented her even more was seeing the boy's wooden legs—he had lost his legs too.

Betty bit her lip, lowered her head, and ran back behind the counter: "Wait a minute, I'll fry another one for you!"

"It's alright, no need." The boy's tone was gentle. He turned the food box over on the ground, picked up the fried fish, blew off the dirt, put it in his mouth, and ate it by himself.

"Oh dear! You, you shouldn't eat this! It's all dirty. I'll fry some more for you to make up for it, it's free!"

Betty was so anxious she was almost in tears. She wanted to run around the counter and run out, but she also wanted to reach out and stop them. Holding the basket of fried fish, she didn't know what to do.

"It's alright, I'm perfectly healthy. I won't get sick from eating some dirt." The boy put another piece of fried fish into his mouth, squinted his eyes, and showed a satisfied expression.

"Back in the North, sometimes when we didn't have enough to eat, we would grab a handful of snow and stuff it into our stomachs. When we were really hungry, we would even stuff dirt into our stomachs. Back then, we never imagined we would be eating such delicious fried fish. If eating something this good would make us sick, we would all have died long ago."

The boy's tone was gentle, not at all like someone from a harsh, snowy place. His voice seemed to have a magical power, calming Betty down considerably.

"You're a refugee from the North?" Betty's gaze swept over the boy's simple clothes, and suddenly she noticed a gleaming medal.

That's the Order of Truth of the Empire, usually only awarded to the Guardians of the Faith. The boy before me is clearly not old enough for the Guardians' conscription. What kind of merit has he achieved to be granted this medal so exceptionally?
"I'm sorry!" Betty lowered her head awkwardly. "Are you with the resistance?"

"Yes, I fought alongside Lady Gwen for a long time, and then I secretly ran away to the North to join the expeditionary force to liberate the North. It was actually an accident." The boy scratched his head shyly.

"Grisha, have you bought the fried fish? We need to go to customs to report it first!" someone shouted from afar.

Grisha quickly agreed, then said goodbye to Betty: "See you next time. By the way, the fried fish is delicious."

"Wait a minute, your fried fish!" "I've already eaten." Grisha smiled and turned to leave, but Betty wouldn't let him. She was stubborn and had a strong drive to get things done; otherwise, she wouldn't have dared to open a fried fish shop with just a few friends.

She stuffed the fried fish into a box, stepped onto the counter using the box as a stepping stone.

He rummaged through the counter and chased after them, clutching the box of fried fish.

Where are you going? I'll show you the way!

Grisha was taken aback, and several of his comrades around him began to jeer:

"Didn't you go to buy fried fish? Why did you bring someone back with you?"

"Grisha, did you buy fried fish and not pay?"

"Aren't we being a bit redundant? Should we excuse ourselves for a moment?"

Betty shoved the fried fish into Grisha's arms, and Grisha hurriedly caught it. When he looked up, he saw the short girl standing with her hands on her hips, glaring at the others.

"You're going to customs? Can you find it without my directions?"

"Why not? We're all from Blood Harbor!" a few people nearby said with grins.

"Oh, then what do you think that is?" Bettis casually pointed to a tall building next to her.

"Isn't that the fish market over there? Uh," one of the expeditionary soldiers replied casually, but upon closer inspection, he became uncertain.

When he was here before, this was indeed a fish market, but back then it was just a single-story building; now it's a multi-story building.

"What's that tall tower over there? And what about that gray box-like building? Do you recognize it?"

Betty casually pointed to a few buildings, leaving the expeditionary soldiers speechless and scratching their heads in disbelief.

“This place is close to the station, and you all look like you just got back. I remember the Expeditionary Force rotates troops very often. Blood Harbor has changed a lot in the time you’ve been gone. Now tell me, who are the locals?”

Sweat began to bead on their foreheads.

Seeing their hesitant expressions, Betty nodded in satisfaction: "Tell me where you're going, and I'll show you the way."

"We need to report to customs and register with the secret society."

Betty nodded, turned and led the way. Several expeditionary soldiers hesitated, but Grisha looked at them with amusement, then followed with his fried fish in his arms.

The expeditionary force members exchanged glances, hesitated for a moment, and then followed behind.

Grisha's prosthetic leg made a crisp clanging sound as it hit the ground. Betty glanced at it out of the corner of her eye and slowed her pace.

"First time in Blood Harbor?"

“No, I’ve been to Bloodharbor before, and even went to Castells, but,” Grisha shook his head, “I secretly went back.”

(End of this chapter)