Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

“Ah?” Grisha was stunned.

“Have you ever heard of Castel Syndrome? Hmm, probably not. The incidence of this illness is proportional to one’s stability of cognition—in simpler terms, the more knowledge you’ve learned before, the more likely you are to develop it.”

Grisha blinked in confusion. He felt that the girl before him was trying to tell him something important, yet the knowledge seemed to swirl once in his mind and then slip away without leaving a trace.

“What do you mean by that?”

“For children like you, who have no previous misconceptions, you’re the safest. You shouldn’t worry too much about Castel Syndrome. In other words, when you go to the island and see those things, you won’t be frightened.”

Grisha nodded quickly. Though he didn’t fully understand what the girl meant, he was a brave boy—of that he was sure.

Even when both his legs were severed on the battlefield, he hadn’t cried out in pain. Even Lady Gwen had praised his courage. Grisha wasn’t that confident in himself, but he believed deeply in Lady Gwen.

If Lady Gwen said he was brave, then he was brave. If anyone dared to question Lady Gwen, Grisha would rush up and punch them in the face.

“You’ll be among the first group to set foot on the island. To be honest, we don’t have much experience with this. Most of those who recently landed on Castel were students from the Advanced Class, and their rate of developing symptoms was quite high—they were often frightened. But once the principles were explained, they quickly recovered. For your group, many of you haven’t received systematic education, so I can’t say what will happen.”

Hughes had decided to send part of the Resistance’s wounded to the island.

Firstly, while Blood Harbor’s infrastructure had improved considerably, it was still far behind Castel. The medical facilities on the island were much better.

Secondly, Richard and many of his subordinates were highly skilled doctors. In their spare time, they could treat people on the island without issue—but it was unrealistic to have them travel to Blood Harbor.

And since many of their research facilities could only operate on Castel, it wasn’t possible to simply halt all research.

Thus, many people were bound to be relocated to Castel—and that was where Castel Syndrome became troublesome.

For ordinary people, it wasn’t a big issue. Even if their cognition collapsed and they suffered a bout of temporary madness, a few days of rest in the hospital would do. But the ones being sent from the Northlands were all wounded soldiers.

If they went mad in such fragile states, their already weakened spirits might not survive the shock.

“So Lord Hughes plans to select a few for an initial trial. Grisha, would you like to take part? It might be dangerous.”

“Will this trial help the others in the Resistance?”

“It will.”

“Then I’ll join.”

The girl smiled and patted the boy’s hair. “Good, brave little one. I’ll register your name, then. I’ll be accompanying you. My name is Zoe.”

Grisha felt too shy to say her name aloud and only nodded bashfully.

Castel’s efficiency was remarkable. The very next day after confirmation, Grisha boarded the ship bound for Castel.

Holding onto the railings, he looked out toward the sea with excitement.

It was his first time seeing the ocean.

Everything felt so new—the sea breeze carrying the scent of salt, the refreshing air, the seagulls wheeling above the stern, and—

Grisha swallowed hard and carefully peered over the edge of the ship.

From time to time, sharks leapt from the waves, their streamlined bodies curving beautifully through the air.

And beneath those sharks were—

The Banshees, tossing the sharks playfully in the water.

Grisha recognized the yellow-haired Banshee among them. It was she who had first charged into the battlefield that day, raising a bundle of tubes in her hands and aiming them at the enemy—soldiers fell like wheat before a gale. At the Resistance’s darkest hour, her appearance had been like dawn breaking through the night.

“That’s Nini,” Zoe explained with a smile. “She’s a very powerful Banshee. Their unit just rotated back from the Northlands, so they’re returning to Castel with you.”

She asked casually, “Grisha, what do you think of the Banshees?”

“The Banshees…” Grisha hesitated, scratching his head.

“Some people fear them,” he said after a pause, “but more people are grateful to the Banshees. Life in the Northlands is hard for the Resistance. No matter where we go, we’re driven away. Some cruel lords even wish us dead—but the Banshees never did.”

“They reached out to help us when no one else ever would.”

Most members of the Resistance came from the White Raven Principality, a land steeped in tradition, where the Silent Sanctum had long preached that nothing outside humanity was to be trusted.

When the Resistance first encountered the Banshees, they should have been extremely wary—perhaps even hostile, full of misunderstanding, conflict, and tension.

But the Banshees’ towering, giant-like figures, their heavy armor thick as doors, and their chilling Gatlings and Dragon’s Breath Cannons turned that first meeting into an unexpectedly friendly one.

And since they had come to aid the Resistance, and Northlanders always repaid kindness with kindness, goodwill quickly took root.

When the wounded began receiving treatment, the Resistance soldiers were even more astonished to discover that most of these Banshees were also skilled healers.

Though their methods were a bit rough—unlike Church clerics who simply poured different grades of Holy Water over wounds—they used knives and sutures to close injuries. But these soldiers were no pampered nobles.

They could recognize genuine goodwill. Without needing Lady Gwen’s orders, the wounded obediently accepted the treatment they couldn’t quite comprehend—for it was their only chance at healing.

The Banshees, towering like spires, stood before them with knives and needles in six arms. Fear and hesitation spread at first, rumors followed—but as the Banshees saved one life after another, everything changed.

Doctors—skilled doctors—skilled battlefield doctors.

Each adjective added another layer of trust and friendship. These Banshees were clearly extraordinary beings; aside from Lady Nora, how many transcendent ones would ever reach down to save mere mortals like them?

Mortals were such creatures—ignorant and fragile, yet not inherently vile. Their faults stemmed from unawareness. Once they understood, once they realized who truly aided them, their support became wholehearted.

They, too, possessed goodness deep in their hearts.

Those who spread slander about the Banshees needed no interference from Lady Gwen—the treated patients themselves would drag them out for a beating.

If someone failed to understand or feared the Banshees, others would tell them how the Banshees had helped them.

From resistance to acceptance, the Resistance had begun defending the Banshees of their own accord.