Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

“It’s probably another false alarm. Isaac’s intelligence network really can’t be trusted—every report from the Northlands lately has been fake news.”

Hodge curled his lip.

“First, there was some story about a white-haired little girl wiping out an entire army, then rumors of moving skeletons—damn it, doesn’t Isaac find that suspicious himself?”

“Mm, perhaps Mr. Isaac has his own difficulties.”

“Hmph. He swore up and down that your Resistance Army had been completely wiped out before—almost caused a disaster,” Hodge grumbled, still visibly irritated.

“All right, enough about that. I heard the fortress was finally completed?”

“Yes, though it hasn’t been given a name yet.”

A month earlier, when the Expeditionary Army first learned the Resistance was still fighting and hadn’t been annihilated, they quickly sent over a huge amount of supplies and even built a fortification on the spot, preparing for the next wave of enemies that would come like a tide.

And indeed, the enemies had come like a tide—but it was a tide going out. The Expeditionary Army couldn’t even keep up with how fast the enemy surrendered.

That fortification, in the end, was never even used.

Now, a full month had passed. While the Expeditionary Army continued to campaign across the Northlands, they extended the railway northward beyond the fortification. It was already nearing the northernmost edge—the Canary Mountains.

Thus, the main railway line from Blood Harbor to the northern frontier was essentially complete. Perhaps one day a network would spread across the Northlands—but that was for the future.

With the railway built, everything became easier.

In the past, searching for Earl Bazel had been like looking for a needle in a haystack. The Northlands were too vast, and locating a single army was nearly impossible.

But now, with the railway, one could make a full circuit in a short time. Scouts could be dropped off at regular intervals along the line, using it as a central axis to expand the search radius enormously.

Surely, it wouldn’t take long before Earl Bazel was dragged out from the Northlands.

Octavia had managed to escape only because her territory lay at the westernmost edge of the Northlands, bordering the Empire’s lands—slipping across the border hadn’t been hard for her.

But Bazel? With Octavia’s former cities now under Resistance control, sneaking through without being noticed was nearly impossible. Catching him would likely happen within days.

That would mean the last hostile force in the Northlands would finally submit. The whole Resistance was raring to go—ready to capture Bazel, bring him back to Castel for judgment, and let Nora personally take his head.

That, of course, was no easy feat—he had to be taken alive, and that was something the Expeditionary Army was terrible at. In past battles, they’d needed shovels just to collect what was left of the opposing commanders.

“There are quite a few people stationed at that fortification now. Some are from the Expeditionary Army, but most are from your Resistance,” Hodge remarked.

“What are they doing stationed there?”

“What else? They just don’t want to leave.” Hodge spread his hands.

“All your subordinates want to fight this last battle before going home. I say it’s unnecessary—what waves could Bazel’s men possibly make? Octavia’s forces were far larger, and even she had to flee into the Empire. Who knows which Church she’s joined by now.”

Gwen had wanted to caution Hodge not to let his guard down, but when she thought about Bazel’s Winter Wolves and the Frostsoil Guard, she fell silent.

Whether cavalry charges or heavy infantry shields—it made little difference when faced with the Expeditionary Army’s heavy machine guns.

Sometimes Gwen thought bullets were the true equalizer—equally bringing death to all.

“We’re near the Canary Mountains now. There’s quite a crowd gathered again. Once the train returns in a bit, we’ll send them back. Let’s head to the fort after that,” Hodge said, flipping through his notebook again before frowning slightly and looking up.

“Gwen? You—”

He fell silent.

Gwen had her eyes closed slightly and was motioning for him to stay quiet.

Hodge’s hand moved toward the holster at his waist.

Damn it, this was a military camp—even if it was a rough front-line post, there were sentries and hidden guards all around. Why hadn’t any of them reacted?

The next moment, Gwen drew her sword and lunged forward. Hodge rolled to the side, taking cover behind a pile of crates. He drew his pistol and released the safety.

Peering out cautiously, he saw Gwen frozen by the wall. Hodge scanned the area warily, then decided to head for the duty room to call for reinforcements.

“Hodge, look at this.”

Gwen’s voice came faintly, murmuring as she pointed to the ground. Hodge ignored her and jogged toward the nearby hut.

Soon, a fully armed Resistance squad followed him back, and the soldiers at the duty post had already sounded the alarm.

Hodge was always careful. Gwen’s senses were sharp—she’d saved the Expeditionary Army more than once. He chose to trust her. Worst case, it would just be another emergency drill.

He ordered the soldiers to secure the perimeter, then walked over to Gwen, who stood frowning deeply at something on the ground.

Hodge looked down—and froze.

“Run?”

The words were scrawled clearly into the dirt, written in haste. Hodge glanced around. They were near the wall—but still inside the camp. No outsider could have gotten in to leave this.

“Do you recognize the handwriting?”

“No. But… it feels familiar somehow,” Gwen said in a strange tone. Her expression was unsettled—clearly, the words on the ground meant something to her.

“‘Run’—it must be a warning.” Hodge narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t forgotten that it was once someone’s guidance that had led the Expeditionary Army straight to the Resistance. Someone had helped them from the shadows.

But that person had never been found. Even Isaac and Granny had investigated later, to no avail. The case had gone cold.

“‘Run’… no reason given, not even where to run to. Just—run.”

Hodge hesitated only a moment before turning to the nearby soldiers.

“Blow the whistle—emergency assembly!”

The earlier alarm only warned soldiers to stay put, signaling an unknown situation. Only those on duty would gather.

But the emergency whistle was the highest alert—every soldier who heard it was to drop what they were doing and prepare for battle.

Normally, that whistle only sounded after combat had already begun.

The soldiers around him looked startled, but their bodies moved instinctively, carrying out the order. A sharp, piercing whistle tore through the morning calm.

Within moments, soldiers flooded out of their barracks. More whistles echoed in reply—when the emergency signal was heard, it had to be relayed continuously, in case the whistler was killed in battle and others failed to hear.

The once-quiet camp boiled to life almost instantly.