Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Ash narrowed her eyes and spoke in a low voice.

She was a Banshee, better at combat and mind than scouting. She had no real advantage in detection—she merely saw a bit more clearly than a Mortal.

“I don’t know what those white bones did. I could only see the livestock they touched being disassembled into pieces—not the simple kind of dismemberment, but…”

Ash looked toward the Railway in the distance, where the livestock had been sliced into fragments across the ground.

Complete fragments.

Every bone and every strand of muscle was this complete, as if the most skilled doctor had performed the most meticulous surgery—perfect, almost like a work of art.

As if an entire firearm had been taken apart into neatly arranged components.

But, but…

Ash stared at the whole field of neatly laid-out cattle. Though the disassembly was executed with such brilliance, it made her shudder.

That twisted sense of beauty struck with overwhelming force—merely seeing it made one feel unwell.

Ash withdrew her gaze and looked at her companions beside her. Suddenly, her brows tightened.

She inexplicably felt that these people were… ugly.

Muscle and bone were joined together in a way that lacked all sense of aesthetic. Merely looking at them made her feel uncomfortable. They really should be taken apart and arranged neatly across the ground.

Ash’s eyes suddenly widened. She shook her head hard, stumbled back several steps, and pressed herself against the Train’s wall.

The cold Steel Plate brought back a bit of clarity.

“Don’t stare at those white bones for too long. They distort your cognition!”

Ash panted heavily as she spoke. The members of the Expeditionary Army around her all sucked in a sharp breath.

Even Ash’s will had been twisted?

Ash had always been synonymous with strength—both physically and mentally. Banshees rarely experienced cognitive instability, and Ash was among the most resolute of them all.

“How can we help you, Lady Ash?” Hodge asked anxiously.

“No need. I just need a moment to recover. This place is too far from Castel, and with the Symbiotic Contract draining us, my condition isn’t ideal.”

Ash leaned against the carriage wall, her tone carrying a rare trace of weakness.

The Banshees stationed here rotated every three days; otherwise, the life force drawn by the Symbiotic Contract would severely weaken their combat strength. Today was her last day on duty—and she had run straight into this trouble.

“Those white bones are standing up again! No, I mean—the livestock—they came back to life!”

Gwen’s voice startled everyone inside the carriage. Hesitantly, they looked outside.

The livestock that had just been disassembled into pieces began to change again.

Their flesh rapidly decayed into piles of foul pus, but the bones grew glossy. Then, trembling slightly, they slowly reassembled themselves.

Soon, a “cow” made entirely of white bone stood upright.

It walked forward several steps on its four hooves, lifted its skull-like head, and slowly looked toward the Train.

Ratatatatatat!!

A burst of gunfire rang out. The bullets precisely shattered the bone-cow into fragments.

Then, enveloped by the White Mist, it began restoring itself again.

It did not take long before it stood up once more—but this time, it looked far less like a “cow.”

Bones that had originally fit together harmoniously seemed to have been mismatched during reassembly. Some fragments connected to pieces that should never have been adjacent. The entire “cow” now bent crookedly, like a painter’s hasty sketch.

On the Train, Gwen slowly stopped turning the crank.

“These white bones guide the advance of the Mist, and when shattered, they recover within the Mist…”

The carriage fell silent. A horrifying possibility surfaced in everyone’s mind.

“At this rate, the White Calamity will sweep south and cover the whole continent soon, won’t it?”

Hodge’s thoughts churned. Instinctively, he calculated how long it would take for the White Calamity to reach Castel. Soon, he arrived at an answer he absolutely could not accept.

“We must stop the White Calamity.” Hodge clenched his fists.

Castel was important to him. No matter what, he had to protect her.

“One Train car isn’t enough. We must relay this to the Northlands’ Camp as soon as possible. Lord Alexei will know what to do!”

Hodge turned to the nearby Expeditionary Army soldiers. Their faces were tense, even fearful—but their eyes held the same determination.

“Forget the white bones! Full speed ahead! Tell the Stoker and the Steam Engine: Castel—no, the future of the whole continent—might be in our hands!”

The Expeditionary Army soldiers silently but swiftly left the carriage to relay the orders throughout the Train. Everyone knew well how the White Raven Principality had been destroyed by the White Calamity. From this moment on, they were racing against time.

Soon, the Steam Engine at the head of the Train rumbled. The flywheels spun rapidly. Amid rhythmic clattering, the speed reached its maximum.

Steam fog mixed with dense smoke surged upward from the smokestack, trailing into the sky.

Behind them, the white bones pursued endlessly, dragging the White Mist along.

Seen from above, it resembled a kite—the Train pulling the entire White Calamity of the Northlands behind it, like a rising kite slowly spreading its shroud across the land.

Hodge paced rapidly inside the carriage. As scouts delivered report after report, his heart sank further.

“White bones on the east side!”

“There too—front-left!”

“A huge group behind us!”

“What direction? Damn it—every direction!”

At last, Hodge climbed beneath the Train’s front armor and looked through the observation slit of the machine-gun Fortress.

The sight was truly spectacular—

Across the Wasteland, the Train swam like a fish through a vast net woven of white bones.

Behind every cluster of bones rose a towering wall of Mist—like a tidal wave, like a mountain.

“There are bone groups in both the east and west, and the north is endless. Only the south is clear. The White Calamity and white bones must have come from the north—either near the Canary Mountain Range, or farther north from the White Raven Principality.”

Hodge’s expression darkened. He looked at the Soldier beside him.

“How far are the nearest white bones?”

“The closest ones are near the marker we dropped earlier. At our current speed… three thousand yards!”

“Have all machine-gun positions prepare to fire. Once they enter range, open fire immediately!”

The white bones were appearing too quickly. Only hours ago, they were small scattered groups chasing back and forth. Now their numbers grew and grew. Hodge couldn’t shake the feeling that this had all been planned—that the mysterious warning that caused the Expeditionary Army to move early had ruined the enemy’s setup.

“Good thing there’s no White Calamity blocking the Railway. Once it gets onto the tracks, that’s certain de—”

“Report! White bones ahead! Directly ahead—on the Rail Tracks!!!”

The sentinel on the roof suddenly screamed, cutting off his remark.