Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

When Hunter and Nora’s group began turning back, the Expeditionary Army’s camp had already descended into chaos.

The Expeditionary Army soldiers were moving back and forth, constantly transferring supplies from the Military Camp into the newly completed Permanent Fortifications not far away.

Gwen lifted her head and looked at the towering Concrete Fortress.

It was a massive bastion. From afar, when she had viewed it from the Train, she had admired its geometric beauty—like a star shining amidst the dark—but now, standing at its base, she could only feel an overwhelming sense of awe.

Each of those sharp, protruding corners—seen up close—was in fact a block of cold, rugged concrete wall. Outside the narrow firing ports was a splayed, convergent design, and inside lay the dark muzzles of Gatling Guns. These densely packed openings covered entire walls, and wall after wall joined together to form the colossal fortress.

(A classic star-shaped fortress.)

(The sharply protruding walls could greatly increase the density of firepower, forming an interlocking web of crossfire.)

Gwen craned her neck upward until she felt dizzy. It was like standing before the sheer cliffs of the Canary Mountains’ northern face—no matter how firm the ground beneath her feet, the towering walls made her legs feel weak.

Could such a fortress truly have been built by human hands?

She turned her head to look at the Expeditionary Army soldiers beside her. Each had two arms and two legs, no different from herself. Yet how could such ordinary hands have created such a miracle?

Instinctively, Gwen felt that such a vast fortress must have been born of some sacred Ritual—perhaps with powerful Banshees chanting ancient curses while offering living sacrifices to mighty Gods, raising this divine structure slowly from the blood-soaked earth.

But Hodge had said that this Fortress was merely designed on paper by Mortals—built by their small, fragile hands.

And, according to him, it had taken only a few months to complete. Much of that time had simply been waiting for the concrete to set.

Every time she thought about this, Gwen felt as though she were dreaming—watching a witch brew a potion of butterfly wings and lizard tails—filled with a surreal absurdity.

What kind of wondrous nation was Castel, that humans there could rival the divine?

Perhaps she had already died long ago—that when the White Mist had swallowed her, it had not been the White-Haired Little Girl, but herself. Perhaps all this was merely an illusion before death.

Silently, Gwen walked around the fortress. She had intended to measure its size, but after taking over three hundred steps, she gave up. The fortress’s vastness was beyond her imagination. It could easily house thousands of people, and even Armored Trains could roll directly into its outer ring to deliver supplies and reinforcements.

That Corridor of Despair fortress—the so-called City That Never Falls—must have looked something like this.

“Hey! Gwen!” someone called from afar. She looked up and saw that it was Hodge.

“What are you doing?”

Hodge was holding a few ledgers, checking off supplies. Gwen glanced at him.

“Looking at this fortress.”

“Fortress? Just a pile of concrete, not even painted yet. What’s there to look at?” Hodge kicked at the wall dismissively.

“When you get to Castel, take a stroll near the Cathedral. There are tons of things like this there. I guarantee you’ll get bored of them before noon.”

“Everywhere? You mean, fortresses as big as this?”

“Not exactly—fortresses there are much larger than this one. It’s just that the Northlands don’t have enemies with heavy firepower, so they didn’t bother making this too fancy.”

Hodge suddenly shut his ledgers with a grin. “By the way, this fortress doesn’t have a name yet. If you’ve got a good one, report it. I once suggested Fort Coyote, but Lord Alexei rejected it—said it sounded weak.”

“A name, huh…” Gwen lifted her gaze at the bastion beside her, then slowly shook her head. “I haven’t thought of one yet. Let’s wait until after the battle.”

After leaving the White Mist by airship, Gwen had followed the rest of the Expeditionary Army to this Camp.

What surprised her was that these soldiers actually intended to resist the White Mist.

She was a White Raven, and the belief that the White Calamity could never be defeated was carved into her very bones. All her life, she had fled the creeping fog, returning only when it receded—to ruins long since rotted away.

The White Mist could only be fled from—how could anyone hope to fight it?

Gwen turned to look at the lead-gray concrete fortress and bit her lip.

The White Calamity truly could not be resisted.

But if it were Castel’s people…

Castel—the island that had wrought countless miracles—perhaps it really could bring hope to the Northlands.

“Captain Hodge! Archbishop Alexei orders you to come immediately!”

A Messenger came running, stopping short when he saw Gwen. His eyes brightened.

“Perfect, Miss Gwen, Archbishop Alexei wants you too!”

Hodge nodded. “Alright, we’ll go right away. His office, right?”

“No—he wants you both at the train platform immediately!”

Hodge and Gwen exchanged a look.

A few minutes later, as they stepped onto the Platform, a Train was just pulling to a slow stop. Alexei stood there, watching.

“Your Excellency Archbishop!”

“Lord Alexei.”

Alexei nodded slightly, saying nothing. His eyes stayed fixed on the train doors as they opened.

The two followed his gaze—and froze.

Towering Banshees, clad in full plate armor, leapt from the train one after another. The heavy metal clanged dully against the platform with each landing.

One. Two. Three… ten… twenty… thirty…

Even Hodge was stunned. There were barely a hundred Castel Banshees in existence—and yet all of them had come north?!

This—this was impossible! They were bound by Symbiotic Contracts and could not leave Castel for long. Even if they did nothing, within days they would lose most of their life force.

Suddenly, Hodge’s eyes widened.

A realization struck him.

No—what the Banshees could not leave wasn’t Castel—it was…

Hughes.

Hughes was the core through which their life force was linked. It was leaving him that drained them. So, if so many Banshees had come here, and they weren’t losing life force, that could only mean—

From the open carriage door stepped a figure—a young man with dark hair, a slender frame, and bright, steady eyes.

The moment he appeared, everyone on the platform—the Expeditionary Army soldiers, the attendants, even the armored Banshees—bowed in unison.

“Lord.”