Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

“Situation critical! Please contact your highest commander immediately—we’ve observed that the White Calamity isn’t far from here!”

A Father of the Silent Sanctum spoke in a low, heavy tone, his gaze constantly flicking toward the north where a faint wall of mist could still be seen.

“You might not understand how terrifying the White Calamity is. Right now, in the entire Northlands, we are the only ones left who can stop it.”

The Buriers’ faces showed clear anxiety, but the Soldiers before them didn’t seem half as alarmed. They exchanged glances, their expressions oddly hesitant.

“Mr. Ignati,” one of them said, “we’ve already conveyed your message to the Lord. There should be a reply soon.”

“Let’s hope so.”

The Buriers exchanged quiet words as Ignati turned back to them.

“This doesn’t make sense—how could the White Calamity cross the Canary Mountains and even reach the Empire’s northern border?”

“Has the White-Bone Sanctum failed?”

“Impossible—absolutely impossible. The White-Bone Sanctum was created before the Betrayal of the Forgotten. Its suppression over both the Forgotten and the White Calamity is absolute!”

“Then how can there be White Mist here? Did someone dig the Sanctum up?”

“The White-Bone Sanctum was buried deep in the Woodlands. Unless someone turned the whole forest over—who would do that? And even if they found it, the Sanctum would kill all living things nearby. How could it possibly be brought here?”

“But the White Calamity is right in front of us!”

“Enough, stop arguing.” Ignati’s voice was quiet, but it instantly silenced the Buriers.

“Whether the White-Bone Sanctum has been lost or not, we can no longer reach the Canary Mountains. Now, we must face the White Calamity on our own. We are the last hope of the Northlands.”

Everyone fell silent.

“If we don’t have the White-Bone Sanctum, how much chance do we have?” Hunter asked in a whisper.

“It will fall greatly,” Ignati said gravely. “Upon entering the White Calamity, we’ll quickly forget everything—Transcendents are no exception. To achieve the same effect, we must perform the Burial Ritual beforehand. Honestly, it will be much harder.”

“But the path of the Sanctum has always been full of thorns. Fellow brethren, for the sake of the Northlands, we cannot retreat!”

The Fathers of the Silent Sanctum steeled their gazes.

At that moment, Worker Hughes arrived at the Military Camp gate and saw the scene unfold.

He grabbed a nearby Soldier, confused. “What’s going on?”

“Not… not too sure,” the Soldier stammered. “They were just talking, then suddenly everyone got solemn.”

“Something serious?”

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

Hughes nodded and walked forward.

“Lord!” Nora’s eyes lit up the moment she saw Hughes. She called out loudly, “We have important information here!”

Ignati gave Nora a complex glance before stepping forward and bowing. “Greetings, I am Ignati, Patriarch of the Silent Sanctum.”

Hughes instinctively extended his hand. “Hughes Corsica Simmons Stuart.”

“Ignati” was his Church name—those who joined the Silent Sanctum abandoned their worldly names, addressing one another by these sacred names. It was the formal custom of the Silent Fathers.

Just like Nora, her name consisted of only that single word.

Ignati froze for a moment before finally taking Hughes’s hand.

“Your Eminence, we just encountered some minor troubles. The Military Camp may be in a bit of disorder. I fear we can only host you at the Fortress.”

“No need. The situation is dire—the fate of the Northlands hangs by a thread. Hospitality can wait.”

Nora opened her mouth but said nothing.

Their departure now meant that, success or failure, there would be no coming back.

Meanwhile, Hughes stood there in mild confusion.

The fate of the Northlands hangs by a thread? Who could possibly threaten the entire Northlands?

He thought for a while—only the Expeditionary Army came to mind.

No way… they can’t be coming for me, can they?

“Do you need any assistance from me?” Hughes asked.

“Our supplies are ready. We came to pay our respects, but given the urgency, we’ll take our leave.”

“Ah?” Hughes blinked. The Silent Sanctum really works fast, huh?

“Wait, where exactly are you going—”

“Apologies, no time to explain. The life and death of the Northlands depend on this battle. If we survive, we’ll visit again. Farewell!”

The people of the Silent Sanctum turned and left almost immediately. Only Ignati, while passing by Nora, cast her a brief glance.

“You are no longer of the Sanctum. Since you’ve chosen your path, then walk on with the people of the White Ravens.”

Nora pressed her lips together.

The group moved northward.

Hughes stared at their departing figures, bewildered. He turned toward Nora.

“How… touching,” Hunter said dramatically, holding Nora’s head from behind and dabbing at his eyes with a fine handkerchief. “Such bravery, such selfless sacrifice! If I hadn’t majored in mathematics, I’d compose a long poem in their honor!”

Nora nodded silently.

“Wait—wait, Nora, what exactly are they going to do?” Hughes finally couldn’t help asking.

“They originally came to greet you and request passage through the Northlands. I suggested they take the Train. But when they arrived at the Military Camp, they discovered the White Calamity had already reached us. Now, they’re likely going to fight it.”

Nora’s voice was quiet.

Hughes felt a string of question marks pop up in his mind.

“Wait, the White Calamity again? The Expeditionary Army already drove it back, didn’t they?”

“...Huh?” The trio of Hunter and the others froze.

The White Mist had left the Expeditionary Army’s Fortress but hadn’t gone far—it had merely stopped a few kilometers away. There, the mist churned violently, as though something within was changing.

The people of the Silent Sanctum reached the Mist not long after. Staring at it looming before them, Ignati’s face grew sorrowful.

“We are the children of the Bone-White Raven, yet we lost the lands our ancestors lived on for generations. The faithful sustained us, yet we failed to protect them. Fathers of the Silent Sanctum, we can retreat no longer. Today, with our flesh and souls, let us bury this Mist—and return the Bone-White Raven’s homeland to His children!”

The Fathers, already armored, had left their mounts behind. Each wore pristine white icefield heavy armor. Upon hearing their Patriarch’s words, they raised their flails high.

Ignati turned to face his followers, inhaled deeply, and slowly closed his visor.

He had once led them into battle, scattering the Empire’s proud musketeers. He had once negotiated with the Church of Candlelight, his flail forcing twice their number of Investigators into silence. Now, he was leading these faithful men down a path of no return.

He had lived far too many winters, yet the years had never chilled the fire in his chest. The snow and frost of countless seasons had passed him by, but his heart still burned bright.

The Buriers lowered their visors as well, the clashing of steel echoing coldly but reassuringly.

That sound was familiar—it dispelled hesitation and fear alike, like the weight of their icefield armor itself.

Armored in steel, within and without.

“For the children of the Bone-White Raven!”

Shields raised, flails in hand, the Fathers of the Silent Sanctum charged forward.

They were the strongest warriors upon the continent—charging into a Mist no one had ever defeated.