Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

The Resistance Army did not have horses, which meant that the Winter Wolves completely crushed them in terms of mobility. Even if they could not win a fight, they could always escape.

Considering that the last scout who died had been shot by a musket, the Head Wolf chose a resting spot a full two hundred meters away from the woodlands.

At that distance, even if a group of musketeers suddenly rushed out, they would still have time to react.

What was more, several squads were on watch near the forest edge, keeping a constant eye on it. If something happened, they could warn everyone immediately.

Foolproof.

The Winter Wolves dismounted but did not take off their armor. They simply rested on the spot, fully equipped.

Riding was exhausting. Many men lay down directly on the ground, ignoring the pain in their backs where the cuirass dug into them.

The servants who followed the army set up pots, lit fires, and began to cook.

Flatbread, dry rations, vegetables, dried meat—various ingredients were roughly chopped and tossed into the pot. The taste was nothing worth mentioning, but at least it was hot, and it could fill their stomachs.

A bowl of hot food greatly boosted morale. The soldiers lined up to receive their meals.

Maily glanced at the forest in the distance. At the forest edge, soldiers still stood watch. The fragrance of food drifted their way, and their envious gazes occasionally turned toward the camp.

Everything was safe indeed. The Captain had been right—this time they were only here to intimidate the enemy, not to fight.

Besides…

He glanced at the short musket hanging at his waist. Who could possibly face the Winter Wolves head-on? Only a fully gathered army could stand a chance.

He took the bowl of mushy stew, sat casually on a stone, and prepared to eat.

Most of the snow on the ground had melted, leaving only a thin layer. Snow still covered the open fields on both sides, but the snow on the road had been trampled into slush, turning the ground into mud.

“Sir! Something’s wrong!!”

A sharp cry startled Maily. He immediately dropped his bowl, ran toward his horse, and turned to look at the woodlands.

But nothing seemed amiss there. The sentries still stood in place, looking back at the camp with confusion, not understanding why such a commotion had broken out.

“What? What is it?”

“Is there an enemy? Where?”

“Nonsense, there’s no one there. Who’s shouting blindly?”

Maily let out a breath, glancing regretfully at the bowl he had just thrown away. His lunch was gone.

He lifted his head angrily, wanting to see who had fooled him.

He quickly found the culprit—a tall soldier, still wearing an expression of horror, pointing ahead. “Th-there! What is that!?”

Maily froze and followed his finger. Over there…?

On the opposite side of the forest, a mass of white mist was expanding rapidly. In the brief moment Maily watched, it had already risen several stories tall, like a great wall collapsing toward them!

“White Calamity! It’s the White Calamity!!!”

The scream cracked into hysteria, the dread pounding into everyone’s hearts like nails.

That—that was the White Calamity? The one that destroyed the entire White Raven Principality, the one even the Silent Sanctum could not withstand?

Maily instantly panicked. His trembling hands fumbled as he tried to mount his horse, failing several times before he managed.

Screams filled his ears. Officers tried to issue orders, but no one obeyed—no one could even hear them clearly anymore.

The sudden disaster shattered the already tense army, throwing it into chaos.

Luckily, they were cavalry. Even if they scattered, they could not be chased down. The officers could gather the remnants later without suffering catastrophic losses.

As for baggage and servants—who cared?

Maily could not think that far. His mind had only one word left: escape!

He spurred his horse, ignoring orders and allies, and fled in the opposite direction of the white mist.

But after only a few strides, he froze.

Ahead lay the forest.

The Winter Wolves had camped near it, and the white mist had come from the opposite side. Instinctively, he had run the other way, plunging straight into the woods.

Realization struck him at once. He tried to skirt the edge of the trees and circle away from the mist, but it was expanding too quickly. He could see no end to it in either direction.

Behind him, the wails of the terrified rang out. Gritting his teeth, Maily urged his horse deeper into the forest.

He was not alone. Most of the Winter Wolves cared only about escaping and unknowingly rushed into the woods as well. After all, the Resistance Army could be dealt with—but the White Calamity meant certain death!

What exactly was the White Calamity? No one could say.

As far as records went back, this strange mist had always appeared in the Northlands.

Anyone who entered it vanished after a time, never seen again—whether mortal or extraordinary. A brief delay was all it took.

The White Raven Principality and the Silent Sanctum had tried everything, but nothing worked. The mist seemed like a natural phenomenon, indifferent to human efforts, simply devouring everything it covered.

Thus people called it the White Calamity.

Every few years, it would appear, rolling down from the north toward the south.

No one knew where it came from. Beyond the White Raven Principality lay endless ice fields, where no living creature could survive.

Fortunately, the White Calamity did not spread quickly. People only needed to retreat south until it dispersed, then return home.

Until this time, when the White Calamity engulfed the entire White Raven Principality—and never dispersed again.

The Silent Sanctum tried everything, but nothing worked. All they could do was move their followers south. Eventually, they reached the Empire’s Four Northern Territories. There, they split into two factions—one led by Nora, the other by the high clergy of the Silent Sanctum, who continued farther south into the Empire.

As a man of the Empire, Maily had never seen the White Calamity himself, but he had grown up hearing its dreaded name. Now, he whipped his horse with all his strength, desperate to flee.

The mist behind him spread too quickly!

He had not wasted any time. From the instant it appeared, he had mounted and fled into the woods.

Yet the distance between him and the mist kept shrinking.

Seeing it almost at his back, fear consumed his chest. He screamed, galloping forward while constantly looking back.

But the forest was ill-suited for horses.

He urged the animal recklessly, heedless of the terrain. Before long, its hoof caught on a root. The horse toppled, throwing Maily into the air.

He slammed headlong into a tree.

Darkness swallowed him.