Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

The sound of the tide gradually faded from his ears.

Hunter opened his eyes. Everything around him seemed to have a faint double image.

An unfamiliar ceiling.

He coughed violently, as though choking. The tightness in his lungs slowly eased, yet he did not cough up any water.

Hunter only felt as if he had just awoken from a blurry dream—one where the world was forged entirely of steel, where rivers were replaced by molten iron, and where, upon raising his head, he saw not the sun but an eternally burning furnace in the sky.

As his consciousness and reason gradually returned, he began to recall what had happened. Rubbing his aching head, he let out a bitter smile.

He had no idea what happened afterward—only that, upon seeing those rows of iron warships, the string of his reason had snapped.

One could hardly blame him. As a scholar, realizing that everything he had ever done in his life was meaningless—how could he possibly remain calm?

Hunter sat up from the bed. It seemed he was no longer aboard the ship. The curtains swayed gently with the breeze, sunlight spilling softly into the room.

But Hunter had no interest in investigating. He didn’t even glance toward the window, simply sitting there in a daze, his eyes dull and empty.

It no longer mattered. His research, his efforts, his very life—they all seemed to have lost their worth.

The door opened, and a man in a white robe stepped inside. Seeing Hunter sitting upright, the man paused briefly before smiling.

“So quick to wake? Good thing you didn’t try to escape. Ever since that patient with Castel Syndrome broke out last time and caused a commotion, all our wards have been fitted with strict security—I’d rather not have to patch you up again.”

Hunter’s mind instinctively began analyzing the man’s words, forming a few terrifying conclusions. But he brushed them aside indifferently and shook his head.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Tsk, tsk, tsk… Already lucid again? You’re the best among this batch of patients.” The doctor casually filled in something on a form, then tore off the page. “Here’s your medical discharge certificate. Take it, and you’re free to leave.”

Hunter reached out to take it—but the doctor didn’t hand it over. Instead, he looked at Hunter with a half-smile.

After a brief hesitation, Hunter felt for his pockets and shook his head. “Sorry, I don’t have any money right now.”

“Hunter. Hunter Godfrey Watts—you’re a scholar, aren’t you?”

Hunter nodded instinctively, straightening his back. Then, realizing something, he slumped again.

He was indeed a noble. But what use was that title now? Before such miraculous creations, his nobility was little more than a joke.

“How much do you know about the Mystics?”

“Hmm… Not much. Seems to be a religious organization in Blood Harbor, responsible for its security?”

“First, the Mystics are not a religious organization. Second, they do not maintain order in Blood Harbor—they only assist in managing certain districts. It’s better to speak precisely. Words can bring misfortune.” The doctor smiled as he sat by Hunter’s bed.

“The Mystics were once a cult in the Blood Harbor Lower District. After being restructured under the reforms of my… Lord, they’ve become an ordinary organization. It’s officially recognized by Castel’s government—a completely legal entity.”

Hunter nodded faintly, but the doctor’s tone suddenly shifted.

“But the sect I belong to isn’t quite so… legal.”

Hunter froze.

The corners of the doctor’s mouth curved higher. He opened his mouth—and Hunter vaguely saw black markings running along his tongue.

“‘Tongue of Thorns.’ That’s the name of my sect. You must have already witnessed some of Castel’s miracles, haven’t you?”

“Heh, I can see what you’re thinking. What if I told you—you’ll see even more?”

“You will witness the might of the Divine. You will see miracles upon this earth. You will behold existences that even your wildest fantasies could not conceive.”

“Ah, I can already see the hesitation in your eyes.”

“Do not be alarmed. Do not fear. Do not panic. Those miraculous creations are the will of my Lord. Those powerful weapons are His wrath. The flying airships and ironclad warships are His eyes and hands. Castel is His divine kingdom.”

“You may have guessed it—but don’t speak it aloud! My Lord forbids His name to be praised as that of a god. We obey—sealing our tongues with thorns, and keeping our vows through will alone.”

“When you are lost, silently recite my Lord’s name in your heart, and the fog before you shall part. You will not waver again.”

The doctor handed him the discharge certificate. Hunter instinctively took it—and when he looked up again, the room was empty.

Startled, he was about to stand and check when the door suddenly opened once more.

A girl with flaxen hair stepped inside. Seeing Hunter standing beside the bed, she blinked. “You woke up so soon? Good. I’ll write you a discharge certificate—get ready to leave.”

She picked up a notebook and scribbled rapidly. When she looked up again, she found Hunter staring wide-eyed, frozen in place. “Something wrong?” she asked curiously.

Hunter shivered and quietly slipped the “certificate” in his hand into his clothes.

“No! Nothing, miss. Where… where are we now?”

“We’re in the quarantine area of the harbor customs. Once you complete the procedures, you’ll officially be allowed to set foot on the island. Hmm—you’re a scholar?”

“Y-Yes. Is that a problem?”

“Of course it is.” Her eyes filled with worry. “In Castel, scholars are the most dangerous group—more dangerous even than the Transcendents. And by ‘dangerous,’ I mean you are the one in danger. Understand?”

Hunter swallowed hard. “W-What kind of danger?”

“Castel Syndrome. You’ve already shown symptoms once, even before landing. You’ll see the Stellar Furnace soon enough—I’ll make your record more detailed so they can treat you directly.”

“And one more thing—something very important. You must remember this—” She wrote quickly while speaking.

“Don’t be too curious. And don’t overthink.”

“The more you know, the more you see, the more you imagine—the closer you are to madness.”

“And above all, don’t listen to any… heretical nonsense.”

After leaving the quarantine area and going through registration and a body search, Hunter finally exited Castel’s customs.

Looking back, he saw a vast port district. On the distant sea stood a towering steel lighthouse—its structure rather peculiar, perhaps a monument of some kind.

Beside the lighthouse, several large ships were moored. Each bore massive crane arms, their steel cables stretching deep into the sea—doing something unknown.