Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Hughes’s name seemed like a spell. The very moment it was uttered in praise, the entire world appeared to pause for an instant.

The distant sound of the tides receded at once, and the inexplicable force casually kneading Hunter suddenly loosened its grip. He fell straight down from mid-air.

But this time, Hunter no longer felt even a trace of panic. He finally laid down all his worries and doubts, closed his eyes, and focused solely on chanting His name.

In the sky, the massive eye watched Hunter as he gradually descended, its gaze cold. As he drew further away, cracks slowly appeared across the sky.

The next moment, countless fractures spread across the entire firmament. Within the rifts, innumerable pairs of eyes stared fixedly at the world below—but moments later, they crumbled into dust along with the collapsing heavens.

Hunter didn’t look again. He only felt himself sinking downward, returning to the chapel, where the massive steel body of the Stellar Furnace remained—yet it no longer inspired fear.

Instead, it felt warm, like a fireplace in a Northlands winter.

It imprisoned all that was twisted and unnameable within, blocking the malevolent gazes, producing endless energy and power. For some unknown reason, it made Hunter feel a sense of intimacy and familiarity.

This was His steel. This was His blessing. Castel was His kingdom.

The Stellar Furnace seemed to tremble once, meeting Hunter’s gaze.

Like a helpless soul suddenly finding a place to rest, his lost heart found its refuge. A comfort washed over Hunter from the inside out.

In that instant, he seemed to witness thousands of silent yet burning souls dwelling within the steel, countless wills merging into what became Castel.

Hunter faintly sensed enlightenment—

Hughes was not Castel’s god, yet Castel was the manifestation of Hughes’s will.

If He chose to call Himself a god, then Castel would be His divine kingdom.

If He wished to be the lord, Castel would offer loyalty.

Hunter suddenly recalled the Doctor from the Tongue of Thorns. His warning back then—so that was what it meant.

So that was it. So that was it.

Hughes was his Lord. Hunter felt his body grow impossibly light. Countless whispers echoed by his ears—teachings from his Lord, solemnly speaking—

“What’s he muttering over there?”

Hunter’s pupils slowly focused. He seemed to be sitting upright on a bed again, staring blankly ahead.

Before him stood a dark-haired youth, handsome in appearance, elegant and noble in temperament. He waved a hand before Hunter’s eyes while asking curiously, “So… is he awake or not?”

Judging by the looks, he ought to be a noble.

But in front of his faith, any noble amounted to nothing.

Hunter tightened his lips in displeasure—the youth before him had interrupted his audience with Lord Hughes’s teachings!

“Who are you? Why did you interrupt my listening?”

“I’m the lord of this place. If you kept listening, you would’ve died.”

“Nonsense! How could someone like you—a mere lord—understand the greatness of Lord Hughes! Only because this is Castel! If this were the Northlands, I would challenge you to a duel!”

“…”

The youth’s expression contorted wonderfully. He glanced awkwardly to the side.

“Th-then I’ll leave first. I already explained everything to you earlier. When the time comes, you two can go complete the procedures together.”

Only then did Hunter notice another person nearby. This seemed to be a ward—another man was lying on a bed, half-dead.

The youth hurriedly left the room, and Hunter nodded in satisfaction.

So he did have some self-awareness. He knew how foolish it was to offend the Lord.

A long while later, Hunter’s eyes widened. He suddenly bounced up from the bed:

“Wait!”

“That was actually the Lord?”

Hunter looked excited. “I knew it! That elegant composure, that firm and decisive gaze… From the moment I saw him, I knew—only someone like that deserves our devotion!”

“D-does he?” The man in the next bed scratched his head.

“Do you understand Lord Hughes better, or do I understand Lord Hughes better?”

Hunter’s gaze sharpened as he examined the man up and down.

“I am Hunter Godfrey Watts, scholar of the Northlands Dawn Society. My father is—never mind, not important. And you are?”

“I… uh… everyone calls me Yami.” The man answered shyly, his eyes darting away.

As soon as he finished, anxiety rose in his heart. How would the other react? Mock him? Ignore him?

He was born in the slums. “Yami” was clearly not a proper name. He had no identity worth mentioning. Should he say he used to collect money at a fried-fish stall?

Meanwhile, this young man called Hunter clearly came from prestige—his confidence alone was something Yami longed for. Thus, in front of him, Yami instinctively felt inferior.

He tucked himself deeper into his blankets in unease.

As expected, the scholar named Hunter frowned. But after a moment, the derision Yami imagined never came.

Yami nervously lifted his head and saw Hunter looking straight into his eyes.

“If it were before, I wouldn’t have spoken to you. At most, I would greet you politely. Friendships among commoners are useless—thousands of years of history prove this.”

“But now, Lord Hughes does not care about birth or status, so I won’t care either. This isn’t just blind obedience. I admire Viscount Frey’s skill and ability, but killing him wouldn’t take more bullets than killing anyone else.”

Yami felt dizzy listening. He didn’t really understand what the young scholar was talking about. He just stared blankly at the floor.

But then, a hand appeared within his view.

“I am a scholar. I don’t understand those complicated social customs. So this is my sincerity.”

Yami slowly raised his head. Hunter’s hand was still extended toward him, his gaze still carrying a trace of scrutiny—then, after a pause, Hunter suddenly smiled.

“Not going to shake my hand?”

Yami froze for a second, then hurriedly turned over—only to pull his injured abdomen with the sudden movement. Grimacing, he stretched out his hand.

Across the gap between two hospital beds, the two of them reached out with difficulty and clasped hands.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“Uh… likewise.”

After only a brief shake, both quickly withdrew—

Their beds were simply too far apart, and that posture took effort.

“Just now, when the Lord came by… He said he explained something to you? Was it related to me?”

Yami adjusted himself and rubbed his aching stomach.

“Yes. The Lord came earlier actually because of you. He arranged work for us in the future. You were still unconscious, so he told me first.”

“He arranged work for us? You mean… we’ll be colleagues?”