Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

The aerial bombs fell, fire blossomed, and torn limbs turned to ash within the blazing flames.

Gwen stared blankly.

How many had she killed with that sword strike into which she had poured her entire strength? Ten? Fifty?

She did not know.

But each time one of those aerial bombs exploded, a whole section of the enemy formation was blasted open—no weaker than her sword strike.

Yet she could swing her sword only once, while the bombs in the sky dropped faster and faster.

In the blink of an eye, all that remained before her was a sea of fire.

Gwen gazed at the battlefield shrouded in flames, her eyes showing confusion.

She had believed she was about to die, to fall in this endless tide of enemies surging like a rising sea.

Yet now, that tide had been blasted flat.

Looking at the airships overhead and the Banshee before her, Gwen suddenly shivered. A flash of insight streaked through her mind, forming a vague guess.

She had once asked Isaac what Castel was like.

Isaac had thought for a long time, but in the end said it was best to go see it herself—everything about Castel was hard to express in words.

Looking at the surreal sight before her, Gwen suddenly nodded in realization.

If she had to describe it, she would not know where to begin either.

The enemies that had driven her into despair, enemies that not even Nora’s arrival could fully withstand, had been routed so casually?

  Like a carriage running over insects.

“You… are you from Castel? Are you the Expeditionary Army Mr. Isaac spoke of?”

“Well…” The tall figure hesitated for a moment, then suddenly pointed into the distance. “The Expeditionary Army is coming. We’re only the scouting unit.”

Gwen stared woodenly at the soldiers charging down from the hillside, each small group equipped with a heavy machine gun that Isaac had painstakingly assigned. Even the firearms in their hands looked a bit unusual.

But they had few chances to fire— the airships had stopped their bombing runs and were rising again, the battlefield already turned into a purgatory.

Gwen glanced at everything before her, then lowered her head to look at the sword in her hand.

Gwen knew she was strong. Whether the enemy wielded firearms or cold weapons, almost none could withstand even a single exchange. Wherever she rushed on the battlefield, the enemy collapsed and fled.

Isaac once encouraged her to try using a firearm, but she refused. Firearms were fine, but a long sword was simply easier to use.

And guns needed to be reloaded—they were slow, inaccurate, and though they could pierce armor, so could her blade.

The more Gwen fought, the stronger she grew. Especially in recent days, she had already been able to handle encirclement by multiple foes with ease.

This made her prideful. She believed that whether she became a transcendent or not, she would continue to grow stronger. Even Isaac often expressed astonishment, believing she might already surpass some transcendent individuals.

Just now, when she swung that sword, her will, skill, and conviction had all reached their peak. She felt she had touched a higher realm— even death would have brought no regret.

Then she witnessed the bombing—each falling aerial bomb carried an explosive yield equivalent to a blow worth dying for.

Such enormously powerful weapons were hurled desperately by the two airships, as though afraid to slow down even for a moment.

From the Banshees, to the airships overhead, to the Expeditionary Army soldiers now cleaning the battlefield— not a single person cared about how many bombs were thrown or whether it was wasteful. They treated them like stones by the roadside.

But that— that was something Gwen had reached only by exhausting herself, the highest peak of all the effort she had poured into her life.

In her heart she had harbored a small secret pride, savoring Isaac’s shocked expression.

Yet all of that—her everything, her effort, her talent, her life, and her sword—together were worth no more than a single aerial bomb.

  “Mort—mortal, are you with the Resistance Army? Have you seen Isaac or Gwen?”

Gwen had wanted to say she was not necessarily a mortal, but when she opened her mouth she tasted only bitterness.

Mortal or transcendent—what difference did it make before such weapons?

“…I am Gwen. Isaac should be behind me.”

Then she saw the steel giant before her suddenly freeze.

A moment later, when it spoke again, its voice had jumped an entire octave, losing all its former hoarse, deep strength.

“You’re Gwen? You are Gwen!? Waaait—Feniel! Did you record the part earlier when I said ‘mortals step aside’? Yes, yes, keep that! We’re adding that to the newspaper later!”

The Banshee before her spun around and spoke rapidly to her companion, then suddenly bent low, bringing her face right before Gwen.

Gwen was startled and stepped back two paces—only then seeing the Banshee remove her helmet. A cascade of golden hair poured down like a waterfall, gleaming brilliantly in the sunlight.

“Gwen!? Wonderful, wonderful, nice to finally meet you! I’m Nini! You may not know me, but I’ve written a lot of articles about you. Could you spare me a bit later for an exclusive interview?”

As she spoke, six hands came forward—three grabbing Gwen’s hand at once and shaking it vigorously, making Gwen a little dizzy.

“Uh… I heard Isaac mention a powerful Banshee squad in Castel, but I didn’t expect you all to be this tall.”

“Oh? You prefer smaller ones? Monica! Come cooperate with my interview!”

“Shut up! I’m treating the wounded!”

A shout rang from nearby, and Nini straightened, gazing across the battlefield with a frown.

The Expeditionary Army had arrived in time, but the Resistance Army’s casualties were still considerable.

When they fought the Grand Duke Dragonfang’s cavalry earlier, the Resistance had barely scraped out a win. No one expected the Grand Duke’s main forces to rush over right after, leaving them no choice but to fight on.

In the end, they were merely a militia—half a year of fighting had strengthened their will, but in terms of large-scale operations, they lacked experience.

And the enemy was bizarre—completely unafraid of casualties, charging no matter how the Resistance cut them down, never breaking morale.

The battlefield became a meat grinder.

Over a thousand Resistance fighters now lay dead; many others howled in pain.

Several Banshees trained in first aid were already helping with treatment. The Expeditionary soldiers, though not trained medically, still knew some emergency skills from the Holy Text, and they joined in as well.

Only Nini had no medical knowledge. After looking around, she realized she would only make things worse if she tried to help. So she pulled Gwen along in search of Hodge.

“This is the commander of this Expeditionary Army unit—Hodge. He and I both came from Castel. And this here is Gwen.”

Hodge’s expression had been grim, but upon seeing Gwen, it softened slightly. He shook hands with her.

“Sorry we were a bit late. No need for extra words—are there more enemies behind them? And what was going on with those people?”

“Let me explain.”

A voice sounded behind them. They all turned, their faces lighting with joy and surprise.

It was Isaac.

“I suspect a transcendent is behind this.”