Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

The inside of the carriage was so quiet that a pin drop could be heard.

The White Calamity allowed entry but no return. Whether Transcendent or Mortal, none who entered ever came back.

And now, they no longer had any chance of escaping.

At the beginning, the Expeditionary Army had not feared sacrifice, but the days of smooth advances had given them a degree of habit—so this sudden, absolute dead end caught them all off guard.

Suddenly, the sound of a heavy machine gun rang out.

People looked up. Gwen had already climbed onto the roof of the train car. Holding her Gatling Gun, she swept at the White Bones charging from all directions.

Sunlight fell upon her, coating her form in gold. Her silhouette, embracing the machine gun as she fired from atop the train, etched itself deeply into everyone’s heart.

She was a Northlander. No one knew the terror of the White Calamity better than she did. She should have been the one to despair the most—yet she raised her gun.

The Resistance Army fought every day while drowning in despair. They had no Reinforcements, no retreat, no future. But they had never given up, not even for a single moment.

No need to think.

  No need to hesitate.

  Resistance itself was the answer.

In utter hopelessness, she lifted her gun, just as she had in every battle before.

And in her hands, that Gatling Gun which had created miracles once again roared with a deep, blazing voice.

Hodge suddenly had a feeling—perhaps she could be recognized by the Machine Soul, not because of any mysterious Extraordinary Power she possessed, but because her will had been acknowledged.

“She really was the best machine-gunner.” Hodge murmured to himself. He took a deep breath and turned around.

The soldiers of the Expeditionary Army had all grasped their weapons, steadfast resolve showing in their eyes.

Conviction was contagious. Seeing Gwen’s unyielding battle stance, the hearts of the Expeditionary Army burned with fighting spirit.

“Sir, give the order!”

“We can fight until the last moment!”

“Let the Resistance Army witness our will!”

Hodge looked around at the Soldiers beside him. It felt as though fire flowed inside his chest. He drew in a deep breath and roared:

“Pick up your weapons and fight! For Lord Hughes, for Castel!”

“For Castel!”

“For the Lord!!”

The Soldiers shouted as they rushed to their positions. Moments later, the covers of the firing slits were thrown open, and dark gun barrels extended outward.

After a series of low, heavy clicks as rounds were chambered, a scorching barrage roared outward—carrying the Expeditionary Army’s equally scorching will—and flew toward the White Bones surging upon them like a tide.

When the Armored Train had been designed, it had been required to function as a mobile battle Fortress—the strongest moving firepoint Castel possessed.

Unfortunately, it had never once used its full power since entering service.

But today, this steel behemoth born for war finally let out its most furious roar!

Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!

Bullets poured out so densely they formed solid lines. Dragon’s Breath Cannons fired in all directions. The surrounding tide of White Bones was like seawater, and the Armored Train was a volcano erupting from beneath the waves—its raging lava vaporizing every nearby Enemy in an instant.

The rushing tide of White Bones was forcibly pressed back down onto the ground.

The White Mist converging around them faltered.

“The White Mist, the Mist…” Hodge’s eyes lit up. He turned and grabbed the Conductor, whispering, “Can we find a sealed carriage and drive straight through the White Mist? That way the fog won’t touch us!”

But the Conductor shook his head. “Impossible. The carriages were never designed with airtight sealing in mind. Give me a day and I might be able to patch all the gaps, but right now there’s no time.”

After pausing, he frowned and added, “Besides, I remember that avoiding contact with the White Mist doesn’t stop the White Calamity. Even the Silent Sanctum tried digging basements to hide, but everyone inside still vanished. Wherever the White Mist passes, no matter what you do, no one escapes.”

After speaking, he shouted toward the machine-gun position above: “Miss Gwen! Can isolating the White Mist allow someone to escape the White Calamity?”

“No. They say even the Skin-Shedders were invited once—their protective skins can resist even highly poisonous fumes, yet once they entered the White Calamity, they never returned.”

Hodge stared at the distant White Calamity for a long moment before finally sighing.

He was a Rhine man, exiled to Castel, and now he would die in the Northlands.

A pity he would never hang his engraved Steel Plate upon the church’s Memorial Stele.

“We can still sound the Whistle,” the Conductor suddenly said.

“Will it help?”

“Maybe. We’re actually not too far from the Expeditionary Army’s encampment. We can no longer leave... but we can transmit information outward.”

“That’s good enough. Use the Whistle to send out our discoveries. Let them leave as soon as possible. That’s the last thing we can do.”

The Conductor froze for a moment, then nodded simply and went personally to pull the Whistle.

This Train would likely never depart again. They had reached their final station.

The piercing Whistle rang out—long and short—carrying the final will of this Expeditionary Army up into the sky. The stranded Train fired in all directions; the sea-like White Bones were blasted into shards again and again, re-forming and charging anew.

In the distance, the towering wall of White Mist—the Wall of Despair—slowly yet relentlessly closed in, trapping them where they stood.

A magazine emptied. A Soldier skillfully detached it and loaded a fresh one.

The gun barrel glowed red-hot; the machine-gunner used special tongs to remove it and toss it aside.

The Soldier at the machine-gun crank turned it for a while, then retreated to let another take over. More Soldiers raised their rifles, firing, or pressed fresh rounds into magazines.

Like a precision machine, the Soldiers cooperated seamlessly, gears meshing tightly together—pushing this war behemoth to its absolute limit.

Suddenly, a faint, blurry Whistle sounded from outside—weak amid the gunfire. Everyone froze.

“Sir! Captain Hodge, someone responded!”

“We have allied forces outside!”

“They found us! We weren’t forgotten!”

Hodge’s heart surged with emotion. He quickly turned to the Conductor. “What are they saying?”

“They’re asking about our situation—how many of us are still alive, what kind of support we need!”

“Tell them we can still hold. Plenty of bullets and weapons. Reinforce—reinforce—”

Hodge shook his head, resolve firming. “Tell them—we cannot return. Have them leave immediately. In the name of Castel, we will fight until the last moment.”

The Conductor nodded and pulled the Whistle.

“Oh—and add this. At the final moment, I’ll enter the White Mist. The instant I do, I will shout everything I see. You must transmit all of that as well.”