Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Everything before him suddenly went black. When Hughes slowly lifted his head again, he found himself back in the long-forsaken Throne Room. Then, he turned his gaze toward the Worker Hughes seated by the long table.

“Let me see what exactly happened.”

About half a year ago, before Castel had even begun the great expedition, Hughes could still control Worker Hughes’ shell — occasionally gathering a few people for an online meeting or two.

But one day, that shell suddenly became shrouded in White Mist, and the threads connecting to others seemed to have snapped, losing all effect.

At first, Hughes did not know what that mist was, but after he sent troops northward, he soon had a guess — could this be the White Calamity?

All who entered the White Calamity perished without exception — yet the shell of Worker Hughes was not truly alive either.

After that, Hughes conducted many experiments — inhaling the mist, shouting for help — none of it worked. So he gave up trying to explore it further.

Until he learned that Little Gwen had been swallowed by the White Mist.

Back during Blood Harbor, he had secretly tested her, and discovered that this little girl was very likely the one within his Mind Link — perhaps even someone who had come into contact with the Extraordinary Power.

After all, the information he had received upon contact with her was: 【Named One】.

When Big Gwen later said she had seen a white-haired little girl fall into the mist, Hughes immediately thought of that little girl selling fried fish. Thus, he set out for the Northlands without delay.

If Little Gwen had entered the White Calamity, then perhaps Worker Hughes, also within that same mist, could link to her?

Without wasting another second, Hughes exchanged a glance with Worker Hughes — and then everything turned black once more.

When he opened his eyes again, he was surrounded by endless White Mist.

Hughes deftly pulled out several silk threads and tested a few belonging to others — as before, none responded. The links were dead.

Taking a deep breath, Hughes grasped Gwen’s thread and gave it a gentle tug.

A soft, elastic sensation came through his fingertips — the next instant, Hughes successfully entered the link with Gwen.

Inside the Fortress.

“The White Bones have reached the one-thousand-meter mark!”

“Open fire!”

The heavy machine guns, whose firing parameters had long been set, roared as they spat fiery serpents into the fog.

The White Mist loomed ever closer, a vast tsunami swallowing the world, with the White Bones forming the frothing waves at its edge.

Gwen held her machine gun tightly but did not fire immediately. Instead, she knelt on one knee and began to pray.

One hand pressed against her chest, the other resting on the heavy gun. Her eyes were closed, her face devout.

“Gwen, who are you praying to?” Hodge asked curiously beside her.

“Myself.” Gwen opened her eyes after a moment and showed a somewhat embarrassed smile.

“It’s strange, isn’t it? I used to pray to the Silent Sanctum, but they never helped us — the Resistance Army. No one came. When despair came, the only thing I could believe in was the sword in my hand.”

“After that, I only prayed to myself — prayed that my sword would always shine, and my heart would never retreat.”

Gwen patted the heavy machine gun in front of her and grinned foolishly.

“Now I’ve got a new friend. I don’t really know what to pray for her, so I just prayed she’d enjoy the killing.”

She casually set the machine gun on the firing slit. A soldier beside her noticed the empty ammo feed port and couldn’t help but whisper:

“Did you forget to—”

“Shut up!”

Every member of Hodge’s Squad barked in unison, startling the man so badly he flinched — then, looking a bit wronged, continued firing.

Even as he cranked the handle, he couldn’t help but glance again at Gwen.

While chanting her prayer, Gwen idly turned the handle twice — and at once, her machine gun roared eagerly, belching gunpowder fury.

After a while, Gwen simply couldn’t match the gun’s firing rhythm. She abandoned the handle altogether, hefted the heavy machine gun, and swept it across the fog.

The Expeditionary Soldiers stared, dumbfounded.

The soldier who had tried to remind her earlier looked utterly shattered, his worldview collapsing. He glanced between Gwen’s gun and his own.

After some hesitation, he too began to pray — though his prayer came from the Imperial Truth, and his god was Hughes himself.

Whether it was psychological or not, after a while he opened his eyes, looked at his machine gun, and exclaimed in delight:

“Machine Soul — I think I can feel the Machine Soul!”

His shout drew glances from nearby soldiers.

Soon, across the firing line, soldiers began adding small gestures of prayer into their fighting.

Alexei, meanwhile, paid no attention to their movements.

He stood within the temporary command post, eyes fixed anxiously on the condition of the White Mist along with the other Mechanical Priests.

“Are the evacuation preparations complete?”

“All three Steam Trains are on standby. The Steam Engines have never been shut down — they can move at a moment’s notice. The soldiers have rehearsed the evacuation plan; within three minutes of the order, everyone can board in sequence. There are also supply stations set up along the railway to handle any emergencies.”

Alexei nodded, then turned toward the Banshee beside him. “Nini, what’s the status of the White Bones?”

“Their kill efficiency is quite good. With only one-fifth of our firing points engaged, the White Bones have already been effectively intercepted. If nothing goes wrong, they shouldn’t be able to breach our blockade.”

“And the mist?”

“The White Mist’s advance has indeed slowed significantly. The White Bones are not far from it now — that strange pull effect has weakened a lot. For now, our interception seems effective.”

“But the mist itself hasn’t truly stopped moving?”

“Unfortunately, no. It’s slowed, yes — but it’s still advancing steadily. Bullets do nothing to it.”

Alexei pressed his lips together tightly.

The White Bones were not so difficult to stop; though they could resurrect again and again, they were still made of flesh and could not truly block bullets.

The White Mist, however, was another matter. So far, only the Dragon’s Breath Cannon had any effect — and even then, it merely dispersed a portion of the mist, far from enough to halt it completely.

If that was the case...

“Have the reserve units prepare for deployment,” Alexei sighed.

The Expeditionary Army’s Fortress in the Northlands was indeed grand — but it could only resist tangible enemies.

If it were just the White Bones, no matter how many there were, they would eventually die upon Castel’s No. 150 Concrete Walls.

But the White Mist... how was one supposed to stop something like that?

“Are we retreating, my lord?” someone asked.

Alexei sighed. “The Dragon’s Breath Cannon’s range is too short. The bastion can’t hold against the mist. Holding our ground here serves no purpose—”

“No. We hold the line. No retreat.”

A voice suddenly rang out from behind them.