Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Hunter fell silent. Abandoning his human body—perhaps he could do that.

But to forget everything? Impossible. His life could not exist without his beloved calculus.

“The Silent Sanctum has tried every method across millennia,” someone said quietly. “This is the only way left. We just need to inform Earl Hughes, then head north to unearth the White-Bone Sanctum, and then—”

“Wait—You buried the White-Bone Sanctum in the north?” Hunter’s expression shifted in alarm. “They’ve been fighting up there for so long—what if it’s gone?”

“It won’t be,” Ignati replied, waving his hand dismissively. “We hid it well, marked it with the sigil of the Silent Sanctum. Only our people can open it. Besides, that thing only brings calamity—who would want to find it?”

Hunter hesitated, then nodded slightly.

“Patriarch, something feels wrong.” A Burier suddenly spoke up, pointing toward the distant wilderness. “That… doesn’t that look a bit like the White Calamity?”

“Impossible. With the White-Bone Sanctum here, the White Calamity can’t cross the Canary Mountains,” Ignati said without hesitation. Yet even as he spoke, he squinted into the distance.

“It does… look a little like it.”

The group fell silent.

The Buriers, one of the Silent Sanctum’s transcendent paths, excelled in direct combat, endurance, and recovery—but reconnaissance was not their strength.

They could only rely on their bodies—far stronger than any mortal’s—and their eyes to observe.

“This place is close to the Expeditionary Army’s camp,” Nora said. “They have trains running north. They must have gathered more intelligence!”

Ignati nodded. The people of the Silent Sanctum began to accelerate.

Hughes pushed open the door and stepped outside.

Ever since Gwen had seized control and forced the White Mist to retreat, she had gone completely silent.

For a time, Hughes had suspected she was trying to skip out—perhaps avoiding any explanation.

But thinking it over, the Mind Link thread between them hadn’t broken. She couldn’t escape. Maybe she just needed time to digest whatever she’d absorbed after taking control.

So, rather than wait, he shifted back into the body of Lord Hughes and went out to see the situation for himself.

By the time he emerged, the battle within the fortress was nearing its end.

Hughes first checked his own vitality—still decent, little loss. It seemed the banshees had fared quite well in combat.

The shared life-pool during such battles was always risky—if one banshee was endangered, she might drag down everyone bound in the symbiotic contract.

But the benefit was clear: as long as one survived, none of them would die.

After skimming through the Mind Link chat records, Hughes descended two floors to a corner of the fortress.

It had originally been a warehouse. The ventilation had been sealed off, and over a dozen heavy machine guns were set up facing the doorway.

The soldiers guarding the entrance didn’t fire; instead, a long line of banshees queued outside.

“You’ve been playing with them for five minutes—get out, it’s my turn!”

“Quiet! I’m chopping them into finer pieces!”

“Stop chopping! Leave some for the rest!”

Hughes hesitated, then decided it was better not to look. He glanced around and approached a burly man built like a bear.

“What’s going on, Kyle?”

“Lord Hughes!? Please, stop these banshee ladies—they’re grinding the bone pile into dust!”

Hughes took a deep breath and listened as Kyle reported the battle situation.

After the fog of the White Calamity had retreated, it never returned. The Expeditionary Army had stationed people to monitor it.

The fog was gone—but the white bones that had surged out remained. Without the rapid regeneration granted by the mist, they were quickly crushed by the army’s firepower.

The fortress had limited firing space, but even scattered volleys were enough. Outside the mist, the bones’ regeneration was drastically slower. The smaller fragments crawled across the ground at a snail’s pace—unlucky for them, since the furious Expeditionary Army and the playful banshees were not merciful opponents.

Eventually, with help from the logistics teams armed with brooms and baskets, the bone piles were hauled into the large warehouse here.

The soldiers had suffered greatly in the process—too many bullet fragments were embedded in the bones.

“Alright, alright, enough fooling around! Nini, get them under control—Nini, I said come out!”

After Hughes personally dragged several banshees away, the warehouse was finally sealed.

Multiple Expeditionary Army squads were assigned to guard it in rotation. The amount of bone was staggering—filling nearly half of the fortress’s storage space.

“Have the rear lines send protective suits—better to be careful when handling those bones. Dispatch a train to shadow the White Mist from a distance. If anything happens, report immediately. What about the airships? What’s their status?”

“All airships are secure,” Alexei replied. “The White Mist seems to have a fixed altitude—it can’t reach the airships’ maximum height.”

“Good. Send them to nearby towns for inspection. The White Calamity was dragged here by those bones; it likely corroded the railway most of all. See if any towns along the line suffered damage.”

At that, Hughes paused, suddenly realizing something.

“Wait—everything the White Calamity touches decays rapidly, doesn’t it? The railway to the north—we spent so long building it—hasn’t it rotted?”

“I had the same concern,” Alexei said, flipping through his notes. “Ah, here: multiple spots on the rails show surface rusting, and some sleepers show corrosion. Roughly speaking, we’ve lost about ten years of service life.”

“What’s the railway’s designed lifespan?”

“One hundred years.”

Hughes’s eyelid twitched.

“Fine… have it inspected anyway. In any case, if there’s no major problem, begin gradually withdrawing the Expeditionary Army. The northern front is essentially secured. We’ll discuss later how to occupy and govern the region.”

Alexei froze. “Lord Hughes—Earl Bazel’s forces haven’t been found yet.”

He still didn’t know that Bazel had entered the White Mist and fought Gwen for control.

Indeed, Gwen’s entire situation was shrouded in mystery. No one understood what this so-called “control” truly governed, nor the link between Big Gwen and Little Gwen.

“They can’t stir up any trouble now,” Hughes said. “Start counting the losses and clean up the battlefield.”

Alexei saluted and left.

A messenger soon rushed in, saluting briskly.

“Lord Hughes! A group of about a hundred people is requesting to see you. They claim to be transcendents of the Silent Sanctum.

Their leader calls himself Patriarch Ignati. With him are Nora, Grisha, and Hunter.”

“Nora? She brought transcendents from the Silent Sanctum?” Hughes asked. “Did they say what they want?”

The messenger’s expression turned oddly conflicted.

“They said… they can stop the White Calamity—and that they’re willing to help us.”