Industrial Cthulhu: Starting as an Island Lord

Hughes sat on the ground, gasping for breath. He glanced at Monica, whose breathing had become steady, then looked up at the starry sky overhead, and couldn't help but reveal a tired smile.

The Banshees crowded around Monica, scrambling to lift her to the side and take care of her.

Just moments ago, the state of the Furnace had been like a powder keg on the verge of explosion—if Hughes hadn't ignited it, it would've done so on its own.

It was that close.

If the will of the Machine Soul had truly pierced through into reality, Hughes couldn't say what might have happened. Perhaps it would have led to cognitive interference, the return of pollution, or perhaps the Machine Soul would have fully awakened and become the next out-of-control deity.

Fortunately, they made it in time.

The Holy Guard had been summoned back from their various posts and gathered to maintain order. It was nighttime, and most of the workers had only just gotten off shift. They had been told the ignition ceremony would take place tomorrow, so they were shocked to discover it had already happened today.

When they learned that Castel had returned to reality, most of them wore expressions of disbelief. They stood there dazed for a long time before finally realizing what had happened.

The Banshees stood layer upon layer around Monica. With Castel's return, their memories were no longer blank. They all remembered.

It had always been the Banshees protecting her. Now, she could save everyone in turn.

Looking at Monica, covered in blood, the Banshees thought of the doubts and defenses they had once harbored against her. All that remained now was heartache.

For once, they didn't say anything. They simply stood silently by Monica's side, quiet and steadfast.

People emerged from the cathedral and came out from their various fortifications. They laid down the guns in their hands, stepped outside, breathed in the sea breeze, and gazed up at the stars.

The tide rolled in slowly, waves breaking against the reef—just as it had for thousands of years past. At last, they had returned to reality.

Many people wept with joy. That night, numerous individuals sat outside their homes and quietly watched the starry sky all night long.

Hughes, too, put aside his busyness for the moment. After ensuring Monica was settled, he left sentries at some key posts and dismissed the rest.

They had fought for this with their lives.

He summoned Alexei and gave him the key instructions. Then, Hughes stood alone atop the cathedral, savoring the quiet of the night and taking a deep breath of the warm sea breeze.

Although he had gone through countless twists and turns, although he had encountered unimaginable troubles, he had ultimately held on.

Neither the Sea God nor the Pirate King's Court had managed to destroy Castel.

At the most desperate moments, Hughes had even considered letting this shell of a body sink into the sea along with the island. The enemies were too powerful to resist. The repeated failures. The hope that slipped away bit by bit.

Truth be told, Castel was even more united than Hughes had imagined. Despite the adversity, the people had never given up hope. They had believed in him—almost blindly.

From the very beginning, Hughes had worked to accumulate public trust. Castel was a tiny territory with a small population. He could have chosen differently. But even at his lowest point, Hughes had still insisted on fulfilling his promises.

And because of this, no matter how turbulent the times, the people had never turned their backs on him.

Every conscription order from Castel had been met with maximum cooperation. By the end, Hughes had funneled nearly all available labor into the Holy Guard, and the people still carried out his commands.

Even Hughes himself hadn't noticed the quiet shift in his mindset. Once, Lord Hughes was just a shell to him—something with a higher status and greater value. Even if he gave it up, it would've only pained him emotionally.

But now, the word "Castel" had taken on a different meaning in his heart.

It was the territory he had planned by his own hand, the homeland built together with the people of Castel. When Hughes first crossed into this world, he merely wanted to spread the brilliance of industry here. But now, he seemed to have gained a sense of belonging.

Below, little flickers of firelight lit up. They came from the Moths Chasing Fire. Dressed in red robes, they had exited the cathedral and lit bonfires all around, commemorating their fallen comrades.

In this war against the deep sea, they had lost many companions, including even their Chief.

Many of the Moths Chasing Fire had joined the Holy Guard as political commissars. During the monster assaults that crashed like waves, they stood like unshakable pillars, leading the Guard in holding the front lines.

Countless times, the soldiers fell into despair, but the commissars did not. Even in the darkest moments, they remained steadfast, comforting those lost in fear and hopelessness.

They were brave, resolute, strong, and well-learned. Unwavering. Yet in this world, they were still heretics. To live peacefully was a luxury.

If not for Hughes offering them protection, they would have all died on the road chasing the fire—like true moths to a flame.

Now, at least, they could bury their comrades.

By the bonfire, many people used the light to dig into the ground with shovels. This was the final step in bidding farewell to the dead: burial.

Gaia stood her shovel into the ground and wiped the sweat from her forehead.

She was digging a grave for her best friend.

Unlike the others, this grave held no body. Chloe had died in the explosion—there was nothing left of her.

Gaia simply placed a bouquet of flowers into the grave.

She had just picked them. Most of Castel had long since become a battlefield. Bullets and monsters had plowed the land over and over again. Gaia had searched for a long time to find even this.

The flowers were stained with dirt, and with blood. Now they would lie in the grave, carrying her grief into eternal rest.

The girl carefully arranged the bouquet in the grave. After a moment of hesitation, she pulled a letter from her pocket and placed it inside as well.

She closed her eyes, stood silently before the grave for a while, then filled the dirt back in. Looking at the now-flat ground, she bit her lip and turned to leave.

The Moths Chasing Fire did not erect tombstones. They had always been hunted by the Church of Candlelight. Even if a grave was found, the bodies would be dug up. Thus, their resting places were often inconspicuous—no one knew what kind of soul lay buried below.

And it wasn't just the Moths Chasing Fire. People all over the island were saying goodbye to their fallen companions in their own ways.

That night was particularly quiet. Castel, in its silence, seemed to possess even more strength.

"If only Nora were here," Hughes suddenly thought. "She was a Burier. Maybe she'd know best how to bid the dead farewell."

She would come back. As for the Earl Bazel, who had detained her and the refugees—Hughes would personally settle accounts with him.

High above in the sky, the airships drifted like blue whales roaming through the air. Their massive forms blocked out the moonlight and cast long shadows on the ground. One of them sounded its steam whistle—a mourning horn for the dead, and a long call to awaken Castel, the iron giant.

People all raised their heads in unison, looking toward the celestial behemoth in the night sky.

Hughes gripped the railing of the rooftop tightly.

Blood Harbor, Tis, the North, the Empire, the Church—prepare to face the mightiest version of Castel.