Industrial Cthulhu, starting from the island lord

Chapter 518 Grisha's Confusion
Blood Harbor has been getting busier and busier lately.

Every day, new ships dock at the pier, carrying all sorts of industrial goods from Castells. Most of these goods are transported directly to the North by rail, while many are unloaded on the spot and shipped to various parts of Bloodport.

This city always seems to be busy, everyone has their own things to do, and every day is different from yesterday.

Towering schools sprang up, and before people could even marvel at them, factories appeared one after another in Blood Harbor. Before the first batch of workers had even had a chance to recover from their initial excitement, rows of resettlement houses were already built.

The people of Blood Harbor have spent the past six months in a blur of activity. If a person doesn't leave the house for even a few days, they can't say they are completely familiar with the city.

Recently, the already bustling city has become even busier—it is said that Castells' expeditionary force has found the refugees from the past in the North.

This truly shocked the people of Blood Harbor. Blood Harbor is not what it used to be. The daily newspapers deliver the latest news to everyone, and discussing current affairs is no longer the privilege of the upper class.

The latest news from the North is also selectively published, often accompanied by editorial opinions. Now, the unexpected discovery of refugees who were thought to have perished has brought cheers from all the people of Blood Harbor.

They had been following this matter for more than half a year, and to this day, no one cared that the expedition was initiated by Castells; people subconsciously celebrated the victory of the expeditionary force.

Castells? What's the difference between Castells and Blood Harbor?

With Hughes's deliberate downplaying of the situation and the prince's encouragement, the sense of identity among the people of Bloodharbor had gradually shifted. No one felt there was anything wrong with supporting Castells anymore, and the expeditionary force returning by carriage and the wounded soldiers of the first wave of resistance received the warmest welcome.

Grisha was still somewhat dazed when he stepped off the train.

He was wounded on the battlefield against the Dragon Fang Army.

He was a boy, so losing some blood wasn't a big deal, but losing the prosthetic limb that his sister Gwen had made by hand bothered him.

After being carried out of the pool of blood, he was among the first to be put on the train because of the poor conditions at the front and his young age.

To be honest, he was a little scared when he was crammed into such a closed steel carriage, but he was surrounded by seriously wounded people and was the least injured, so he was too embarrassed to show it.

They were heading to Castel, or Blood Harbor. Grisha couldn't really distinguish between the two places. Many members of the resistance often talked about Castel, which was their hope for persevering, but Grisha didn't.

Grisha always thought he would die here, in the North, on the land of his birth, but fate always seemed to play tricks on a child like him, giving him a future he dared not imagine.

“Castel,” Grisha muttered.

He didn't know what Castel looked like, nor had he ever thought about it carefully. He occasionally fantasized about it, but he always stopped himself immediately, afraid that if he fantasized too much, he would lose the courage to continue fighting.

Although many people treat him like a child, he stubbornly believes that he is a warrior, and if no one recognizes him, he will be a warrior all by himself.

A soldier cannot turn back; if he is too weak, he will be laughed at on the battlefield.

But when the unexpected victory finally arrived, he felt lost. He never thought about where he would go. Castells, whom the resistance fighters often mentioned to encourage each other, was a blank in his mind.

He was about to witness firsthand the reward fate would bestow upon him for his courage. The time spent confined in the carriage wasn't long; before he could even eat the food the expeditionary force had given him, the train slowed down.

Grisha glanced furtively at the others. Many of them hadn't eaten their food. Food was a precious thing, and it was better to save it rather than eat it carelessly, as it might save someone's life someday.

"We're about to enter the station. Everyone stay still. Someone will come to help," a soldier from the Expeditionary Force shouted.

This is the first batch to arrive, most of them are seriously wounded and in poor condition. The expeditionary force had already sent word in advance that the hospital would send people to pick them up directly.

Grisha glanced at the rice ball in his hand, hesitated for a moment, and then hid it in his clothes.

The carriage door slowly opened, and Grisha glanced at everyone before slowly moving to the doorway, peeking out cautiously.

He wanted to see what the place everyone had been longing for was really like.

Grisha was stunned after just one glance.

What a sight this is!

The northern border is desolate, often stretching for dozens or even hundreds of miles without a trace of human habitation. The flat desert is often shrouded in mist, and occasionally birds and beasts can be seen flying by in the distance.

Occasionally, villages and settlements appear like oases in an endless desert—beautiful but fleeting, while most of the time, the landscape is an endless wasteland.

Grisha's eyes widened.

The first thing he saw was a row of tall buildings—the first school built near the docks, only five or six stories high, but in the North, only the towers of the tallest castles were so majestic.

But those tall buildings stretched out one after another, like an endless city wall.

To the left was a truly towering building, the lighthouse on the dockside, but Grisha couldn't see its top. The station's roof and the narrow view from the carriages allowed him to only catch a glimpse of a corner of the city.

Closer in, there was a long row of houses, square and neat, houses that Grisha had never seen before.

The Silent Church favors domes; their churches always have tall, spherical domes, while the houses of ordinary White Crows have pointed roofs with steep slopes, so that snow can be pushed down in winter to prevent the houses from collapsing.

But the house in front of us is square and rectangular.

This square house, with its square windows, has a strange sense of unreality, like a mud house built by girls when they play house. If Grisha hadn't seen the figures inside, he would never have believed it was a real house.

Grisha reluctantly turned his gaze from the distance to the nearby station. The platform was crowded with people shouting something at them and throwing things at them. Most of these were stopped by the expeditionary force at the gate, but occasionally some slipped through the net, such as the cardboard box in front of Grisha.

Grisha flinched, unsure of the outsiders' attitude. Would they also turn away refugees like him?
Grisha shook his head, took a deep breath, and carefully picked up the cardboard box.

(End of this chapter)