novelraw Chapter 488 : The Steel Ship
Chapter 488 : The Steel Ship
Chapter 488: The Steel Ship
It was already quite a good ending.
Hunter heard from the members of the Cult of the Hidden who guarded him that the others captured along with him had received even heavier sentences—one of them had even been sentenced to lifelong imprisonment.
His own crime, by comparison, was lighter.
According to the presiding but unseen judge, Lady Chloe, although he had participated in the Allied Forces’ siege against the Resistance Army, his actions had not been considered particularly malicious. He had only been involved in manufacturing siege engines such as catapults, and under the deliberate restraint of Viscount Frey, those weapons were scarcely ever used—after all, the Allied Forces had never truly intended to breach Sleddinburg.
Thus, he left the Tribunal just like that.
Staring at the sunlight before him, Hunter felt a kind of disbelief. Since his capture, his fate had been full of ups and downs—after countless moments of despair, he had somehow survived. Though he would have to spend fifteen years on that place called Castel...
Wait—this was no time to relax. As a scholar, he vaguely recalled something about Castel. It was an island at the farthest border of the Empire, rumored to be barren and desolate. What could he possibly do there?
He had studied mechanical engineering—was he supposed to teach Devil Fish how to make gears?
There probably weren’t even a handful of literate people on the island, let alone anyone who understood machinery.
And since it was imprisonment, he would likely be forced into hard labor. With his frail body that grew short of breath after walking a few steps, could he really endure fifteen years?
Wasn’t this still just another road to death?
Hunter fell into despair once more.
What could he possibly rely on? His noble status? The local lord had clearly decided that noble titles held no meaning anymore. Discussing such things was pointless. He was merely a scholar—not particularly important to his family. It was already generous of them to pay his ransom; for them to cross the Northlands and the Principality of Tis to rescue him...
Forget it.
Hunter knew his own worth. He wasn’t worth that price.
Lost in such thoughts, Hunter was escorted onto a ship. The blare of the steam whistle as it departed startled him back to awareness, and he looked around.
Uh...
Hunter realized he was being watched.
The ones surrounding him were all young people—about his age. The reason they were staring at him was obvious—
Hunter was the only one wearing shackles, guarded on both sides by two unmistakable sentinels.
They were in the lower deck—a hall within the ship’s hold—lining up for meals.
Feeling awkward, Hunter glanced around at the young people and soon noticed something interesting. Each of them was holding a booklet.
The booklets were all of the same make, and everyone seemed to treat them with great care. Even while waiting in line, many kept reading them attentively.
That made Hunter curious. He squinted to make out the words printed on the cover.
“Imperial Truth: Holy Text?”
He could understand Holy Text, but what in the world was Imperial Truth?
He had seen the Empire’s power, its army, its bayonets and gunpowder—but he had never seen truth.
And Truth paired with Holy Text somehow felt... off.
Wait—if it was a Holy Text, did that mean they were all part of some Church?
Yes, likely the Church of the Sea God, wasn’t it?
Hunter glanced left and right, hesitated a bit, but curiosity won in the end. He whispered, “Are you all members of the Church?”
Following his gaze toward their Holy Texts, the young people suddenly looked amused.
“No, you misunderstand. We haven’t joined the Imperial Truth. It’s just that everyone going to Castel for further study receives one of these.”
“Ah?” Hunter looked at his empty hands, then turned to the guards beside him.
“You’re a convict, not a student heading to Castel,” one of the guards said coolly. “Naturally, you don’t get one.”
Hunter awkwardly lowered his hands—but in the next moment, a booklet was handed toward him.
“Even though it’s not issued to you, there’s no harm in reading it. The Holy Text of the Imperial Truth is open to all—just like truth itself.”
Hunter accepted the Holy Text from the guard, feeling conflicted. His gaze briefly fell upon the sacred emblem on the guard’s chest.
That must have been the emblem of the Imperial Truth. Since leaving Blood Harbor, his guards had been changed out—a reasonable measure, given that those from Blood Harbor had seemed to be members of some Mystics.
“Thank you,” Hunter said softly. He was about to open the Holy Text when the guard gave him a shove.
“Not now—it’s your turn. Get your meal first.”
Lifting his head, Hunter realized he had reached the serving window. Flustered, he tucked the Holy Text under his clothes, just as a sturdy matron behind the counter handed him a tray of food.
He received it with both hands—and then froze.
“What’s wrong? Don’t just stand there—move along! There are others waiting!”
Hunter’s eyes fell on the tray in his hands.
It was a metal tray—square, polished to a sheen, stamped from refined steel.
Steel? A dining tray?
Such a combination was rare indeed. He had seen finer and costlier tableware before—his family owned an entire set of pure silver utensils, far more expensive and delicate.
Yet this tray before him gave him a strange, indescribable feeling, as though something hovered just beyond memory. The more he tried to recall, the more elusive it became.
He kept walking with the line until they reached a box.
The box, too, was made of stamped steel, filled with forks, spoons, and a kind of metal stick that some people used—similar to tweezers in function.
The sense of dissonance grew stronger. Hunter took a set of utensils and sat with the two guards at a table.
The tables and chairs were bolted to the floor—understandable, given the ship’s motion. Fixed furniture was safer that way.
But at that moment, Hunter’s unease reached its peak.
He realized—the tables and chairs were also made of steel.
Steel was a precious strategic resource. A blacksmith’s forge working day and night could smelt perhaps two or three thousand pounds of iron in a year.
And refining pig iron into steel consumed immense labor and time. What lay before him—utensils, tables, and chairs—were all fine, polished steel of uniform quality.
Hunter glanced around. Every person had a tray, several utensils, and behind the serving counter, boxes filled with more steel tableware.
Even if his family used all their wealth, they could scarcely furnish such a dining hall. But... why?
With so much refined steel, how many weapons could be forged? How many soldiers armed? How much land and wealth gained? To squander it like this?
Hunter was lost in thought when the fork in his hand slipped and fell to the floor, striking it with a crisp metallic clang.
He bent down to pick it up—then froze again.
The floor... seemed to be steel as well.