novelraw Chapter 489 : Castel Syndrome
Chapter 489 : Castel Syndrome
Chapter 489: Castel Syndrome
For a brief instant, Hunter only felt his scalp go numb. He slowly straightened up, his trembling eyes scanning the surroundings.
People held utensils in their hands, eating the food on their plates while chatting with each other. Some were flipping through the Holy Text.
No one paid attention to the knives, forks, or the plates in their hands, nor to the material beneath their feet or above their heads.
As if these were the most ordinary things in the world.
Hunter looked down at his own plate.
The stamping on the plate was crude, and the edges were roughly treated—just enough not to cut one’s hand. It was far less exquisite than those silver-forged tablewares.
The table and chairs beneath him were equally plain, without a trace of pattern or ornamentation—only numbers and production sites were engraved on their corners.
Everything seemed ordinary on the surface. These were nothing but daily necessities, disposable items that no one cared about—utterly insignificant.
Yet Hunter felt an icy chill creeping all over his body.
Was he the one going mad, or was the world itself insane? Had he been cursed—mistaking everything he saw for steel?
Such a precious strategic material, used for flooring?
Wait—Hunter trembled as he lifted his head and looked toward the ceiling.
Ah, that too was made of steel.
A mad thought surged up from the depths of his heart. Hunter ignored everything else and rushed straight to the ship’s side.
The dining hall erupted into chaos. The two Holy Guards watching over him reacted a moment too late and hurried forward to pin him down to the floor.
Hunter did not resist. He had already seen what he wanted to see, and his face was now filled with shock.
“Steel… steel… this is… a ship made of steel!”
From the viewing window along the hull, he saw everything clearly.
The entire ship was made of steel. The streamlined hull glinted with the unique sheen of metal.
How large was this vessel? Hunter couldn’t even guess. His mind felt hazy, on the verge of exploding.
How much steel would it take to build such a ship? If one gathered all the steel from across the Northlands—emptied the warehouses of the Three Grand Dukes and Earl Bazel—would that be enough?
Perhaps it would. Perhaps it wouldn’t. Hunter no longer had time to think about it.
What he saw from the ship’s side was not just this steel vessel—there was also… an entire fleet not far away.
Ships exactly the same—steel hulls, steel decks, everything steel.
There was no paint, no decoration—only a numerical identification etched on the hull.
Pinned to the ground, Hunter’s face pressed tightly against the deck. The cold, rough steel made him feel as though he had fallen into an abyss.
His gaze fell upon the chair ahead, which also bore a series of engraved numbers.
Yes… these gigantic steel warships were no different from the knives and forks in people’s hands or the tables and chairs they sat on—merely ordinary consumables.
“Consumables… ordinary steel…”
Hunter mumbled incoherently as countless memories surged through his mind. His eyes gradually lost their light.
He was a scholar—a scholar specialized in mechanical engineering—
“‘Professor, this is my research result!’”
Hunter proudly pulled several neatly folded blueprints from a leather case.
“As long as we use my design, the steel consumption in a catapult can be reduced by fifteen percent! All these support points can be replaced with wood, and the overall strength barely decreases—though durability will drop slightly.”
The old man before him took the drawings, examined them carefully through a magnifying glass, and when he looked up, his face was filled with delight.
“A brilliant idea! Hunter, how many designs is this now? You’ve modified nearly every siege engine, and what’s rare is that all of them are practical. Hunter, keep researching—you’ll change this world!”
“I will… change this world.”
Hunter whimpered the words, staring blankly at everything before him. Everywhere his eyes turned—there was only steel.
He had spent half a month thinking, revising, and experimenting—just to save a little steel.
But before him now stood steel warships, each bearing only a simple serial number. No one cared about saving material. No one cared about optimization. Each ship was just a number—and once one number wore out, another would replace it.
If the entire Northlands used his machines… if the Northlands waged war for a thousand years—could the steel saved over those thousand years match even one of these numbered ships?
Perhaps it could. Perhaps it couldn’t. Castel would not care. Castel could build another numbered ship long before a thousand years passed.
“Change… this world? Me? Hahahahahaha!”
Though pinned to the ground, Hunter no longer cared. He burst into hysterical laughter, wild and frenzied.
Saliva mixed with snot smeared across his face. Tears fell, splattering on the polished steel floor—shattering into tiny beads.
The two Holy Guards cursed as they dragged him out of the room.
“Damn it, another one’s gone mad. What’s with all these cases of Castel Syndrome lately?”
“Castel Syndrome?”
Hughes flipped through the report in his hands, frowning deeply.
“Yes. The incidence of this disorder has been increasing,” Richard said, adjusting his monocle.
“Explain in detail.”
“Yes, my Lord.” Richard spread out several documents in front of Hughes.
“Half a year ago, after we began establishing schools in Blood Harbor, the first graduates who passed their assessments came here to Castel for further study. Around that same time, cases of Castel Syndrome began appearing.”
“This illness manifests mainly as sudden collapse, brief madness, hysterical screaming, or delirium. We suspect that the cause is a mental breakdown—when the patients witness Castel’s creations, their worldview collapses, resulting in severe cognitive dissonance. These effects, to some extent, interfere with reality—not to the level of Cognitive Interference—but they do disrupt their own perception of it.”
“Disrupt themselves?”
“Yes. Cognitive Interference involves one’s will influencing reality. But these patients are the opposite—their personal will collapses entirely.”
“That sounds serious.”
“It is very serious. For ordinary people, recovery can take a long time—rebuilding their worldview from the ground up. Some may deteriorate, shifting from temporary madness to recurrent madness, and eventually to permanent insanity—losing their sanity forever.”
“For the Transcendents, it’s even worse. Their cognition is directly anchored to their Anchor within the Sea of Unawareness. If they fall ill, their anchor may become contaminated or even corroded, possibly leading to complete loss of control—turning them into monsters.”
Hughes took a deep breath. That serious?
“Is there any treatment?”
“Not yet. But I did notice one thing…” Richard hesitated slightly. “Among the Mystics—those who worship you as a God—none seem to develop Castel Syndrome.”