The great bell of Castel Cathedral rang out.
People emerged from the residential district in confusion, quickly learned of the situation, and then rushed off in every direction.
Canister after canister of physical pollution was thrown into the Central Furnace, while the Clamorers' din made the cathedral hum and tremble.
The protective inscriptions had been activated at full power.
The machine-gun positions atop the cathedral had now been fitted with heavy machine guns, and crate after crate of ammunition was hauled up. The islanders were confused and fearful. They did not understand why bullets were being brought here—hadn't battles always been fought by the shore?
This was Castel's central district.
Though the enemy had not yet been seen, the activation of the final line of defense was unsettling in itself.
The Faithguard Army had departed long ago. The people who usually patrolled and guarded the area around the cathedral had also vanished. As for the Banshees who could occasionally be seen, no one knew where they had all gone.
The flow of people gradually poured into the various factories. The furnaces of one Steam Engine after another burned ever hotter, and Castel's war machine slowly ramped its output to the maximum.
Theus paced rapidly through the room with a grim expression.
Since that day, Castel's war had changed completely. The intensity of the fighting had once been pitifully low; for the Faithguards, going to the battlefield to kill monsters had felt like going on an outing.
But after he had been forced to return, the sea seemed to have begun boiling. Every moment, monsters poured endlessly out of the deep ocean. Fishmen moved slowly and were little more than live targets for accurately aimed rifled muskets, but now they surged forth like a rising tide.
And no matter how the