Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent-Chapter 48: THE GOLDEN TICKET
Red sat in the Void, watching the fruits of his "Corporate Merger."
[ EXPANSION REPORT ]
→ New Population: +150 Dust-Paw Kobolds (Integrated into Mining). +120 lizardmen. (integrated into training and building.)
→ New Resource: Star-Iron (High Durability / Magic Resistance).
→ Food Status: Surplus (Bio-Reactor Output: 110%). 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖
Down in the Bastion, the culture was shifting. The Dust-Paw Kobolds, once starving and frail, were now eating three meals a day. Their fur was growing back thick and shiny. They worked alongside the Troglodytes in the deep mines, learning to swing pickaxes instead of sharp sticks.
Moss-Eye was busy refining the Star-Iron.
"It drinks magic," Moss-Eye marveled, pouring a vial of acid on the black metal. The acid sizzled and vanished. "If we make shields from this... the Druid’s spells will bounce off like rain."
Razor-Fin was drilling the new recruits. "You are not Dust-Paws anymore!" Razor-Fin roared, snapping his tail. "You are Iron-Paws! You do not dig for dirt! You dig for the Spiral!"
The integration was messy. There were fistfights in the mess hall over who got the "fresh" paste, but under the Code of the Spiral, order held.
Red leaned back, satisfied.
He glanced around, and waited for a few seconds. Then, he let out a sigh and purchased Mana hardtack.
He was about to eat it when suddenly, the black sky of the Void turned a deep, shimmering gold.
"What the...! This is new."
A massive notification, bordered in celestial filigree, descended in front of Red. It wasn’t a local alert. It was a Server-Wide Announcement.
[ SYSTEM EVENT: THE ANNUAL PANTHEON CONCLAVE ]
[ LOCATION: THE NEXUS OF TRUCE ] [ TIME: 48 HOURS ]
[ INVITED DEITIES): ]
- Aurelius, The Golden King (Rank 9)
- Sylara, The Mycelium Queen (Rank 17)
- Gorr, The Stone Mother (Rank 4)
- The Rotting Druid (Rank 4)
- Rubedo, God of the Spiral (Rank 3)
...and 40 others.
[ OPTION: ACCEPT / DECLINE ]
Red stared at the list. Rank 9. The Golden King. And then at Sylara who was Rank 17. That was God-Tier. A being who probably controlled entire nations, not just a swamp.
"A mixer," Red whispered. "With monsters."
He hovered his hand over [ DECLINE ].
His paranoia flared.
"What would happen there? What if high ranking gods kill the low ranking gods? Is this a trap to lure me out of my territory so they can nuke Bastion while I’m gone?"
He needed intel. And he only knew one person who had been to these before.
Red pulled up his contact list.
[ OUTGOING CALL: GORR (RANK 4) ]
Click.
Gorr’s stone avatar appeared. She was currently overseeing the carving of a massive gemstone. She didn’t look up.
"Let me guess," Gorr grunted. "You got the shiny letter."
"I did," Red said, keeping his voice neutral. "I see your name is on the list."
"And the Druid’s. And the Golden Boy’s. It’s the yearly roll call," Gorr said, chipping away at a ruby.
"I’m thinking of declining," Red lied smoothly. "I usually skip these things. Too busy managing the... expansion. Besides, I don’t trust High Rankers. Putting a Rank 3 in a room with a Rank 9 seems like a recipe for digestion."
Gorr stopped chiseling. She looked at the screen, a dry, cracking sound escaping her throat. It was laughter.
"You ’usually skip’?" Gorr mocked. "Rubedo, you’ve been active for barely two months. You’re still smelling like wet eggshell. Don’t pretend you’re too cool for the party."
"Wait... how do you know that?"
"We are friends now, so I can see your profile details now. It shows when you became a god. Don’t worry, only friends can see that so as long as you don’t go spamming friend requests like some lonely teen, your secret will be safe. And honestly, no one cares how old the god is. They only care about their ranks and the numbers of their followers."
Red stayed silent, letting her have her fun.
"Listen, Paranoia," Gorr sighed, wiping dust from her stone hands. "The Conclave isn’t a trap. It’s held in the Nexus of Truce."
"And that means? The ’Truce’ in the title can’t fool me. It could be just for the show."
"It’s a Null-Magic Zone," Gorr explained. "System-enforced pacifism. You can’t cast a miracle. You can’t summon a weapon. You can’t even punch someone without the System freezing you in place. It’s the only place in the universe where a Slime God can sit next to a Fire God without evaporating."
"So it’s safe?" Red asked.
"It’s boring," Gorr corrected. "But it’s safe. We go to trade blueprints, gossip about the Sector leaders, and complain about the drop rates."
"Why are you going?" Red asked. "You don’t seem like the social type."
"I live in a canyon with blind moles, Red," Gorr said, leaning back. "The Nexus has spectral wine that tastes like starlight, and for twelve hours, I don’t have to listen to digging. It’s a vacation. A change of pace."
"Tasty food, you say?" That piqued Red’s interest.
She looked at him sharply.
"You should go. If you stay in your swamp forever, you’ll think you’re a King. Go to the Nexus, see the high-ranking gods... and realize you’re just a Mayor."
"Thanks for the ego check," Red said dryly.
"See you there, Spiral. Don’t wear the rags."
Click.
[ CALL ENDED ]
Red floated in the silence of the Void.
A Null-Magic Zone. A place where physics, magic, and divine power were neutralized. A place where he could look his enemies in the eye—including the Druid, and maybe even Aurelius—without fear of instant death.
"Information," Red decided. "I need to know what the ’Endgame’ looks like."
If Marcus and the other Heroes were out there, the Gods at this Conclave would know about them. They would be talking about the "Human Kingdoms" and their new champions.
Red reached out and pressed the button.
[ INVITATION ACCEPTED ]
[ ACCESS GRANTED TO: THE NEXUS OF TRUCE ]
[ COUNTDOWN: 47 HOURS, 59 MINUTES ]
Red looked down at his avatar—a simple, spectral red robe. "Gorr said don’t wear rags."
He opened the [ CUSTOMIZATION ] menu. "If I’m going to walk among Gods," Red whispered, "I need to look like the Boss."
He began to design his formal attire. Not the armor of a warrior, but the suit of a CEO. Sharp. Modern. Pitch black with crimson trim.
"Time to network."
