Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent-Chapter 49: THE ANNUAL PANTHEON CONCLAVE

The countdown hit [ 00:30:00 ].

Red stood in the center of the Void, looking at his reflection in a floating mirror pane. His default avatar was a vague, hooded figure in red robes with a question mark instead of a face.

"Too generic," Red muttered. "If I go looking like a cultist, they’ll treat me like a minion."

He opened the [ AVATAR CUSTOMIZATION ] menu. It cost DP to change appearance, but presentation was an investment.

For the base layer, he selected a tailored suit, similar to what Marcus used to wear to galas, but better. Pitch black fabric that seemed to absorb light, woven from the darkness of the Void itself.

Then, for the accents, he chose a deep crimson tie and a handkerchief in the pocket.

He kept his features sharp but obscured by a faint, shifting shadow. And Glowing violet irises, which was the mark of the Spiral.

"Cost: 500 DP," Red approved. "Worth it."

He turned to his guest. Iron-Scale stood awkwardly in the Void, looking around at the infinite blackness with wide, reptilian eyes. He was the first follower Red had ever pulled up here.

"My Lord," Iron-Scale whispered, bowing low. "Is this afterlife? I want to know how I died. Was it Gorak? Please strike him once."

"Stand up, Inquisitor," Red adjusted his spectral cufflinks. "You are my +1. You need to look the part."

Red waved his hand. [ MIRACLE: GLAMOUR (TEMPORARY) ]

Iron-Scale’s muddy leather armor vanished. It was replaced by a sleek, high-collared vest of black dragon-scale and a long, formal coat. His spear was transmuted into a walking cane topped with a silver skull.

Iron-Scale looked at himself. He looked less like a swamp lizard and more like a draconic Victorian gentleman.

"Fit," Iron-Scale grinned, tapping the cane. "Who do I kill?"

"No one," Red corrected. "Today, we kill them with words. We are going to a party, Iron-Scale. And we are going to be the most interesting people in the room."

[ TELEPORTATION INITIATED ]

The Void dissolved into white light.

They materialized on a massive floating platform made of white marble and gold. It drifted in a sea of nebulae and stars. The sky was a swirling aurora of colors—purple, gold, green, and blue.

Ahead of them stood the Hall of the Pantheon. It was a colossal structure, like a Greek temple mixed with a sci-fi citadel. Massive pillars held up a roof that seemed to disappear into the cosmos.

Other gods were arriving.

To the left, a being made entirely of Magma teleported in, accompanied by a Fire Elemental.

To the right, a floating Giant Eye drifted past, trailed by three hooded cultists.

Red straightened his jacket. Iron-Scale stood by his right hand, looking unbothered by the cosmic horror around them.

"Walk," Red ordered.

They approached the massive golden doors. Two towering Golems crossed their halberds.

"Identify," the Golem boomed.

"Rubedo," Red said calmly. "Rank 3. God of the Spiral."

The Golems scanned him. The blue light turned green. "Enter."

The doors groaned open.

The inside of the Hall was deafening. Not with noise, but with Pressure. It was filled with the conflicting auras of fifty different deities.

The room was arranged in tiers.

→ The Low Floor: Ranks 1-10 mingled here. Tables with spectral wine and ambrosia were set up.

→ The High Balcony: Ranks 11-20 looked down from above.

→ The Apex Throne: A single, blindingly bright seat at the very top, currently empty. That was for the Rank 50+ (The Sector Administrator).

Red walked in. The chatter didn’t stop, but heads turned. Most gods looked like monsters or knights. Red looked like he owned the bank that funded their wars.

"Show no fear," Red whispered to Iron-Scale.

He scanned the room. He saw Sylara (Rank 17). She was a delicate, glowing figure made of translucent mushrooms and spores. She was sitting alone at a small table, looking nervous as a massive Orc God laughed loudly in the lower floor.

He saw Gorr (Rank 4). She was easy to spot. A massive, blocky woman made of granite, sitting at the bar, drinking from a tankard the size of a barrel. She saw Red and raised a rocky eyebrow.

And he saw The Rotting Druid (Rank 4). The plant-avatar was standing near a fountain, talking to a Water Goddess.

Red walked straight to the bar.

"Gorr," Red nodded.

"You cleaned up," Gorr grunted, looking at his suit. "You look like a loan shark."

"I prefer ’Investor’," Red signaled the spectral bartender. "Water with Ice."

"And who is this?" Gorr pointed a stone finger at Iron-Scale.

"My Inquisitor," Red introduced. "Iron-Scale. He handles... complaints."

Iron-Scale bowed elegantly. "A pleasure, Stone Mother. Your Molekins dig very straight tunnels. We appreciate the craftsmanship."

Gorr actually smiled. "Polite. I like him. Better than my golems. They just grind."

"Well, well," a raspy voice drifted from behind.

Red turned. The Rotting Druid slid up to the bar. Up close, his avatar was even uglier with wet bark and moss.

"The Industrialist arrives," the Druid sneered, though his voice was kept low due to the Truce. "I see you brought your pet lizard."

"Gardener," Red nodded coolly. "I see you managed to grow a new face. It’s an improvement."

The Druid’s leaf twitched. "Cute. Enjoy the wine, Rubedo. It’s the only thing you’ll taste before I bury your little factory."

"Is that a threat?" Red asked, sipping his water. "I thought this was a Truce zone."

"It is," the Druid leaned in. "But out there? In the Swamp? The truce ends when the clock strikes midnight."

Red stepped closer. He was shorter than the tree-man, but his presence was denser.

"You lost a Tower, Druid. You lost a Colossus. You’re Rank 4, I’m Rank 3. And yet... I’m the one expanding."

Red placed his glass on the bar.

"If you want to try again, feel free. I have more chimneys."

Gorr watched with amusement, sipping her drink.

Suddenly, a trumpet blast shook the hall. The room went silent.

[ ANNOUNCEMENT: ARRIVAL OF THE HIGH SECTOR ]

The massive doors at the top of the balcony blew open.

Golden light flooded the room, blinding the lower gods. A figure stepped out. He wore armor made of pure sunlight. His cape flowed like liquid gold. He didn’t walk; he descended.

[ AURELIUS, THE GOLDEN KING (RANK 9) ]

"How come he gets a flashy entry? Does it also cost DP?" Red wondered.

He floated down to the center of the room. The pressure of his aura forced the weaker gods (Ranks 1-2) to their knees.

Red felt the weight. It was like gravity doubling. Iron-Scale hissed, struggling to stay upright, leaning heavily on his cane.

Red didn’t kneel. He locked his knees. He forced his spine straight.

’I will not bow to a flashlight.’

Aurelius landed. He looked around the room with a smile that was dazzling, perfect, and utterly terrifying.

"Welcome, friends," Aurelius said. His voice sounded like a choir. "I trust your little... ant farms are doing well?"

Red narrowed his eyes. ’Ant farms?’

"He thinks he’s the player," Red whispered to Iron-Scale. "And we’re the NPCs."

Iron-Scale bared his teeth in a silent snarl. "I do not like him. He shines too bright. He has no shadow."

"Patience," Red murmured. "Watch and Listen. Learn where the gold is buried."