Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent-Chapter 93: Post Revelation

Krug stared at the empty space above the forge-pit. The violet flames of his faith suddenly felt entirely too warm. He turned on his heel and walked swiftly off the stone balcony. He needed quiet.

Iron-Scale followed close behind him. The metallic Inquisitor’s heavy tail dragged across the stone floor. The blade of his scythe scraped against the wall. He looked entirely rattled.

They stepped into a dark, quiet corridor away from the roaring furnaces and the profoundly confused murmurs of the crowd.

"This is a test," Iron-Scale hissed. He paced back and forth in the shadows, his metal claws clicking frantically against the stone. "It has to be a test of our resolve. I am the shadow of the Void. I execute the enemies of the Lord. How am I supposed to... court someone?"

Krug crossed his arms, hiding his trembling hands inside his deep robes. "The Lord does not give fake tests. It is a direct divine mandate. We are required to breed."

Iron-Scale stopped pacing and stared at the High Priest in sheer horror. "Look at me, Krug. I am made of living metal. My scales are literal star-iron armor. I do not even know if my biology still functions in that capacity. And even if it does, who in the Bastion would willingly mate with a walking blade?"

"That is a logistical excuse," Krug replied strictly, though his voice lacked its usual booming authority. "You will find a loyal Kobold. You will explain that it is the Lord’s will. You will perform the sacred duty. You are young and popular. You have skills. I am sure there would be many females willing to mate with you."

Iron-Scale narrowed his glowing yellow eyes. "And what about you, Chief? You spend twenty hours a day reading the sacred texts and organizing swamp-farm crop yields. You have to make sure everything is running and happening as intended. You have to manage the five tribes of bastion. You have the personality of a dried root. How do you plan to woo a mate?"

Krug stiffened. He pulled a blank parchment scroll from his robes and a piece of black charcoal.

"I will not ’woo’ anyone," Krug stated flatly. "I will approach this with the exact same efficiency I apply to running the Bastion. I will draft a list of female Kobolds with the highest daily Faith generation. I will conduct formal interviews regarding their devotion to the Creator. I will then select the most devout candidate to bear the next generation of priests."

Iron-Scale stared at the blank scroll in the High Priest’s hands. The Inquisitor let out a slow, raspy sigh that echoed in the dark corridor.

"We are going to be terrible at this," Iron-Scale muttered.

Krug stared down at the empty parchment. "Yes. We absolutely are."

Gorak squeezed his massive frame into the dark corridor, his heavy bone-plates scraping loudly against the stone walls. He looked just as overwhelmed as the two Kobolds.

Iron-Scale immediately perked up. The Inquisitor leaned on his scythe and let out a raspy laugh.

"Ah, the blushing Warlord arrives," Iron-Scale mocked, his yellow eyes gleaming in the dark. "Tell us, Gorak. How does the apex predator prepare for his new divine duties? Will you forge a crib out of star-iron? Will you sing lullabies about crushed skulls and broken spines?"

Gorak grunted, crossing his heavy arms. "Shut your mouth, lizard."

Krug did not look up from his blank parchment, but he nodded slowly. "It is a valid question, Gorak. You are highly destructive. Raising an infant requires a delicate touch."

Iron-Scale clicked his metal claws together. "Exactly! The big, bad Warlord is suddenly domesticated. The terror of the wasteland is going to be fetching water and changing dirty hides."

Before Gorak could snap back and threaten to break the Inquisitor’s polished weapon in half, heavy footsteps echoed at the end of the hall. Gulag appeared in the archway. She had wiped the blood from her chin and looked completely unfazed by Gorak’s massive size.

She pointed a thick gray finger directly at the Warlord.

"You," Gulag commanded, her voice blunt and entirely serious. "The God demands a bloodline. My quarters are this way. Come with me."

Iron-Scale covered his mouth, his metal shoulders shaking as he tried to hold back another hissing laugh. "Look at that, Gorak. You are being summoned. Best not keep the lady waiting. Make sure she doesn’t die while mating!"

Gorak looked from the smirking Inquisitor to the utterly paralyzed High Priest. A slow, triumphant grin spread across Gorak’s scarred face. The Warlord uncrossed his arms and stepped toward Gulag. He paused just before leaving the corridor and looked over his heavy shoulder.

"Mock me all you want," Gorak rumbled deeply. "But the Lord gave us a direct command. And I am about to beat the High Priest and the grand Inquisitor at fulfilling it. Have fun staring at your blank scroll, Krug."

Gorak turned and followed Gulag out of the corridor, leaving the two Kobolds standing in total, miserable silence.

By midnight, the massive forge-pit of Onyx Hall was entirely empty. The divine mandate had effectively disbanded the gathering. The mutated Kobolds and slippery Grey-fins marched off, heading back down the road to the Bastion to fulfill their new religious obligations in the privacy of their swamp-huts.

However, the larger monsters in Red’s army faced a severe logistical problem.

The towering Shell-Kin and the massive, lumbering Treants simply could not fit inside the standard barracks or the subterranean tunnels to perform their sacred homework. The ground shook as the colossal beasts awkwardly filed out of the settlement, migrating deep into the open wasteland and the surrounding fungal swamps.

They needed to find enough open space to follow Red’s absolute law without crushing the architecture.

Up in the Void, the sprawling holographic map on Red’s terminal lit up with hundreds of new, highly active biological signatures.

The live feeds from the Bastion, the Fungal Deep, and the surrounding swamp-farms showed a massive, empire-wide scramble. His terrifying, bloodthirsty army of monsters was currently trying to navigate the incredibly awkward logistics of courtship and reproduction.

Red watched a feed of a towering Shell-Kin trying to present a massive, polished boulder to a potential mate. On another screen, he saw the heavy stone doors of Gulag’s quarters slam shut behind the massive Warlord.

Red immediately reached out and hit the master kill-switch on his console.

The visual feeds snapped to black.

"Yeah, I have absolutely no interest in watching that," Red said to the empty expanse of his domain.

He had successfully laid the biological foundation for the next generation of his empire. The Faith generation would eventually skyrocket, and the army would become entirely self-sustaining. His job for the day was officially done.

Red opened a minor administrative menu and used his basic domain privileges to manipulate the ambient energy of the Void, forming a thick, soft pillow right out of thin air.

He dropped the pillow onto his throne, leaned his head back, and threw his feet up on the edge of the dormant terminal.

Down below, the monstrous wasteland was busy building the future. Up in the dark, the God of the Spiral closed his eyes and finally went to sleep.