Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent-Chapter 40: Biological Weapon

[ INCOMING CALL: GORR (RANK 4) ] [ PRIORITY: HIGH ]

Red frowned. Gorr usually sent a text or a trade request. A high-priority video call meant trouble.

Red accepted the call.

The screen flickered. The familiar stone avatar of Gorr appeared. But the background wasn’t her usual Trade Hall. It was dark, illuminated only by glowing crystals. She looked... agitated.

"Rubedo," Gorr’s voice grated, lacking its usual sarcastic humor. "We need to talk."

"Gorr," Red sat up straighter. "Is it the Molekins? Did they cause trouble?"

"The moles are fine. They dig well," Gorr dismissed. "This is about the neighborhood. You’ve been making a lot of noise, Rubedo. Killing Hydra. Conquering mountains. Lighting big violet fires."

"I’m just expanding," Red defended. "Civilization building."

"You’re loud," Gorr said bluntly. "And the noise travels."

She leaned closer to the screen.

"I just got a ping from the Southern Border. My trade scouts picked up movement. Big movement."

Red pulled up his map. The South was the domain of The Rotting Druid (Rank 4).

"The Druid?" Red asked. "I brushed with his scouts a few weeks ago. Is he attacking?"

"It’s not an attack," Gorr said ominously. "It’s a migration."

"Spores," Gorr clarified. "A massive cloud of Necrotic Spores is drifting North. It’s moving slowly, but it’s killing everything it touches. Trees, animals... trade routes."

Gorr paused.

"It’s heading for your swamp, Red. If that cloud hits your Bastion... your fish die. Your crops die. Your wooden walls rot."

Red looked at his beautifully optimized city. He looked at the aqueducts, the school, the training grounds. All of it was biological. All of it was vulnerable to rot.

"Is this a declaration of war?" Red asked, his voice cold.

"It’s worse," Gorr said. "The Rotting Druid isn’t sending an army. He’s sending the Weather. He’s terraforming your land into his land."

Gorr’s stone eyes narrowed.

"You have maybe three days before the front hits. You can’t stab a cloud, Red. And you can’t intimidate a fungus."

"What are you going to do?"

"Me?" Gorr scoffed. "I’m closing my borders. Stone doesn’t rot, but I don’t want that smell in my canyon. I’m calling to warn you because I owned you a favor for killing the Hydra, and you gave me good moles. Consider the debt paid."

[ CALL ENDED ]

Red sat in the silence of the Void.

He looked down at Bastion. The Mud-Skippers were laughing in the school. The Grey-Fins were swimming in the clear water.

"Three days," Red whispered.

He looked at his [ 1,000% CAUSALITY CHARGE ].

"You want a weather war, Druid?"

Red stood up, his spectral form glowing with violet intensity.

"I have ten nukes and a degree in thermodynamics. Let’s dance."

The decision hung in the air of the Void like a guillotine blade.

[ OPTION A: MIGRATION ]

→ Pros: Saves the population. Zero casualties.

→ Cons: Bastion is lost. The aqueducts clog. The kelp dies. The buildings rot. The "City" becomes a "Ruins" map.

"This is the safest option..." Red muttered to himself in the void. "No one dies, but I lose everything else I have built."

Red looked at Bastion.

"I have invested too much, and starting all over again would waste so much time and DP. Even with my 100x. It won’t just be reconstruction. I will have to take out the virus and the fungus. And depending on how concentrated it is... I might even lose this land permanently. And what if The Rotting Druid sends another cloud?"

[ OPTION B: DEFENSE ]

→ Pros: Maintains infrastructure. Keeps the territory.

→ Cons: High risk. If the defense fails, the population dies.

Red looked at his city. He looked at the school where the children were learning to write. He looked at the smoker where the fish were curing.

"I didn’t build a refugee camp," Red growled, swiping Option A away. "I built a Civilization. And Civilizations don’t run from the rain."

He looked at the approaching Green Fog on the map, which was now visible since he had acquired the information. It was a biological weapon. A localized ecosystem overwrite.

"Gorr said I can’t stab a cloud," Red muttered. "She’s right. Physical damage is useless."

He tapped his chin.

"But fungus has a weakness. It loves moisture. It hates heat. And it absolutely cannot survive Thermal Sterilization."

He pulled up a new window. He didn’t need a miracle. He needed physics. Specifically, Thermodynamics.

"If I can’t build a dome of glass," Red whispered, his eyes lighting up with a dangerous idea, "I’ll build a dome of Fire."

Red projected his avatar into the Temple. The Violet Fire roared, signaling a summons.

Krug (High Priest) was already there. Iron-Scale (Inquisitor) ran in from the training grounds. Old-Shell (Tank Commander) lumbered to the door. The Root-Father (Treant Elder) stood outside, his branches trembling as he sensed the approaching death in the air.

[THE SOUTH IS DYING,] Red announced, his voice echoing from the flames. [A PLAGUE COMES ON THE WIND.]

The Root-Father groaned. "The Rot... we feel it. The trees scream. We must leave. We must go to the stone. To Onyx Hall"

[NO,] Red commanded. [WE DO NOT RUN.]

He projected a holographic map of Bastion onto the temple floor. He drew a circle around the city perimeter.

[FUNGUS BREATHES WATER. WE WILL GIVE IT FIRE. WE ARE GOING TO BUILD A CHIMNEY.]

Red turned to the projection of the North.

[KRUG. SEND A RUNNER TO THE ONYX HALL. TELL ZEK I WANT COAL. NOT SOME OF IT. ALL OF IT. EMPTY THE BINS. STRIP THE VEINS. I WANT EVERY OUNCE OF FUEL THE MOUNTAIN HAS.]

[GORAK. YOU ARE THE MULE. LOAD THE SHELL-KIN. LOAD THE CARTS. IF IT BURNS, BRING IT SOUTH.]

Red turned to Old-Shell and the Root-Father.

[OLD ONE. DIG A TRENCH. A CIRCLE AROUND THE CITY. TEN FEET DEEP. TWENTY FEET WIDE. ROOT-FATHER. BUILD CHIMNEYS OF MUD AND STONE EVERY FIFTY METERS ALONG THAT TRENCH.]

"Chimneys?" The Root-Father was confused. "To cook?"

[TO BREATHE,] Red corrected. [WE WILL CREATE AN UPDRAFT. A WALL OF HEAT SO INTENSE THAT THE SPORES WILL BURN BEFORE THEY TOUCH THE GROUND.]

He looked at Krug.

[AND YOU, FLAME-KEEPER. WHEN THE FUEL IS LIT... YOU WILL MAKE IT HOLY.]