Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent-Chapter 94: Marching for Mission

Red opened his eyes. The dark expanse of the Void was exactly as he had left it. He sat up, tossed the pillow aside, and tapped the master console. The holographic screens flared to life, casting a crimson and violet glow across his throne.

Before he checked on his own exhausted army, Red opened the cartography table to monitor the vassal gods.

He zoomed in on the eastern ridges. Down in Oros’s territory, the massive Crag-Goliaths were already breaking their backs. They used thick stone chains and pure brute strength to haul the first loose fragments of the Fossilized Leviathan out of the ash. It was agonizingly slow work, but they were moving tons of bone.

Red shifted the map to the toxic river crossings. The River-Trolls were making excellent progress. They stood safely on the muddy banks, hauling heavy timber and carving surface stone. Below them, Red’s elite Mud-Skippers dived into the violent, poisonous rapids, forcefully anchoring the star-iron bridge pillars directly into the bedrock. The foundation for the continental highway was officially underway.

Red minimized the allied feeds and brought up the Bastion.

The morning sun was just breaking through the thick ash clouds over the southern gates. The expeditionary force was fully assembled and ready to depart. It was a massive, heavily armed host consisting entirely of male Troglodytes, mutated Kobolds and Grey-Fins, and towering Shell-Kin.

The females had all been ordered to remain behind at the Bastion and Onyx Hall to govern the settlements, manage the workforces, and gestate the next generation of the empire. Of course, Red was only sending half of his army, while the other half stayed behind, including the high priest Krug.

Gorak leaned heavily against a massive star-iron transport sled. The Warlord had dark circles under his eyes, and his heavy bone armor looked like it weighed a hundred pounds more than usual. Despite the fatigue, a deeply smug, triumphant grin rested on his face.

Iron-Scale slithered up next to the Warlord. The metallic Inquisitor looked equally drained. He was silently polishing the razor-sharp blade of his pristine metal scythe to avoid looking Gorak in the eye.

"You look like a walking corpse, Warlord," Iron-Scale hissed, though his own raspy voice lacked its usual sharp edge.

"And you look like you spent the entire night reading a manual," Gorak rumbled back. He pushed off the heavy sled and crossed his massive arms. "Tell me the truth, Inquisitor. Did you actually find a Kobold willing to risk getting sliced to ribbons by your metal scales?"

Iron-Scale stopped polishing his scythe and glared at the Troglodyte. "The Inquisition requires absolute precision. I fulfilled the Lord’s mandate with flawless, calculated efficiency. It was a perfectly executed maneuver."

Gorak let out a booming, chest-deep laugh that echoed across the quiet training yard. "A calculated maneuver. I am sure she was thrilled."

Before Iron-Scale could threaten to test his polished blade against Gorak’s neck, Krug walked up to the gates to see the commanders off. The High Priest looked worse than both of them combined. He was clutching a crumpled parchment covered in frantic, scribbled charcoal notes.

"The logistics of courtship are a complete nightmare," Krug muttered. He rubbed his reptilian temples in pure defeat. "I interviewed thirty candidates. They all asked me to stop treating the mandate like a supply chain audit. It was humiliating."

Gorak chuckled again, patting the High Priest firmly on the shoulder. "The Lord gave us a war we actually had to fight without weapons, Krug. But the foundation is set. The Bastion is yours to manage. Take care of Onyx Hall too, and if there is any issue, you can contact Gulag."

Krug nodded slowly, composing himself. He tucked the crumpled scroll back into his deep robes. "The females will secure the next generation. Your focus is entirely on the eastern expansion now. The vassal gods are waiting for your heavy equipment. Do not fail the Lord."

Gorak turned his back on the gates and faced the massive, utterly drained army. He drew a deep breath and let out a roaring command that shook the dust from the Bastion walls.

The Shell-Kin groaned, hauling the heavy star-iron sleds forward. The Troglodytes, Grey-Fins, and Kobolds fell into a strict, disciplined marching formation.

The massive, exhausted expeditionary force finally marched out of the southern gates, leaving the safety of the swamp-farms behind. They headed directly east toward the Fossilized Leviathan, ready to bleed for the new empire.

A few days had passed since the team left Bastion. Everything was going smoothly and they had almost covered and completed their journey and reached the border of the Oros’ territory.

As the force dragged the heavy star-iron sleds across the dead eastern plains, the massive weight of the mining equipment sent deep vibrations down into the ash.

That was their first mistake.

The ground beneath the convoy suddenly boiled. The ash parted, and a massive swarm of subterranean Rust-Ticks poured out of the crust.

They were the size of hounds, covered in dull gray carapaces and armed with highly corrosive mandibles designed exclusively to consume high-density metals.

They completely ignored the flesh-and-blood Troglodytes and the massive Shell-Kin. Instead, the swarm surged like a tidal wave directly toward the star-iron equipment and the only metal creature in the army.

Iron-Scale didn’t even have time to swing his polished scythe. Dozens of the parasites lunged at him, latching onto his arms, his chest, and his heavy iron tail. Their mandibles sparked against his metallic scales, secreting an acid that immediately began to eat through his armor.

Gorak stood a few yards away, watching the Inquisitor disappear under a pile of frantic metal-eating bugs. The Warlord crossed his heavy arms and let out a booming laugh.

"Is the Grand Inquisitor losing a wrestling match to a pile of beetles?" Gorak taunted over the noise of the swarm. "Do you need a broom, lizard?"

Iron-Scale let out a sudden, agonizing shriek. It was not a hiss of anger. It was a sound of genuine pain. One of the ticks had breached the plating near his neck, its acid burning directly into his vital wiring and inner tissue.

Gorak’s smile vanished. He realized instantly that this was not a nuisance. It was a lethal threat, and the bugs were going to eat the Inquisitor alive.