Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent Chapter 130: THE CONTINENTAL WAR REWARDS

Red leaned back in his obsidian throne as his primary monitor flashed violently. The system struggled to process the sheer volu of data cascading across the screen. Four golden execution markers populated his feed, confirming the permanent deletion of two Rank 11 and two Rank 12 deities.

The ga engine forcefully deposited their entire sovereign treasuries directly into his account. His Divine Point counter rolled over so fast the numbers blurred into a solid white block of pure wealth.

[ CONTINENTAL SIEGE DEFENDED. CALCULATING COMBAT REWARDS. ]

[ CREATION ELIMINATION: 4x RANK 10 EXTINCTION THREATS. REWARD: 80,000,000 DP. ]

[ DEITY ELIMINATION: 2x RANK 11, 2x RANK 12. TREASURY SEIZURE COMPLETE. REWARD: 240,000,000 DP. ]

[ TOTAL ACQUIRED: 320,000,000 DP. ]

[ RANK UP REQUIRENT T (250,000,000 DP). ]

[ RANK 11 CONTINENTAL ARCHITECT EVOLVING TO RANK 12 OVERSEER. ]

[ NEXT RANK REQUIRENT: 500,000,000 DP. ]

The localized alliance channel pinged with incoming transmissions. Up in their respective Void instances, the Rank 10 War God and Rank 9 Elental Twins stared at their tactical feeds in absolute awe.

The vassal gods sent imdiate ssages of absolute fealty over the comms. Red had held the line, protected their domains, and completely eradicated a superior coalition. They locked their vassal contracts even tighter to his rising banner.

Down on the physical map, the chaotic battlefield fell completely still. Elian and the surviving human militias peered over the edges of their flooded trenches. Mortal eyes tracked the floating cube of compressed bedrock and the vaporized craters left behind by the enemy pantheon.

"The Spiral protects," Elian muttered, gripping his rifle tightly.

Gorak pushed himself up from the mud. The Troglodyte Warlord clutched his crushed ribs and bared his bloody teeth in a terrifying grin of absolute worship. Iron-Scale sparked against the trench wall, recording the miraculous combat data through a cracked visor.

"The Ka-Lam-Tee eats the false gods," Gorak coughed, spitting a glob of blood onto the ice.

Red dismissed the ascension prompts and panned the cara westward. The hyper-compressed cube of stone and flesh hovered just above the cratered plains. The makeshift tomb held the crushed remains of hundreds of thousands of enemy troops. Highlighting the massive structure, Red noticed a brand new systemic option glowing on his interface.

[ NEW CHANIC UNLOCKED: SALVAGE POINTS. ]

[ CONVERTING DESTROYED BIOMASS AND INORGANIC MATTER INTO SECONDARY CURRENCY. ]

Red clicked the extraction command. A colossal, glowing green wirefra enveloped the floating cube. The ga engine instantly broke down the physical matter. Millions of tons of rock, armor, and flesh dissolved into digital light to bypass the standard DP conversion entirely.

[ 5,200,000 SALVAGE POINTS ACQUIRED. ]

The massive cube vanished entirely, leaving the western plains barren. Red moved his cursor over Krug’s failing health bar. The High Priest lay unconscious on the true-ice of the frozen moat with severe thermal burns. The 100x descent multiplier had actively destroyed the Kobold’s cellular structure.

Red utilized a fraction of his newly acquired wealth to purchase a Tier-7 Alchemical Infirmary. He dropped the building directly onto the frozen Aegis moat next to the dying fanatic. Reality warped as a chanized cathedral of Star-Iron and glass forcibly overwrote the ice.

chanical manipulator arms descended from the infirmary’s bay doors, gently lifting the unconscious Kobold and subrging him into a glowing green tank of hyper-concentrated alchemical sludge.

Iron-Scale dragged his broken clockwork limbs across the ice to observe the process.

Red dragged his cursor across the ruined eastern ridge.

The [Modular Geography] grid flared over the devastated terrain. He selected the shattered trenches and the cratered bedrock. A simple keystroke flattened the earth, snapping the defensive lines back into perfect geotric alignnt. The map editor trait turned weeks of intensive reconstruction into a casual flick of a finger.

The process cost a fraction of his new DP wealth.

He moved his view to the Continental Moat. The true-ice bridge still spanned the gap, locking the Aegis water beneath a solid shell. Red highlighted the entire frozen sector and deleted the thermal override. The ice violently fractured. Boiling, alchemical sludge erupted through the cracks, lting the frozen blocks in seconds.

The river returned to a churning, steaming state.

"Drink," Red ordered.

Elian and the surviving human militias dragged themselves to the riverbanks. They cupped the boiling, green-tinted water in their hands and drank. The Aegis water scorched their throats, then imdiately went to work.

Deep lacerations sealed. Shattered bones snapped back into place. Gorak waded waist-deep into the toxic sludge, letting the alchemical properties knit his crushed ribs back together.

Up in the Void, Red shifted his cara to the western plains. The hyper-compressed cube had eradicated the main vanguard. Over three hundred thousand enemy troops still huddled in the mud further back. The System had completely severed their divine tethers upon the pantheon’s deletion.

They were entirely godless.

Red studied the chaotic mix of surviving races.

The Forgecaster’s augnted dwarves and iron-priests knelt in the ash, their cybernetics sparking and dead without their god’s macro-blueprints.

The Blood-Mage’s pale cultists and mutated ghouls shivered, stripped of their blood-shields.

Frost-bitten barbarians of the Glacial Sovereign dropped their useless ice-spears.

Avian hybrids and wind-monks dedicated to the Zephyr Lord stared at the sky with hollow, terrified eyes.

Red opened his faction UI. The population numbers glowed in crisp green text. He currently commanded exactly fifteen thousand direct followers. Fourteen thousand humans and one thousand mixed monsters populated his Bastion.

For a Rank 12 Overseer, the population tric was fundantally inadequate.

Standard operating procedure dictated a total purge. Red normally fed enemy survivors to the bio-furnaces or let the Kobold artillery turn them into ash. He looked at the massive, shivering horde on the plains.

They possessed zero Faith anchors. They lacked any systemic protection. They were blank slates.

He needed labor, and the foundries required workers. The Star-Iron mines required diggers. Three hundred thousand bodies represented a massive influx of industrial potential.

He decided to give them a choice.

Red activated the regional broadcast channel. He projected his distorted voice across the entire western plain.

"Your gods are dead," Red announced, the sound echoing over the plains like grinding tal. "Your pantheon is deleted. You have exactly one minute to drop your weapons. Anyone holding any becos mortar fuel."