Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent Chapter 216: Itinerary by God, Reaching Sun-Cleft

Roal bowed his head respectfully. "Under normal circumstances, you would be entirely correct. Our God took absolute control of the logistical chain to ensure your safe passage."

’They are coordinating at the divine level,’ Iron-Scale thought, looking toward the distant sas. ’They know their survival depends entirely on our success against Aethelgard. Is this the reason why they are treating us with such hospitality? Perhaps, the Spiral gave an ultimatum to their gods.’

"Ignisar, the Sand God, mapped a highly specific marching route for your forces," Roal explained. The guide spoke with imnse reverence for the Rank 22 deity, who manifested as a shifting silhouette of crimson sand wrapped in tattered golden silks with burning embers for eyes. "He coordinated directly with Nyxara, the Obsidian Empress. She is carved from polished obsidian and weeps dark venom to slay our enemies, yet she commands vast subterranean aquifers to sustain our allies."

Roal pulled a rolled parchnt from his belt and handed it to Iron-Scale. The map detailed a precise network of hidden fortresses and underground supply caches scattered across the desert.

"The gods designated exact locations for the army to halt, rest, and resupply," Roal continued. "You do not need to worry about starvation or dehydration. The deities pooled the remaining wealth of the Third Continent to feed your troops from their hidden reserves."

The guide stepped closer, his expression turning incredibly serious.

"You must maintain absolute adherence to this itinerary," Roal warned. "The food is perishable, and the subterranean water reserves are tid to flood the hidden basins only during specific hours to avoid detection by Aethelgard scouts. If the army falls behind schedule, the logistical chain will collapse."

Iron-Scale unrolled the parchnt and committed the route to mory. He understood the stakes perfectly. Delaying the march ant starving their own soldiers in a hostile desert.

"General Krax!" Iron-Scale called out to the towering Orc commander. "Increase the marching pace by twenty percent. We do not stop until we reach the fortress gates."

The grueling march continued across the scorching dunes. As the sun dipped toward the western horizon, casting long orange shadows over the Sea of Glass, the Vanguard and the allied army maintained their accelerated pace.

Iron-Scale led the column alongside Roal. The guide brought them to a halt before a colossal cliff face of red sandstone. To the untrained eye, it looked like an impassable dead end.

"We are exactly on schedule," Iron-Scale noted, rolling up the parchnt map.

Roal placed his palm against the sun-baked rock. A complex array of glowing golden runes spread across the cliff face. The stone groaned loudly as a massive section of the wall folded inward, revealing a cavernous tunnel illuminated by radiant crystals.

Gulag stepped closer to marvel at the scale of the engineering. ’Moving this much stone requires absolute mastery over the earth. Nyxara truly built a sanctuary.’

The army marched into the tunnel. The temperature dropped imdiately, providing instant relief from the desert heat. They walked for several minutes before the passage opened into a sprawling subterranean cavern.

A breathtaking city of carved obsidian and pale sandstone stretched out below them. Bioluminescent fungi and glowing crystals cast a cool sapphire light over thousands of stone buildings. Massive aqueducts carried dark, purified water from underground springs directly into vast central plazas.

"Welco to Sun-Cleft," Roal announced, gesturing to the tropolis. "The first hidden bastion of our surviving people."

Krax scanned the imnse layout with absolute awe. He adjusted his grip on his greataxe. "This changes our strategic positioning entirely. We have a fully fortified staging ground right under the enemy’s nose."

Syra observed the lines of local desert warriors and logistical staff waiting in the grand plaza. They had already set up miles of long stone tables loaded with roasted desert ga, exotic fruits, and massive iron vats of fresh water.

"The logistical coordination is flawless," Syra comnted. Her scales reflected the blue crystal light. "Ignisar and Nyxara kept their word. The al is entirely prepared for our exact numbers."

Iron-Scale turned to the Orc general. "Order the troops to break formation and begin the al rotation. We rest here tonight and resu the march at dawn."

The ruler’s chamber in Sun-Cleft resided at the very peak of the subterranean cavern, overlooking the glowing sapphire plaza. High Priest Varek, a gaunt man draped in the tattered golden silks of Ignisar, waited for the Vanguard commanders around a massive table carved from solid obsidian.

Iron-Scale walked into the room alongside Gulag, Syra, and General Krax. They bypassed formal pleasantries, imdiately turning their attention to the vast parchnt map spread across the stone surface.

"The al is proceeding flawlessly," Varek reported, tracing a finger along the drawn dunes. "Nyxara’s aquifers are providing fresh water to your vassal troops, and Ignisar’s blessing conceals this city from Aethelgard’s sight. We must discuss the path ahead."

Iron-Scale leaned over the map. "Roal ntioned hidden outposts and subterranean kill zones. We need exact coordinates for every Fourth Continent base between here and the eastern borders."

Varek let out a weary sigh, gesturing to a collection of scattered markers on the parchnt. "The Fourth Continent operates mobile fortresses in the deep dunes. They build ’Ghost Forts’ armored outposts tethered to the backs of massive, dosticated sand-worms. The bases constantly travel beneath the sand."

Krax slamd a fist against the table, rattling a small collection of crystalline artifacts. "Moving fortresses? That explains how they conduct an endless guerrilla war. Our army cannot easily siege a target that burrows under the sand during combat."

"We will simply crush the earth around their beasts and bury them permanently," Gulag countered, her amber core flaring to life within her chest.

Before Iron-Scale could finalize a combat strategy, one of the crystalline artifacts on the table suddenly erupted with blinding white light. The smooth crystal, confiscated from a dead Aethelgard scout, hovered a few inches above the obsidian surface.

The light expanded, projecting a three-dinsional illusion of a young human male wearing gleaming golden armor and an arrogant smirk.

It was Chris Pitt, one of the Earthling Heralds currently devastating the Third Continent.

"...!"