Chapter 312 - 312: Ungrateful Gods
"Sovereign," Gorvash rumbled, his tusks glinting in the digital light. "With respect, our followers bled on the frontlines. We provided seven hundred and eighty thousand soldiers. The builders simply carried the bags."
"The builders ensured your seven hundred and eighty thousand soldiers didn't starve in an alien desert," Rubedo retorted, his tone dropping to a dangerous chill. "Gorr's deep-tunnel laborers helped make the caves and tunnels. Sylara's alchemists completely mitigated the magical fallout from the Heralds' attacks. Brute force wins a battle, but infrastructure wins a war."
He leaned forward, resting his chin on his knuckles. "I am distributing the land equally. You provided the hammer; they provided the anvil. The beast factions take the plains. The builders take the cities. The reward matches the utility."
The warrior gods shifted uncomfortably, but none dared to voice further complaints against the Absolute Sovereign. Gorr and Sylara bowed deeply, visibly relieved and honored by the decision.
"However," Rubedo continued, swiping the map away completely to reveal a blank, ominous screen. "Before you order your followers to migrate and settle into your shiny new kingdoms, there is one critical administrative issue you must handle."
He tapped the armrest of his throne. "The gods of the Fourth Continent are still alive."
The digital avatars stiffened.
"We have shattered their temples and slaughtered their most devout champions," Rubedo stated. "And yet, the pantheon has not retaliated. They have not sent a single smite or avatar to defend their territories. They are completely silent, hiding behind their divine barriers."
Rubedo stood up from the throne and walked to the edge of the dais. He looked down at the eighty vassal gods.
"I am giving you the prime land," Rubedo said, a predatory smile crossing his face. "But that land is currently acting as a ticking time bomb. The gods are barricaded in their realms, hoarding their divine energy and watching us from the dark. If you want to keep your new borders, you must secure them."
Panic began to fracture the stoic composure of the minor deities. Sylara took a step back, her digital robes flickering.
"You want us to hunt them?" Song Beeble asked, her voice trembling slightly. "Sovereign, we are minor deities. We survived the void by bending the knee. If we forcefully breach the divine realms of a pantheon—"
"You will drag them out of the sky by their throats," Rubedo commanded, his voice cutting through the rising panic like a blade. "I am not asking for a skirmish. I am mandating a complete extermination. You will use your newly awarded territories to build void-arrays. You will forcefully sever the remaining spiritual tethers of the native populations, starve the hidden gods of their faith, and force them into the physical plane."
He crossed his arms over his chest plate. "If you cannot hold the land, you do not deserve the land. Hunt them down, or I will find vassals who can."
Rubedo kept the communication line open. He lowered his hand from the console and watched the digital avatars of the eighty deities erupt into immediate chaos.
"If we forcefully sever their tethers, they will descend upon us!" Volkar stepped forward, his spectral fur bristling. "What happens when these deities drop from the sky to slaughter our occupying forces?"
Vaelis, a Rank 6 deity of the Shallow Rivers who ruled over the Mire-Nymphs, raised a watery hand to placate the Beast God. "We are vassals of the Red Spiral. The Sovereign will deploy the Vanguard to assist us. He protected our rivers from the global warlords before."
"Exactly," Thokk added, striking a massive stone club against the digital floorboards. As a Rank 7 God of Shattered Flint governing the Ash-Kobolds, his avatar constantly shed trails of gray dust. "We signed the Vassalage Contract. The agreement explicitly states the Sovereign will shield us from any and all external threats."
Rubedo leaned back into his obsidian throne. A slow, dark smile spread across his face.
"You should really read the fine print, Thokk," Rubedo said.
His voice cut through the ambient hum of the System Nodes. The murmurs among the avatars died instantly.
"I swore to protect you," Rubedo continued, pulling up a holographic copy of the original Vassalage Contract. "And I will. If any god, anomaly, or warlord steps foot on the Seventeenth Continent to threaten your homelands, I will personally annihilate them. I will make sure absolutely nothing happens to your forces within our borders."
Rubedo highlighted a specific string of glowing text within the document.
"But the contract dictates the defense of the Seventeenth Continent," Rubedo clarified. "It mentions nothing about saving you from the dangers of the Global Server. It does not cover the Second, Third, or Fourth Continents. If the gods attack your armies in Aethelgard or Morval... I will not intervene."
The silence shattered.
"You are sending us to a slaughter!" Gorvash bellowed, slamming his massive fists together.
"We are builders and farmers, not god-killers!" Vermis shouted from the back of the assembly. His digital form flickered wildly. "If you abandon our forces in Gildreath, we will lose decades of progress!"
"This is a betrayal!" Volkar snarled, baring his fangs at the throne. "You promised us a reward, but you handed us an execution block!"
The sanctuary filled with overlapping shouts and frantic protests. The digital projections blurred and distorted as the minor deities panicked. They waved their weapons and argued with each other, realizing they had marched their followers directly into a divine trap.
'They get so brave when they are on the other side of a screen,' Rubedo thought.
He flooded his core with a massive surge of golden radiant mana. He slammed his armored fist against the armrest of his throne. The kinetic shockwave transferred straight through the System Nodes.
A deafening boom echoed from the floorboards of every vassal capital on the Seventeenth Continent. The holographic avatars flinched and fell dead silent.
"Do not ever accuse me of betrayal," Rubedo commanded. His voice carried the crushing weight of his absolute authority. "The contract is bound directly to the fundamental game engine. If anyone breaks a System-verified oath, the server punishes them instantly. The metaphysical backlash would delete the offender from existence, even if that offender is me."
He stood up and walked to the edge of the dais, staring down the eighty trembling projections.
"I am not breaking the contract," Rubedo stated. "I am enforcing its exact parameters. I gave you the territories you earned. I also gave you a clear directive on how to secure them. You want the wealth of the Fourth Continent? You bleed for it."
He pointed a finger at Gorvash. "If your occupying forces get wiped out in the Morval plains, that is your strategic failure. Your homelands on the Seventeenth Continent will remain perfectly safe under my protection. But whatever you send across the ocean is entirely on its own."
Rubedo turned his back on the assembly and walked toward the viewport.
"The land is yours," Rubedo said over his shoulder. "Flush the gods out, or abandon the territories and run back home. Make your choice."
He flicked his wrist. The communication line severed completely. The glowing data streams dissolved into the floorboards, leaving Rubedo alone to watch the dark clouds rolling over his conquered world.
Rubedo remained by the viewport, staring out at the crimson skyline of his terreitories. The distant sounds usually brought him a sense of absolute control. Today, however, the noise only amplified his simmering anger.
He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
'If I wanted them dead, I would have let the Tyrant gods of the seventeenth continent slaughter them during the first Continental War,' he thought, his jaw tightening. 'I pulled them from the brink of deletion. I gave them food, infrastructure, and a future. I elevated their divinity ranks.'
He opened his eyes and looked down at the sprawling metropolis below. Five years ago, the Seventeenth Continent was a feral wasteland.
A rotting, corrupted graveyard where no deity could survive for more than a few years without going mad. Now, it was a fortified paradise. He had industrialized hell itself, transforming the deadlands into an impenetrable fortress.
He was the Sovereign managing the entire continent, shouldering the absolute burden of logistics, defense, and global expansion, while the minor gods comfortably reaped the rewards of his labor.
He had given them the opportunity to send troops across the ocean, promising them a share of the spoils. He had kept his word, handing them the most prosperous kingdoms of the conquered world.
And still, they dared to scream betrayal.
'Yes, they are low-rank gods. Yes, they will struggle against the deities of the Fourth Continent,' Rubedo acknowledged silently, leaning his forehead against the cold stone. 'But I am not here to babysit them. They want the wealth of empires without lifting a finger to secure it.'
He let out a derisive scoff. The sound echoed through the empty sanctuary.
"They were all originally humans before they were summoned here," Rubedo muttered to the empty room. "Human nature is fundamentally anchored in greed. I shouldn't be surprised they demand the feast without wanting to slaughter the pig."
He paused, his reflection catching in the screen of the viewport. His eyes lacked the soft warmth they possessed back on Earth. They were calculating, cold, and entirely devoid of empathy.
He looked down at his spectral hands. He had spent the last five years systematically carving away his own humanity to survive the void. Perhaps, even before he was summoned to this world, when he was practically treated as trash.
'Is that why I find their panic so pathetic?' Rubedo wondered, a hollow sensation settling in his chest. 'Did I lose the capacity to understand their fear when the Royal Mage ripped my soul out?'
He turned away and walked slowly back to the throne. The missing piece of his soul pulsed faintly in his chest.
He sat down, resting his arms on the stone armrests. He didn't care if his perspective was skewed by his lost humanity. The system didn't reward empathy. It only rewarded results.
"Let them panic," Rubedo whispered to the shadows. "They will either adapt and conquer the Fourth Continent, or they will die trying. Either way... the Red Spiral wins."