Free Web NovelChapter 311: The War Report
Up in the sanctuary, Rubedo watched the exchange through the primary monitor. A satisfied smile spread across his face as he observed the fourteen broken humans groveling in the dirt.
’You sold my life to buy your crowns,’ Rubedo thought, leaning back into his obsidian throne. ’Now you get to experience the exact same helplessness you forced onto me.’
Rubedo dismissed the primary monitor with a flick of his wrist. The projection of the fourteen shivering Earthlings vanished into the dark architecture of the sanctuary. The war was officially over.
Aethelgard, Tarnstead, and Morval Dynasty had fallen, Gildreath Empire had surrendered, and the entire fourth continent belonged entirely to the Red Spiral. In addition to that, more than half of the second and third continent also belonged to him.
Although he had promised to share the land with his vassal gods, whose followers contributed the most, Rubedo still had the most land to rule over.
He rested his chin on his knuckles and stared out through the viewport. He possessed thirteen pieces of his original soul. He had exacted absolute vengeance on the classmates who had cast him into the abyss.
Yet, a hollow numbness settled over him. The grand conquest felt painfully anti-climactic.
Rubedo let out a frustrated sigh. The sound echoed loudly across the empty throne room.
"Not a single one," Rubedo muttered, glaring up at the vaulted ceiling. "Right up to the end, not a single god decided to interfere."
He pushed himself up from the throne and paced across the elevated dais. He had spent three years in the void forging an army of apex.
He wanted to wage a true divine war. He wanted to drag the deities from their clouds, test his authorities against their ancient magic, and make the reclamation of his soul challenging and fun.
Instead, he had barely lifted a finger. He just sat in a chair while his Vanguard commanders systematically flattened every kingdom in their path.
Every city they destroyed simply yielded more defectors. The native populations abandoned their pantheons without a second thought and happily assimilated into the Spiral’s ranks.
’If they were just ignoring my invasion, I would take that as a direct provocation,’ Rubedo thought, dragging a hand through his hair. ’But this is different. They ignore their own people.’
He stopped pacing and pulled up a secondary holographic display showing the captured temples of Tarnstead. The Vanguard had completely dismantled the holy altars.
Even when their most devout followers were slaughtered or turned their backs on the heavens to worship an anomaly, the gods refused to intervene. There were no divine smites. No avatars descended to defend the capital.
Rubedo crossed his arms over his chest. He genuinely wondered if there were ever actual gods residing on this continent at all.
’Maybe the system deleted them centuries ago,’ he pondered, tapping his armored boot against the floorboards.
He immediately discarded the theory. The fundamental mechanics of the game engine were absolute and unforgiving.
If a patron deity was permanently deleted from the server, the spiritual tethers connecting them to their worshippers would snap violently.
The resulting metaphysical backlash would cause the entire connected population to go feral, mutating them into mindless, wandering zombies.
But the citizens of Tarnstead and the surviving soldiers of Aethelgard remained entirely sane. Their magic functioned properly. Their minds were intact.
The spiritual tethers were still active. The gods existed. But they were just watching the continent burn in absolute silence.
Rubedo pushed his lingering frustration regarding the silent gods aside and opened the primary system interface hovering above his console. He swiped his hand across the holographic display to access the continental surveillance network. It was time to settle his accounts.
He initiated a mass-summons protocol through the System Nodes installed across his empire. Dozens of glowing data streams erupted from the floorboards of the sanctuary.
The light coalesced into the shimmering avatars of the deities bound to the Red Spiral.
Sylara materialized first, brushing imaginary dust from her robes. Gorr appeared beside her, leaning heavily on a spectral pickaxe.
The Brass Construct’s mechanical projection flickered into existence, followed closely by Volkar, Gorvash, and the remaining gods of the Seventeenth Continent.
A moment later, the network established a long-distance connection to the Second and Third Continents. The Iron-Arbiter manifested with his arms crossed over his chest plate. Ignisar and Nyxara materialized beside him, their expressions tense.
Rubedo remained seated on his throne and looked down at the assembled pantheon.
"Tarnstead has fallen," Rubedo announced. His voice echoed through the physical sanctuary and transmitted clearly through every System Node. "Aethelgard is a graveyard. The Morval Dynasty is in ashes, and Gildreath surrendered their borders. The war is officially over."
A stunned silence washed over the holographic assembly. Even though they had watched the Vanguard carve a path of destruction across the ocean, the finality of the statement carried an immense weight. fгee𝑤ebɳoveɭ.cøm
Sylara bowed her head deeply. "To conquer three entire continents in a single year... It is unprecedented, Rubedo. Congratulations."
"The Spiral expands," Gorr rumbled, tapping his pickaxe against the floor. "We believed in your victory from the moment the fleets launched. To see it realized so quickly is an absolute triumph."
A chorus of agreements and congratulations echoed through the projection. Rubedo listened to their praises for a few seconds before raising his hand to silence the room.
"We are moving into the administrative phase of the conquest," Rubedo stated. He pulled up a digital map of the newly acquired territories. "I made a promise before the fleets left the harbor. Whichever faction contributed the most to this war receives prime land on the Fourth Continent to expand their borders."
He looked directly at Gorr and Sylara. "Submit your contribution reports. I want raw metrics. Logistics, casualty rates, material refinement, and frontline deployments. The land will be distributed strictly based on the value your followers provided."
"The Hive-Minds compiled our logistical support data yesterday," Sylara smiled. "I will transmit the files to the central server immediately."
"The deep-tunnels have kept meticulous records of the iron and siege engines we forged for the Vanguard," Gorr added, puffing out her chest. "The report is ready."
The Brass Construct whirred and clicked. "My engineers have already uploaded our architectural contributions and artillery maintenance logs."
"Good. Have the rest uploaded by midnight," Rubedo instructed. He swiped the territorial map aside and shifted his gaze toward the back of the assembly. The eager chatter among the Seventeenth Continent deities died down instantly.
Rubedo locked eyes with the Iron-Arbiter. "The Fourth Continent has officially fallen. The invading forces occupying your borders have been exterminated." freёweɓnovel.com
The Iron-Arbiter uncrossed his arms and stood rigidly. Ignisar and Nyxara exchanged a nervous glance.
"The Vanguard held up our end of the bargain," Rubedo continued, leaning forward. "Which means the contract we signed is now active. Every outpost, dungeon, and territory previously owned by Aethelgard on the Second and Third Continents is now my exclusive property."
"We understand the terms," the Iron-Arbiter replied gruffly.
"Then you understand the secondary clause," Rubedo said. "You will surrender fifty percent of your surviving territory directly to my domain. Your followers will pay a standard administrative tax, funneling half of their generated faith resources to the Spiral."
Ignisar grimaced, but nodded slowly. "We agreed to the price of our survival."
"If you wish to retain your borders, you may opt for the alternative clause," Rubedo reminded them, his tone completely flat. "A permanent, lifetime tax of fifty percent of all your total resources and faith generation, for eternity. Make your choice and submit the territorial transfer requests alongside your casualty reports."
Nyxara bowed her head. "We will have the transfer documents prepared by nightfall, Rubedo. We do not contest the pact."
"Make sure you don’t," Rubedo said. He closed the central display. "Upload the data. The Vanguard will begin enforcing the new borders tomorrow morning. Dismissed."
He severed the connection. The glowing avatars flickered and vanished from the sanctuary, leaving Rubedo alone in the quiet throne room.
Rubedo sat in the stillness of the sanctuary and watched the contribution reports filter through the central console. The holographic data streams organized themselves into neat columns of statistics, casualty metrics, and supply line efficiency.
The sheer scale of the Vanguard’s deployment dominated the primary screen. The 17th Continent vassal gods had mobilized an initial reinforcement fleet of five hundred thousand soldiers.
They landed on the western shipyards and held the line perfectly under Krax’s command.
When Rubedo ordered the pincer attack on the Gildreath Empire, the vassals delivered a secondary wave of two hundred and eighty thousand troops including one hundred and eighty thousand human infantry and a hundred thousand beast warriors.
Beside the infantry metrics, the logistical reports glowed softly. The non-combatant deities had mobilized their entire civilian infrastructure. Hundreds of thousands of healers, builders, alchemists, and beast-tamers had established seamless supply chains, ensuring the Vanguard never lacked potions, siege ammunition, or fresh rations.
The next day,Rubedo reopened the communication line. The holographic avatars of the eighty vassal deities materialized across the sanctuary floorboards.
They stood in hushed anticipation, their digital eyes fixed entirely on the throne.
"The reports have been processed," Rubedo announced. He swiped his hand through the air, projecting the territorial map of the Fourth Continent over their heads. He highlighted the rich, agricultural plains of the Morval Dynasty in a bright crimson outline.
"The Morval territories are assigned to the Beast Gods and the Warlords," Rubedo declared. "Volkar, Gorvash, and your affiliated pantheons. Your infantry held the western fronts and crushed the Gildreath cavalry. You will divide the plains and the surrounding mountain ranges evenly amongst yourselves."
Volkar grinned, baring his spectral fangs. "A bountiful hunting ground. The Dire-Wolves will feast well."
"Do not celebrate yet," Rubedo interrupted, shifting the projection to highlight the towering, fortified cities of Aethelgard and the advanced magical academies of Gildreath. He outlined them in brilliant gold. "The capital cities and the arcane infrastructure belong entirely to the non-combatant pantheons."
A murmur of shock rippled through the assembly. The warrior gods immediately turned their avatars toward the throne.
