Global Lords: Building the Strongest Civilization with SSS Rank Talent-Chapter 111: Farming Mutation

"Now... I will get the refugees, and also war," Red muttered, his eyes tracking the simulated borders of his eastern domain. "I am confident I can win as long as the war happens in my territory. I also have territory benefits and buffs on my troops. The Omni-web roots haven’t spread that far so I can’t confirm if they have already started marching. Do they really think that if they march to the eastern hemisphere, the Void-Eater will spare them? Yeah, we are currently safe, but another wave will occur and the Void-Eater will keep expanding."

He leaned back. "And even if they do, they will first fight among themselves to thin out the number of gods. So while the other three hemispheres are busy with war and destroying themselves, especially when the Void-Eater is after them, I will focus on evolving my army."

Red pulled up the logistical tracker for the southern expansion. "I guess... I will have to call Gorak and Iron-Scale back. The highway project is currently at 60%, and it will take a few months for it to finish."

He opened a secure channel to the minor deities under his newly formed alliance. "The East is locked. You will continue the highway construction yourselves," Red ordered, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "I am recalling my vanguard. I will protect the entire eastern hemisphere from whatever threat comes our way. Focus on your quotas."

Red closed the channel and initiated the recall order.

"Evolution is just a math problem," Red muttered, leaning back in his chair and watching the glowing teal capillary rivers pulse across his digital map. "It is not a magic trick. If I want an army capable of surviving a server wipe, I just have to feed them enough calories to force a biological leap."

He panned his viewport across the newly established waterways. Along the banks of the thin rivers, Elian’s human laborers were already cultivating the dark soil. They were actively irrigating native swamp-grains and coastal kelp with the Aegis-infused saltwater.

Red watched the live data feed spike as the plants gorged on the hyper-regenerative properties, swelling and mutating into incredibly dense, mana-rich super-crops.

He shifted his focus southward to the deep mud near the Bastion. A hunting party of Grey-Fins and Troglodytes dragged a massive, thick-scaled swamp monitor into the courtyard. It was close to an apex predator, and it was large and possessed the dense muscle and tough hide characteristic of the Lost Land.

Red isolated the dead carcass on his terminal. He pulled a single [100x Multiplier] token from his inventory, dragged it directly over the beast’s icon, and hit the execution key.

"A hundred beasts feed a single battalion for a few days," Red observed, tapping his fingers against the console in a slow, calculated sequence. "But I have sixteen thousand mouths to feed across the entire continent, and I refuse to bankrupt my DP by duplicating every single hunt."

He needed raw, sustainable volume. He needed to stretch that multiplied meat without diluting its alchemical value. Red opened the architectural routing tab and connected his agricultural output directly to his industrial grid.

"Krug."

"Lord," the High Priest hissed in response.

"Have the Treants harvest the oldest fungi, bark, and roots from the deep canopy," Red commanded, his eyes locked on the digital routing lines snapping into place. "Steep the harvest inside the new stone reservoirs. Use the flowing Aegis water to break the flora down. I want it fermented into a concentrated, caloric nectar."

"It will be done," Krug replied, immediately dispatching a contingent of the towering ancient guardians.

Red completed the digital circuit on his primary monitor, locking the entire food supply chain together.

"Now take those hundred carcasses and throw them directly into the Omni-Biomass Digester," Red instructed, his tone entirely pragmatic. "Do not carve steaks. We are boiling the bones, the scales, the meat, and the blood alongside the mutated super-grains and the Treants’ fermented nectar."

Down in the physical realm, the massive industrial vats of the Digester roared to life. By violently blending the multiplied meat with an endless, self-regenerating supply of divine crops and highly concentrated fungal syrup, Red completely solved his caloric deficit.

The facility churned the three elements together, producing a thick, hyper-dense, alchemically perfect evolutionary paste that poured endlessly from the processing pipes.

It was brutal, efficient, and permanent.

Red watched the live logistics feed update as the first batches of the new rations were distributed to the Kobolds, Grey-Fins, Mud-Skippers, Troglodytes, Treants, Shell-Kin, and the fourteen thousand human laborers. Eating this pure, raw power day after day would subject their bodies to extreme internal pressure, forcing their biology to rapidly adapt to the staggering caloric intake.

He had successfully engineered a natural, faction-wide evolutionary leap fueled entirely by his automated supply lines.

A week before the evolutionary paste reached its peak, Red’s tactical map had flagged a sprawling armada breaching the northern coastline.

"So they are finally here."

It was no minor migration. The Brass Construct was a Rank Eleven entity, and his surviving civilization arrived as a massive fleet of fifty brass-plated dreadnoughts and steam-powered galleons. The ships cut through the freezing saltwater, navigating the newly flooded channels until they dropped anchor along the sprawling stone piers of the City of Spiral.

Red had watched through the digital tether as exactly twenty-eight thousand Ash-Kin disembarked. They were a stout, grey-skinned race of industrial engineers, their faces permanently stained with soot and machine grease. A vast majority of the refugees sported crude, pneumatic prosthetics, such as brass arms, hydraulic clamps, and ticking clockwork joints.

True to the game-enforced contract, they arrived completely disarmed. The Ash-Kin carried no blades or armor, lugging only massive, tightly bound crates of drafting paper, precision tools, and specialized mechanical components.

"A little battered, but functional," Red had observed, noting their emaciated frames on his monitor. He immediately opened a channel to his human proxy. "Elian. Process them. Give them three days of double rations, then route every single one of them directly into the star-iron foundries. I want those newly acquired schematics physically constructed by the end of the month."

The sudden influx of highly skilled, mechanized labor had instantly accelerated his production lines, fully optimizing his factories and freeing up his own combat forces for the impending war.