Titan King: Ascension of the Giant - Chapter 1279

Chapter 1279: The Law of the Strong
Orion had stacked the deck so thoroughly in her favor that Lysinthia held a hand no mere Legendary level fighter could hope to match.

Before her ascension, she hadn’t truly grasped the scale of it. But now, standing as a Lord, the realization hit her: Orion’s patronage was overwhelming. The artifacts, the weapons, the raw magical resources he had funneled to her—these were things the Medusa Queen couldn’t even dream of.

“Agreed,” Lycanor said, nodding slowly. She didn’t bother hiding her envy, though it was without malice. “Orion is already operating on the level of a Demigod. The scraps that fall from his table are worth more than entire kingdoms to people like us.”

Lycanor fingered a charm at her waist—one of several fail-safes Orion had gifted her. “If he gave me this much, I can only imagine what he gave you. You’ve been with him since the beginning, you little viper. He’s been quietly arming you to the teeth for years.”

She stretched, her gaze drifting north. “Let’s finish this quickly. I’m ready to go home. I miss the Stoneheart Horde.”

Lysinthia smiled, a cold, possessive curve of her lips.

“Sister, look around you,” she said, gesturing to the jungle and the sea beyond. “This is the Stoneheart Horde. Now, and forever.”

The Abyss, Layer Six. Foundry Citadel.

For three agonizing years, the Citadel had been a tomb.

The residents were drained to the brink of death, pouring every ounce of their mana into the defensive wards day and night. Collapse was imminent. If not for the stabilizing presence of Orion’s Deathly Soul-Reaper, the desperate commanders might have resorted to blood sacrifice just to keep the barriers up.

Then, the sky broke.

The oppressive gray haze that had choked the world for three years shattered in an instant. The three Black Suns, the signature celestial bodies of the Sixth Layer, blazed into view. A wave of terrifying pressure—raw, unadulterated authority—pulsed from the core of the world.

“The Abyssal Ruler has returned!”

“We won!”

The realization hit Orion and the defenders simultaneously. The return of the Black Suns meant the invasion was broken.

ROAR!

A sound like tearing metal echoed across the plane. It wasn’t just a voice; it was a shockwave of divine power. The Abyssal Ruler was purging the Unhallowed Arch Lords, erasing them from existence with a display of mighty force that shook the bedrock.

“Now!”

The Deathly Soul-Reaper looked up. The spores that had been weighing down the defensive barrier were disintegrating under the Ruler’s roar. The Doomsday Fireatop the shield flared, sensing the shift in momentum.

Without hesitation, the Reaper launched itself skyward.

It flew straight into the thickest concentration of dissipating spores. The Abyssal Ruler’s power had cracked the enemy lines wide open, exposing the core of the Unhallowed formation. It was a chaotic mess of energy, but Orion saw the prize.

The Reaper tore through the resistance, ignoring the corrosive atmosphere and the shockwaves of the Ruler’s wrath. It reached out, metallic fingers closing around a jagged, gray crystal.

BOOM.

The moment the crystal was secured, a stray ripple of the Ruler’s mighty divine power swept through the area.

It wasn’t even a direct attack—just the backwash of a god swatting a fly. Yet, instantly, the Deathly Soul-Reaper was nearly atomized. Its physical form began to disintegrate.

Activate: [Dimensional Fold].

The Reaper’s left eye flashed. Reality twisted, and the construct phased into higher-dimensional space, barely escaping total annihilation. It rematerialized inside the Citadel, smoking, cracked, and barely functional, but clutching the prize.

That was too close, Orion thought, his consciousness reeling from the feedback.

The sheer gap in power was terrifying. The Abyssal Ruler hadn’t even aimed at him; he had just cleared the board. And that casual exertion had nearly scrapped a construct with Demigod combat potential.

But the opportunity is here.

As the Gray World faded, the Conquest Legion finally solidified its foothold on the Sixth Layer. Outside, the residents of the Foundry Citadel were cheering, their voices rising in a ragged chorus of relief. Winter was over.

***

Somewhere in the unknown void, the Abyssal Ruler paused.

He cast a single, indifferent glance toward the Foundry Citadel.

“Bold,” the entity murmured, a sound like grinding tectonic plates. “Snatching meat from a lion’s jaws.”

As a Fourth Stage Demigod, one who had already established a Divine Kingdom, the Ruler recognized the gray crystal. It was a rare resource, even for him. That little puppet had stolen from him, right under his nose.

But the Ruler was exhausted. The war with the Unhallowed had drained him. He needed sleep. He needed recovery.

Let them keep it, he decided, his consciousness fading into slumber. They are just livestock. Let them fatten themselves up. I will harvest them all eventually.

Silverwood Realm. Dragon Territory.

This wasn’t the old dragon lands. This was Leonidas’s turf. Since the Golden Dragon had claimed this realm, it had become one of his primary lairs.

Three years ago, Leonidas and the Kraken had headed for the eastern seas. They hadn’t even left the continent before running into the Nightwing brothers, Nyx and Beta, who had come to surrender.

There was no battle. Cowed by Leonidas’s overwhelming aura, the Nightwings bent the knee and joined the Stoneheart Horde.

Truth be told, Nyx and Beta had wanted to pledge loyalty to Leonidas specifically.

For years, Orion’s Deathly Soul-Reaper had been trapped in the Abyss. The Abyssal Dreadfin was in hibernation. Orion’s avatars were missing in action. To the outside world, the Stoneheart Horde operating on the Moonlight Continent looked weak—they didn’t even have an active Arch Lord on the field. Even the Moon Elf Isilra had sequestered herself in Staghelm City to carry her child.

The Nightwing brothers had been baffled. They had surrendered to a faction that seemed to be a paper tiger. They had tried to jump ship to Leonidas’s personal banner multiple times, but the dragon had completely ignored them.

Inside the Dragon Nest, Leonidas was currently sprawled atop a massive pile of gold coins, snoring loudly.

This is awful, he thought, shifting in his sleep. Who decided sleeping on metal discs was comfortable? It’s hell on the lumbar.

“Damn old fossils,” he grumbled, half-awake. “Stop bugging me.”

“I want to go to Xanajar Paradise too! I want to meet some cute dragonesses! But look at the map! I can’t leave!”

He was dreaming, arguing with the elders of the Domain of a Myriad Dragons via the Dragon Soulscape. They kept inviting him to their sanctuary, Xanajar Paradise.

Leonidas had already agreed to join the Domain. He wasn’t stupid; backing from a major faction was essential. It was the same play the Deputy Commander had made with the Saint Gran Council.

Leonidas wasn’t a lone wolf. The Champions Alliance wasn’t a club for loners; it was a pact of shared values. They didn’t reject allies; they rejected traitors and conflicting ideologies.

The dragon’s golden eyes snapped open. He didn’t move, just stared at the cavern ceiling.

“Alexander and Arthas are waking up,” he rumbled to the empty cave. “The Cult of Four is hiding in the ocean, and the purge is about to start. How can I leave now?”

He yawned, exposing rows of razor-sharp teeth.

“My bro has been asleep for three years. When he wakes up, the Champions Alliance gets another Demigod.”

He grinned. “War is coming back.”