Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

"Given the way things are going, we have no choice but to pull back and meet up with the main army. That's the only way to avoid an ambush like the one we just survived."

Princess Ava glanced over at the coal knight Galahad, who was off to one side with his hands clasped in fervent prayer. His armor, which had flashed so brilliantly in battle, had gone back to being coal-black. His longsword now lay silent at his hip, its earlier gleam faded entirely.

Compared to his fearless display against the half-dragons, Galahad looked like a different person altogether.

"Arthur, you're incredible—both of you are way stronger than any knights I've seen before," Princess Ava said, her gaze drifting back to Arthur. "It's our honor that you brought him into the Rose Knight Regiment."

Arthur simply nodded, remaining quiet. Truth be told, he himself had never witnessed another knight in real combat until now.

From the moment he'd become a knight, he assumed anyone in that same role would share his ideals. But after seeing Galahad fight, Arthur realized there might be knights out there who were even more exceptional.

"I saw his armor change color right in the middle of the fight. Does the same thing happen to you?" Princess Ava asked.

Arthur shook his head. Though he also owned a personal set of armor and a sword, they worked nothing like Galahad's.

"In my heart, I'm certain there are others sticking to ancient knightly vows just like us," Arthur mused silently. "Maybe they're just hidden away, out of the world's eye."

He thought about the legendary "Eight Great Knights." As far as he knew, he was the only one carrying on that tradition—until he met Galahad. If all eight still existed and fought side by side again, maybe they really could turn the tide.

––––––––

Orc Territory. A tribal camp.

Unlike humans or Beastmen, the Orcs hadn't built any real cities—they preferred tents and moved their encampment from time to time. Besides, the Orc had no true lord of their own (nobody at or above Legendary level). The chieftain, Grommash, was a blademaster stuck at peak Alpha-level.

So when Blood Elf Elanor arrived, she already had something in mind.

"Grommash, bring some of your people and come with us. If you stay alive, you've got a real shot at becoming a proper lord one day."

Blademaster Grommash shook his head, turning her offer down flat.

"Ms. Elanor, you and your crew head out. I'll hold them off right here," he replied.

Elanor didn't push the subject further. She just nodded and led Boarion the boarfolk, Brimli the gnome, and Faelar the Blood Elf away from Orcs lands.

On the way out, Faelar seemed puzzled. "Ms. Elanor, why didn't you keep encouraging Grommash to come with us? He's pretty strong, and wouldn't he be more valuable in the City of Blessings?"

Elanor gazed back toward the Orc's camp, looking thoughtful. "We need time to prepare. Someone has to slow down the southern invaders—even if it means standing in their path. Grommash volunteered for that. I've already offered him our Blood Elf support. Plus, Grommash is at Alpha-level peak. He wants to put himself in a life-and-death scenario and try to break through on his own."

Self-driven breakthroughs were exactly why Grommash refused to retreat. Orcs might be vassals to the Blood Elves, but they still had a fair amount of autonomy—especially because their lords had historically achieved Legendary breakthroughs on their own. Grommash hoped to form his own Lord's Stone through battle, stepping into the ranks of Legendary.

It was a tough road, yet it was the path he'd chosen.

"Grommash has strong resolve. No point telling him otherwise," Elanor added. "He already sent away a bunch of younger Orcs, ensuring his tribe won't go extinct. Whenever a Orc becomes a lord, even the Blood Elves have no authority to order them around."

She also knew full well that forging a Lord's Stone alone stood next to impossible. Throughout history, those who'd done it could be counted on one hand.

"Let's go. Next, we'll head to the giants' territory. The southern invaders apparently have a giant lord among them, which might work to our advantage."

Elanor looked south again. That was where a clan of powerful giants dwelled. Legend said the ancestors of the giants were a powerful Titan. Elanor had no idea if that was true.

"Ms. Elanor, are you hoping Giant Balor will somehow... persuade that southern giant lord to switch sides and shift the balance?" asked Brimli the gnome, showing a flash of clever insight.

"If this plan works, we might snatch victory at minimal cost," Elanor murmured in reply, not denying his guess.

"Two giant lords facing off... so who's the real Giant King?" Brimli chortled, apparently picturing something amusing.

Boarion, clutching his still-injured arm, glanced toward the south with a serious expression. Elanor and Faelar, on the other hand, stayed calm, confident the war had yet to see its biggest turn.

---

Back in the Orc camp, Grommash waited until Elanor's group was out of sight, then addressed the tribe elders.

"Orcs do not bow. We do not run! Our young ones have already been sent away, so no more worries there. Now, for our tribe's sake—and for our freedom—we must embrace this do-or-die moment. In our darkest hour, we'll be reborn."

Blademaster Grommash harbored a burning ambition. As war loomed, he aimed to spark his own ascension in the heat of battle, maybe even dragging his tribe out from under Blood Elf authority for good. Win or lose, the Orcs would find themselves on the other side of the line from the Blood Elves—leaving the elves nothing to say. Stay tuned with My Virtual Library Empire

"Get ready, my people!" he roared. "Let our blood wash away the shame, and let the fury of battle cleanse our souls!"

---

On the march, riding on the back of the Abyssal Dragon.

Orion had Delilah in his arms, his eyes half-closed as he immersed his consciousness into the Survivor's Platform.

"Big boss, the weapon you gave me was awesome!"

"Big boss, lately there's been nothin' worthwhile. Such a shame!"

Once on the Survivor's Platform, Orion's first move wasn't to trade with Aerin but to check on Julius Caesar, to see if he'd put up anything new for sale. Unfortunately, Caesar seemed out of luck lately—no fresh loot had turned up.

Ignoring Julius Caesar, Orion wrapped up his trade with Aerin.

Finally, Orion turned his attention to Arthas.

"Hey bro, how's life been?"

Arthas didn't say anything right away. Instead, he initiated a trade, sending Orion a tiny, cherry-sized translucent bead.

"This piece of world essence is yours. Leonidas asked me to pass it on."

Startled, Orion looked closely, though at first he saw nothing within the bead. But in a flicker of the eye, it seemed like countless stars were twinkling inside.

"It's precious," Arthas added. "If you refine it, you should gain a minor upgrade."

Seeing that message, Orion felt downright ecstatic. Since reaching Legendary level, he'd consumed plenty of dark source crystals, but gains at that tier were just too hard to come by.

Orion squeezed Delilah's left breast, then withdrew the arm around her to pretend he was yawning. In the same motion, he slipped the world essence into his mouth.

As soon as it entered his body, Orion's transcendent power surged. For a moment, lightning and a faint red glow seemed to flicker in his eyes.

"What's going on, sweetheart?" Delilah asked. She was pressed close enough to Orion to feel the wave in his aura.

"No worries. I had a small breakthrough, so my aura got a bit unstable."

Orion pulled her closer again, nuzzling the scent in her hair.

Meanwhile, on the Survivor's Platform, Arthas hesitated for a while before sending Orion a message:

"Hulk, when long-established Legendary-level heavy hitters start warring, don't dig yourself in too deep. Know when to pull out. Also, that world of yours is in the midst of a divine war—this isn't a good time to open any teleportation portals. Even if you did, the most I could manage is sending one Legendary-level subordinate to help. Be careful! Even a demigod is not someone we can afford to provoke."

Reading the warning filled Orion with concern. Arthas wasn't trying to frighten him—he genuinely cared about him.

After a long pause, Orion replied:

"Thank you. I know my limits. When the time comes, I'll step back. As for the teleportation array, I'm not opening it anytime soon."

He was telling the truth. Right now, he had no plans to throw open a gateway and invite Arthas's undead army into his world.

"It's definitely wise to plan ahead," he thought. "Trouble's already brewing in the coalition, with tensions and infighting on the rise. I'd best keep my guard up at all times."

Still, this wasn't the moment for Orion to withdraw. Not yet.

First, he wanted to meet that giant lord the scouts had been talking about. Orion had no intention of letting any unknown clan of giants slip through his fingers. Consuming or subjugating that tribe would bolster his own giants and cement their standing in the Stoneheart Horde. That was his real objective.

He also wanted to see how strong those Starveil Giants truly were…

…

Utessar Kingdom, at the northern city gate.

Baron Torin had finally made it here, though he had neither a single retainer nor knight in tow—no militiamen either. Everything he'd done, yet he'd ended up with nothing.

On his way to the royal capital, Torin Ashvale ran into the king leading his regular army in person. Even before Torin had a chance to meet the king himself, his militia and knights were "requisitioned" in the king's name. Hearing it was a royal command, every last one of his men ditched Torin without hesitation.

"Shit… Your Majesty, I hope you die on the battlefield," Torin muttered bitterly. "And if you manage to survive, I swear I'll crush this kingdom of yours someday."

Fury and spite burned in his chest. At least he was a "survivor." Without that advantage, after everything that had happened, it would be impossible for a mere baron to rise up once again.

"Looks like I'll have to sell that thing after all, if I want to fund another comeback. Based on my experience, that little mini-building is definitely something special."

Over in the western region, Orion's allied forces didn't bother passing through Beastmen territory; they headed straight into the orcs' domain, where war was about to explode. Orion, however, was still half-absorbed in the Survivor's Platform.

Suddenly, he noticed a new item on the listings—a miniature building—and he bought it on the spot for five thousand C-grade crystal cores. Didn't take him more than a few seconds.

In the Utessar kingdom's royal capital, Torin Ashvale just stood there in a daze when he saw five thousand C-grade crystal cores drop into his account.

The mini-building he'd listed had been snapped up in seconds. Even an idiot would realize that meant it was worth far more than five thousand C-grade crystal cores.

"Ah well… bigger treasures mean nothing if I can't use them to rebuild. Good riddance."

Having settled that, Torin turned and walked toward the Mercenaries' Guild. With no knights or retinue left, if he wanted to build his status up again, he'd have to rely on the Mercenaries' Guild to form a mercenary corps and carve out a new faction and power base. There was an air of desolation in his shuffling footsteps, but also a certain steely resolve.

…

Seven days later, in orc territory, war broke out.

The orcs—under Blademaster Grommash's leadership—showed no sign of sitting around and waiting to be attacked. Instead, they launched the first blow.

From the back lines, Orion watched orc wolf-mounted cavalry collide with the cave spiders' formation, and he felt a wave of nostalgia. If Thundar were here, he'd probably charge right out with his cavalry regiment to test their mettle against those wolf riders.

"That orc chieftain is no pushover," Orion commented. He was perched behind the Abyssal Dragon, observing Delilah, Onyx, Rockwell, Earthshaker, Slagor, and the others as they converged on Blademaster Grommash.

Grommash's swordsmanship was razor-sharp, and each slash shone with lethal brilliance.

Crack!

Onyx swung his enormous axe in a thunderous blow, shattering Grommash's greatsword in his hands.

Narrowing his eyes at Onyx, Grommash's expression grew grim. Though his overall might exceeded that of his attackers, their teamwork was overwhelming. On top of that, a succubus was adding illusions from the sidelines, making it even harder for Grommash to keep up.

Yet this was exactly the crucible he desired. If Grommash hoped to ascend, this life-or-death struggle against Alpha-level foes was precisely the push he needed.