Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1383: I don’t understand where I went wrong

Was Blademaster Grommash captured alive?

Or has his Fate been altered?

Orion’s questions were answered, though perhaps not in the way he expected. A group of his elders—Onyx, Rockwell, Earthshaker, Slagor, and Delilah—approached, dragging a battered and exhausted figure between them.

It was Grommash.

"How exciting," Orion murmured, the corner of his mouth curving upward.

He knew exactly what was happening. He had either fallen into an illusion or been dragged into the depths of Sylvana’s memories. But it didn’t matter. Whether dream or reality, his Demigod perception remained intact. Even if this memory restricted his power to the Legendary level, his understanding of the laws of force allowed him to exert strength far beyond conventional limits.

He was, after all, a man who specialized in punching above his weight class.

Half a day passed in the simulation before Orion stood before his old adversary.

"Blademaster Grommash. The ’Invincible Alpha-being.’ I just heard your name from an Ogre Lord," Orion said, his voice smooth and cold. "It is a pity. If I were still merely Alpha-level, I would grant you the chance to challenge me properly."

"I challenge you!"

Orion paused. That line was different. In his memory, Grommash had been defiant, yes, but the wording—and the sheer venom behind it—had changed.

Orion didn’t reply immediately. He simply smiled.

Even here, this Orc—the one capable of condensing a Lord’s Stone through sheer will—was as stubborn as ever.

Orion raised his hand and made a sharp, cutting motion across his throat.

Without hesitation, Earthshaker stepped forward. In front of Grommash’s widening eyes, the giant severed the heads of five Orc prisoners.

"Continue," Orion said, his tone flat. "We haven’t reached five hundred yet."

His mindset had shifted since the first time he lived this moment. Back then, he might have felt a flicker of respect. Now, Grommash’s defiance was merely an annoyance.

Delilah, Onyx, and the others glanced at their Lord. Seeing that he wasn’t joking, they resumed the grim work. It became a game of executions.

"Think carefully before you speak to me again," Orion said. He was calm, detached, and utterly terrifying.

"I... challenge... you!"

Blademaster Grommash’s conviction was unbreakable, but his voice was no longer a warrior’s roar. It was a sound of grinding teeth and deep, ocean-bottom hatred.

"I’ll give you a chance," Orion nodded. "But your challenge will have to wait until I have slaughtered every last Orc here."

Orion wanted to see if that iron will could truly withstand anything. He turned to his generals.

"Prophet’s orders," he said, using the title they knew him by in this time. "I have no use for Orc prisoners. Kill them all. Feed their meat to the snow wolves and the spiders."

Onyx and the others looked surprised for a fleeting second, but obedience was instinct. They moved to execute the command.

What followed was a scene from a nightmare. Heads rolled like stones. Blood pooled, then flowed, forming a crimson river that snaked its way to Grommash’s feet.

"Ahhhhhhh!"

Grommash broke.

He wasn’t made of stone. Everything he had done, every battle he had fought, was for the future of the Orcs. He fought for his Clan. But now, watching his people being butchered like livestock, his impenetrable belief system collapsed from the inside out.

"I... WILL... KILL... YOU!"

The voice didn’t sound like it came from a throat. It sounded like a Devil had possessed him, a sound generated by grinding bones and a bitten-off tongue.

With a grotesque, wet tearing sound, Blademaster Grommash’s body detonated. Flesh and muscle sprayed outward in a gruesome rain.

When the red mist settled, Grommash was gone. In his place, hovering in the air, was a weapon.

A Bone Forged Sword.

The sword let out a high-pitched keening noise and shot toward Orion.

Orion didn’t dodge. Instead, he surged forward, meeting the weapon in mid-air and clamping his hand around the hilt.

Die!

The moment his skin touched the bone, a suffocating aura of murder enveloped him. Grommash’s soul was screaming at him from within the void.

Crimson Transcendent Power erupted from the hilt, trying to invade Orion’s body, trying to corrupt him.

"Not bad," Orion praised.

He ignored the screaming will of the Blademaster. He ignored the killing intent. With a casual flick of his wrist, he swung the Bone-Forged Sword.

A wave of red sword-light slashed out, tearing through the lines of waiting prisoners.

BOOM!

Dozens of Orcs were obliterated in an instant.

"Using your gathered killing intent to slaughter your own kin... this is too amusing," Orion laughed darkly.

Thrum! Thrum! Thrum!

The white Bone-Forged Sword trembled violently in Orion’s grip. It wasn’t vibrating with power anymore; it was wailing.

Orion raised the blade again. Another slash. Another wave of death. More Orcs fell to the weapon made of their hero.

No... No... No...

In Orion’s perception, the roaring chant of Kill had dissolved into a pathetic, begging No.

The sword was shaking uncontrollably. The aggressive red Transcendent Power that had been trying to attack Orion receded, flowing back into the blade itself. The tip of the white bone turned a dark, rusty red.

It was the color of tears of blood.

"Even if you lived a thousand times, you would never be my match," Orion said softly to the sword.

He stood amidst the carnage, the bloody bone sword in hand, looking at the frozen faces of his army.

But before he could speak, the world twisted.

Orion felt like a traveler being pulled through a wormhole. Countless images flashed by—colors, sounds, fragments of time blurring into streaks of light.

When the world solidified again, Orion was standing in a quiet, elevated place.

In front of him stood Sylvana. Her eyes were beautiful, clear, and utterly enchanting.

"The numbers have shifted," Sylvana said, her voice troubled. "The Fate of the Beastfolk has become blurred. I can no longer see the future."

This was the first thing Orion heard.

"Elder," a voice replied. Standing beside Sylvana was the familiar Old Elder of the Fox Tribe. "The destiny of the Beastfolk Race rises and falls. Occasionally, a divination will be wrong. It is unavoidable."

"Sylvana!" Orion called out softly.

He didn’t shout. He realized immediately that neither Sylvana nor the Old Elder could see him. To them, he didn’t exist.

Orion reached out, trying to touch Sylvana’s shoulder. His hand passed straight through her body as if he were smoke.

It was a strange sensation. Orion wasn’t sure if he was a ghost, or if they were the illusions.

"In the original reading," Sylvana continued, staring into the distance, "Grommash was supposed to soar during this battle. He was destined to become one of the premier figures of this continent."

"I don’t understand where I went wrong."

She looked toward the direction of the battlefield—the place Orion had just come from—with a look of profound unwillingness.

Moments later, urged by the Old Elder, Sylvana descended from the watchtower. They were fleeing the Beastfolk’s base of operations.

Orion watched her retreating figure, lost in thought. So, the "change" in Grommash’s behavior had been a deviation from the timeline Sylvana had foreseen.

Before he could analyze it further, the scene shattered again like glass.

He was pulled back into the kaleidoscope of time.

This time, he drifted in the void for much longer. When vision finally returned, the image was hazy, dreamlike, and dark.

It was a world shrouded in shadow.

Two blue phantoms were locked in combat.

At first, Orion watched with detached interest. But as the seconds ticked by, the movements of the phantoms struck a chord of familiarity deep within his muscle memory.

"That’s... me?"

He watched the blue figures clash, the shockwaves silent but visually devastating.

"This..." Orion narrowed his eyes. "This is the Giant-King Duel?"