Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1386: The Order’s Ultimatum

He expected an interrogation regarding the inner workings of the Magic Association. He braced himself for questions about arcane theory or political influence.

Instead, Elara just wanted to fact-check the bard.

"So," she pressed, "those Snail-Dragons. They’re real?"

"They are, Your Highness," Rhazuun replied, quickly recovering his composure. "I happened to tour that realm some years ago."

It wasn’t the line of questioning he had hoped for, but he adopted the air of a seasoned traveler—humble yet knowledgeable.

"And you know Cloudsong?"

"Ah..." Rhazuun hesitated. He felt like he was playing catch-up with her erratic train of thought. "To be honest, yes. We are friends."

He admitted it, but briefly. In his line of work, admitting connection was a liability. If he offended the Stoneheart Horde, he didn’t want Cloudsong caught in the splash damage. It was a code of honor among drifters.

"Give me the coordinates for the Snail-Dragon world," Elara said.

It wasn’t a request. There was no "please," no negotiation. She looked at him with the absolute certainty that he would comply.

And, wanting to curry favor, Rhazuun didn’t refuse. To him, this was harmless—a sheltered princess wanting a bizarre pet from a faraway land.

He reached into his robes and produced a memory orb, a swirling sphere of glass containing the dimensional coordinates and a brief primer on the world’s environment. He slid it across the table.

"Thanks." Elara pocketed the orb, then gestured to the chair opposite her. "Sit down. You can say whatever you came here to say now."

Rhazuun blinked. He realized that in his eagerness to explain the dragons, he had risen to his feet. The realization didn’t sting his pride, however. Even as an Arch Lord, standing before her felt oddly appropriate. He took his seat, studying her. He could only attribute her overwhelming presence to sheer charisma.

"Aren’t you going to drink?" Elara pointed to his tankard. "It’s good for your mana pool."

She took a long pull from her own mug of Goblin Fizz, finishing with a satisfied burp. A small, pale green bubble drifted from her lips. It floated upward, shimmering, before popping with a soft snap.

The moment it burst, Rhazuun felt it—a distinct, concentrated ripple of raw magic washing over the table.

"That was..." Rhazuun started, eyes widening.

Elara ignored him, happily nursing her drink.

Curiosity piqued, Rhazuun lowered his head and took a tentative sip from his own mug. The flavor was explosive, the energy rush immediate. He didn’t stop at a sip. He drained the tankard in one long draught.

He set the empty mug down, shaking it to catch the last drop. "Incredible."

"That’s Goblin Fizz," Elara said with a smirk, her eyes dancing with a competitive sort of pride. "Rare as a Snail-Dragon, and exclusive to the Stoneheart Horde."

"My thanks for the hospitality, Your Highness," Rhazuun said. As a mage, he knew the value of what he’d just consumed. It wasn’t just a drink; it was a liquid mana potion of the highest tier. His respect for her resources deepened.

He leaned in, his tone shifting to business. "Your Highness, have you heard of the Order of the Dandelion?"

Elara shook her head, looking genuinely curious.

That curiosity was all the invitation Rhazuun needed.

"We are an ancient organization, guided by a Demigod," he began, his voice taking on a reverent cadence. "Our mission is to scatter the seeds of magic across every known reality. We are a force for order and benevolence."

He emphasized the morality of his cause, usually the best way to lower a potential recruit’s defenses. But as he watched Elara, he saw no spark of longing. No awe.

"Your Highness, we formally invite you to join the Order of the Dandelion," he continued, trying to salvage the pitch. "With us, you would access the most orthodox magical knowledge and witness wonders beyond imagination."

Elara remained unmoved. She looked bored.

Rhazuun gritted his teeth. The carrot hadn’t worked, so he reached for the stick. It was a tactic he despised, but he was desperate to secure a prodigy of her caliber.

"Your Highness," his voice dropped to a grave whisper. "The Cataclysm is approaching. Other worlds are beginning to bleed into this one."

He paused for effect. "Even your father, powerful as he is, may only be able to save himself when the sky falls. But if you join us... the Order will extend its protection to the Stoneheart Horde. We will send our battle-mages to aid you."

It was a threat wrapped in a promise. Join us, or face the apocalypse alone.

He watched her face, expecting fear. He expected the girl to crack. In Rhazuun’s eyes, she was a future Demigod, the ultimate guardian for his Order. He needed her.

Elara laughed.

It wasn’t a nervous laugh. It was the bright, amused laughter of someone watching a jester perform a particularly clumsy trick.

To Rhazuun, it was baffling. Does she not understand the value of a Demigod-level mentor? Does she think I’m bluffing?

Elara’s laughter slowly subsided. She turned her head, looking out the window at the bustling street below.

"Mage," she said softly, "do you see panic out there?"

Rhazuun frowned. He turned to the window, extending his senses outward, sweeping across the tavern and the street.

The sounds of the city washed over him.

"Step right up! Fresh Minotaur horns!" a vendor bellowed. "Fresh off the bull! Grind ’em for potions or sharpen ’em for shanks! Get ’em while they’re hot, price doubles tomorrow!"

"Hungry? We got deep-fried bug strips! Crunchy, spicy, better than sex! Come get your protein!"

Further down, a group of mercenaries were gossiping, their voices carrying over the din.

"Hear about Obsidian City? Massive locust plague. Swarm blocked out the sun, ate every crop in the fields."

"Yeah, I heard," his companion replied with a shrug. "So what? The bugs eat the grain, we eat the bugs. Deep fry those bastards and they taste like chicken. No loss there."

Rhazuun listened intently. He scanned the faces of the hawkers, the pedestrians, the drunks in the gutter. As an Arch Lord, he could taste emotions in the air.

He found greed. He found lust. He found annoyance.

But he found zero fear. Not a trace of existential dread.

"Mage," Elara’s voice brought him back to the room. "You don’t understand the Titanion Realm. And you certainly don’t understand the Stoneheart Horde."

"Over a decade ago, this continent was plagued by the Dark Tides," she said, her tone light, as if discussing the weather. "Every winter, endless waves of monsters would wash over the land. For the weak, it was an apocalypse. Entire tribes and factions were wiped off the map every single year."