Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1387: The Hunger of Wolves

It was a history lesson, but for Elara, it was personal lore.

The elders of the Stoneheart Horde—those who had marched from the frozen north—didn’t tell bedtime stories about fairies. They told stories about the long winters. They told the younglings about the hunger, the cold, and the things that hunted in the dark.

Elara and Pallas had been raised on these stories. They were bred for the end of the world.

Back when she was smaller, simply listening to stories wasn’t enough. Elara used to pester Orion relentlessly, climbing all over him until the Giant King agreed to narrate the tales himself.

Those were the golden days. Even Pallas—usually sniffling after getting roughed up in play-fights—would dry his tears and turn into a total suck-up, telling Elara how "pretty and powerful" she was just so she’d let him tag along and listen to their father’s voice.

Elara’s gaze drifted back to Rhazuun, her expression hardening.

"You see an apocalypse, Mage. But for a Bloodline Warrior with real ambition? The Dark Beast Tides weren’t a disaster. They were a hunting season. They were the fastest, most brutal way to sharpen your steel and prove you were better than the man standing next to you."

She swirled the dregs of her Goblin Fizz. "That path to power was cut off over a decade ago. The hunting grounds dried up."

There was a note of genuine regret in her voice. She knew the Dark Creatures came from the Emerald Dream Realm and that the Dusk Continent was still crawling with them, but she had missed the prime of the Stoneheart Horde’s rise. She had missed the era where her father carved his throne out of chaos. She felt like she had arrived at the party just as the music stopped.

"Now, a new door is opening," Elara said, her eyes gleaming. "A battlefield vast enough to satisfy everyone. Tell me, Rhazuun, do you think a pack of wolves that hasn’t eaten in ten years is afraid of a little danger? Or are they salivating?"

She didn’t wait for his answer.

"They aren’t scared. They’re thrilled. They’re ecstatic. This isn’t just about them getting stronger; it’s about legacy. It’s about securing power for their families for generations."

She gestured toward the window, encompassing the city below.

"You haven’t been in Stoneheart City long enough to understand the heartbeat of this place. You don’t see the desperation in the newcomers. They aren’t here just to hide. They’re here to bleed. They want battle achievements. They want to change their fate, and the fate of their pathetic little factions, by piling up bodies in your ’apocalypse’."

Elara’s observation was razor-sharp. While others saw refugees, she saw prospectors looking to strike it rich in violence.

"And don’t get me started on the Horde’s younger generation," she continued, a smirk playing on her lips. "You have no idea how much poison has been poured into their ears—stories of their fathers’ glory, of the wars that built this city. They think they are the protagonists of this story. They don’t fear war; they crave it. They need it to prove they aren’t just shadows of their parents."

She thought of her brothers. Kronos and Pallas usually acted the part of the stoic, rational princes, but she knew better. Put a weapon in their hands, and they were absolute maniacs.

She remembered Pallas in the Youth Camp. To earn the title of ’King of the Children,’ he had systematically beaten every single youngling in the tribe into submission. He had only stopped his rampage when he realized the gap between him and Elara was insurmountable. That was the only reason he bowed out of fighting her—pure, calculated survival instinct.

"To other factions, this changing might be an apocalypse," Elara said, leaning back with supreme confidence. "For the Stoneheart Horde? It’s just new real estate."

Rhazuun stared at her. He hadn’t realized that the girl he was trying to poach was actually the apex predator of the Horde’s next generation. In Elara’s mind, the descending world wasn’t a threat; it was her personal playground.

If a Demigod shows up? Orion handles it. Anyone else? I crush them.

Rhazuun fell silent, his mind racing.

She was right.

The hunger wasn’t limited to the Stoneheart Horde. The city was flooding with talented outcasts from every race and faction. Yes, some came for safety, seeking the shelter of the Giant King. But the ambitious ones? They came because Orion was the only public Demigod on the continent. His existence made Stoneheart City the only safe base of operations from which to launch attacks into the new world.

It was the ultimate high-risk, high-reward gamble.

"I... overlooked that," Rhazuun admitted, his voice low. "I didn’t realize the Giant King had become the spiritual anchor for the entire continent. As long as he stands, the people’s will won’t break."

It was a staggering realization for the Arch Lord. Usually, a figure doesn’t become a "spiritual leader" until they’ve conquered and unified the land. The continent was still fractured, yet Orion held the reins without ever having formally seized them. Everyone was just... waiting for him to give the order.

Rhazuun looked at Elara with fresh eyes. He had to scrap his entire psychological profile of the Stoneheart Horde.

"Your confusion is clearing up," Elara noted, her tone teasing. "But I see new questions forming behind your eyes."

"Your Highness, then—"

"Stop." Elara raised a hand, cutting him off. "Let me save you the breath. First point: Me joining your Order to study under your Demigod? Never going to happen."

Rhazuun’s expression soured slightly. It wasn’t just a rejection; it was a dismissal of his deity’s value.

"Don’t look at me like that. I’m not looking down on your Demigod," Elara said, tapping a finger against the table. "But look at me. I’m an Arch Lord at my age. Do you honestly think I stumbled onto this power by accident? Do you think I don’t already have a teacher?"

Rhazuun paused, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. Of course. She was a monster of talent. She didn’t grow in a vacuum. She already had backing—backing that was likely just as terrifying as the Order of the Dandelion.

He nodded slowly, his posture shifting from recruiter to listener.