Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1398: The Molting King

Even if an outbreak occurred, it would be stomped out in a heartbeat by the regulars and mercenaries rushing to the scene.

In the Stoneheart Horde’s territory, these bugs were nothing more than a delicacy, grilled up and served in the taverns of the great cities. But out here, things were different. This was the fringe of the Blood Elf territory—a lawless buffer zone neither side truly controlled.

Strict governance in these borderlands usually just led to friction, and with the Stoneheart Horde’s current aggressive dominance, the Blood Elves had taken a step back. They’d effectively ceded authority over the edges of their own map.

That vacuum gave the swarm exactly the room it needed to breed.

"Hold."

Rolan tapped the shaft of his trident against the Abyssal Dragon beneath him. The beast understood instantly. As it halted, the bone armor fused to its hide expanded, creeping up to encase Rolan in a protective shell. A shroud of Abyssal energy rose to meet it, cloaking him in a grim, spectral haze.

ROAR!

The Abyssal Dragon let out a low, vibrating growl, a wave of pure intimidation that rolled over the surrounding forest.

Rolan halting meant only one thing: enemies were close.

Strangely, the moment they stopped, the nearby Leafmaws ceased their harassment of the vanguard. Instead, they swarmed toward the Raptor Cavalry unit trailing behind Rolan.

"I’ll give you one chance. Bend the knee to the Stoneheart Horde. Submit to the Horde for observation and re-engineering."

Rolan’s face remained an impassive mask. He didn’t move a muscle.

Truth be told, he didn’t know exactly where the eyes watching him were hidden. He just felt the prickle of danger on his neck.

Trying to recruit a Broodmother was standard procedure for the Stoneheart Horde’s sweeping teams. Bringing one back alive for the Tribe was a ticket to massive glory. While a Legendary-level Broodmother was a pipe dream right now, Alpha-levels had been spotted before. The last team had failed to capture theirs, but that didn’t mean Rolan intended to fail.

Silence. The woods were unnervingly quiet.

Save for the distant sounds of the Raptor Cavalry clashing with the Leafmaws, the world had gone dead still.

"Ten seconds. Then I start killing."

Still no response. Rolan’s expression hardened into ice.

He reached into his coat, his fingers brushing against a vial of pheromone lure. It was a rare trade good the Tribe had acquired from an off-world faction—an item of fatal attraction to the insectoid species. Once unsealed, any bug below Legendary level would lose its mind to the scent and expose its position.

Thwip!

The instant Rolan’s hand disappeared into his coat, a black blur shot out from the trunk of a massive redwood, aiming straight for his face.

"Amateur."

Rolan sneered. He was reaching for the lure, yes, but he was also baiting the trap.

His free left hand gripped the trident. A surge of bloodline power erupted, channeling through his arm as he swung to meet the attack head-on.

CLANG!

The shadow slammed into the trident, spraying a distinct green ichor before being knocked backward through the air.

It was an insectoid, barely five feet tall but built like a tank. Its body was jet black, armored in chitin that gleamed like polished steel over rippling muscle. Its head was smooth and hairless, save for two antennae twitching rhythmically.

Its left arm—a serrated scythe—was now ruined, punched through by Rolan’s trident.

Damn. Just a King.

Rolan sighed, disappointed. It wasn’t a Broodmother.

There was a world of difference. Insect Kings were biological weapons, males evolved through brutal internal cage matches. They were built for slaughter. Broodmothers, usually female, were the strategic core of the hive. They birthed the swarm and engineered the genetic upgrades of their offspring. Kings conquered territory; Broodmothers built empires.

For the Stoneheart Horde, a Broodmother was infinitely more valuable.

"Food... mine... not leave!"

Perhaps it had only recently evolved; the Insect King’s speech was jagged and broken.

"Food?" Rolan raised his trident, eyes narrowing into slits. A heavy, suffocating aura of killing intent locked onto the creature. "You need to figure out who’s eating who."

As the sole disciple of the Giant King Orion, Rolan had mastered more than just melee combat.

With a sharp zip, the trident left his hand like a lightning bolt. It slammed into the Insect King, pinning it violently against the tree trunk behind it.

But just as Rolan moved to inspect his catch, the creature’s body began to convulse. The chitin on its head split open with a wet tear, and a smaller, leaner version of the King slithered out of the husk, immediately spreading its wings and rocketing into the sky.

"Molting escape?"

Rolan scoffed. A King wouldn’t be a King without a few survival instincts.

Having tasted Rolan’s power, the creature put as much vertical distance between them as possible, flying well out of trident range.

"You think you can run?" Rolan tilted his head back, watching the creature look down on him.

He could see the triumph in the insect’s multifaceted eyes. It knew Rolan had no wings. It thought it had gained the tactical advantage.

"Incredible potential," Rolan mused aloud, smiling. "To evolve to Alpha-level in such a short time... I have high hopes for this new world we’re merging with."

The rules of the universe had shifted. Bottom-feeders were becoming apex predators.

"But you? You’re not quite there yet."

ROAR!

A dragon’s cry tore through the heavens.

An Abyssal Demondrake broke through the cloud cover, diving like a meteor.

The Insect King saw the shadow fall over him, but it was too late. A torrent of hellfire engulfed him instantly. The sound of sizzling organic matter filled the air as the insectoid shrieked in terror, turning into a crumbling lump of charcoal before it even hit the ground.

Far off, at the edge of the forest.

The migration convoy was busy fending off the Leafmaws when the dragon’s dive caught their attention.

"Mother, look! That’s Rolan’s Demondrake!"

The appearance of the beast caused a ripple of nervous energy among Ava and the others. They hadn’t known air support was this close.

"I heard Father picked it out personally," Kronos said, watching the beast pull out of its dive and bank back toward the clouds. "A reward for Rolan taming the Abyssal Dragon on his own."

Kronos had his own mount, a standard dragon currently circling in the mist above, waiting for his signal. But looking at the Demondrake, envy flickered in his eyes. His dragon was generic—a mixed bloodline.

But then, his hand brushed the Dragon Mark Orion had bestowed upon him, and the envy in his gaze was replaced by a look of burning anticipation.

Given the chance, he’d trade up. Sign a pact with a higher-tier dragon or find a way to juice the bloodline of the one he had.

But that was a problem for later. That was a "back at the Stoneheart Horde" problem.

Inside the carriage, Ava watched the silhouette of the Abyssal Demondrake vanish into the clouds, her mind reeling.

Since when does the Stoneheart Horde have the power to just... domesticate the dragon race?

If they had one or two dragons, you could call it luck. A fluke. But if they were popping up like common cavalry mounts? That meant the Horde wasn’t just coexisting with dragons; they were dominating them.

"Looks like it was an Insect King," Kronos said, breaking her train of thought. "With the King dead, the swarm’s hive mind will collapse. They’ll scatter."

He turned to his aide. "Lambert, get the crew moving. I want every carcass salvaged. Harvest the meat and the crystal cores. It’s high-grade protein, and the cores are excellent for boosting civilian Constitution."

Kronos had spent the last few years embedded with the Stoneheart Horde; his knowledge of xenobiology rivaled Rolan’s. He knew that in a swarm of this magnitude, the elites dropped crystallized energy.

"And get word to the refugees from Soaring Bird City," Kronos added, his voice steady. "Tell them the bugs aren’t monsters. They’re just lunch."

Kronos stood on the carriage step, small in stature but commanding the scene like a general reviewing his troops.

To Ava, looking at him now, he was radiant. He was charismatic.

Is that really my blood running through his veins?

For a split second, insecurity gnawed at her. He seemed too capable, too brilliant to be hers. As she stared at his back, the shadow he cast seemed to lengthen, warping and sharpening until it took the unmistakable shape of Orion.

At the rear of the convoy, the cleanup was already underway.

"Jackpot, boys! We hit the motherlode!"

"Forget the bounties, the taverns in Stoneheart City are gonna pay a premium for this meat!"

Stoutgut the dwarf swung his massive warhammer, pulping the head of a twitching Leafmaw. He didn’t mind the gore. He plunged a thick, calloused hand into the brain matter and fished out a glowing crystal about the size of a walnut.

"Hey, Commander! This count as a crystal core?"

Ignoring the envious looks from the others, Stoutgut wiped the slime off the gem with his shirt and popped it into his mouth like a jawbreaker.

CRUNCH!

"It’s basically the same principle as a Dark Source Crystal," Godfrey explained, wiping his blade. "New packaging, same energy. It’ll toughen your hide."

Godfrey had become a regular at the Silent Goblet in Stoneheart City. He’d picked up a lot of trivia there. The bards didn’t just sing idle songs; they wove survival guides and inter-dimensional lore into their tales.

It was a brilliant move by Delilah. Entertainment as education. It didn’t change things overnight, but year by year, the collective IQ of the Horde was ticking upward.

"King’s dead, swarm’s breaking!" Godfrey shouted, rallying his unit. "Whatever you kill, you keep! Fill your pockets, lads!"

He lunged forward, his sword piercing the underbelly of a fleeing Leafmaw.

"Tough bastards, aren’t they?" panted Bloodear. The gnoll was standing close to Stoutgut, looking winded. "Their carapace is harder than plate mail."

Bloodear was the squishiest member of the ’Blood and Fire’ Mercs. If the team hadn’t covered him, he would have been bug food ten minutes ago.

"If the Commander hadn’t called out the weak points, we’d be in trouble," the gnoll admitted. The Leafmaws weren’t high-level threats individually, but their defense was annoying. In a swarm, if you didn’t kill them fast, you got overrun.

"Godfrey, did you see that?"

Brundar the giant wasn’t looking at the bugs. His eyes were glued to the sky.

"That was Rolan’s Abyssal Demondrake."

For a giant, there was no status symbol quite like a mount, and nothing topped a purebred Demondrake.

"I heard a rumor," Brundar said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial rumble. "They say the Horde’s high-tier vault has dragon eggs. Real ones."

"Friend, rumor or not, the path is the same," Godfrey said, sheathing his sword. "When the new world merges, war comes with it. We defend our home, we stack up Merit."

Godfrey looked at the giant. "With enough Merit, the vault opens. Eggs, gear, whatever you want."

Godfrey had been an Alpha-level warrior for a long time. Delilah had tried to recruit him years ago, back when Galahad died, but he hadn’t been ready. He’d stayed independent. But now? He was part of the landscape. It was time to think about the long game.

From what he knew, dragon eggs weren’t even the top-tier loot in the Stoneheart vault. And they didn’t just have one or two.

As a knight, the dream of flight was universal. Godfrey wanted to be a Dragon Knight. He wanted to rule the skies.

"You’re right," Brundar nodded, straightening up. "Better to bleed for it than beg for it."

Godfrey smiled. The giant wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, but he’d grown wiser. Simple goals made for focused warriors.

"Speaking of luck," Brundar jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "That kid is lucky he hired us."

"Anyone else would’ve cut and run. Those two would be fertilizer."

He pointed to Tristan Greymount and Adelina. Tristan looked like a ghost, pale and sweating. Adelina, his maid, was gripping a dagger with both hands, trembling so hard she looked like she might vibrate out of existence. Her only contribution to the fight was not abandoning her boss.

"Disaster..." Tristan mumbled, eyes darting around. "Supply lines cut... scarcity... prices are going to skyrocket..."

"This is it... this is the window... margins will be insane..."

Godfrey and Brundar exchanged a look. The kid had snapped out of his terror, but instead of thanking the gods, he was mumbling about profit margins.

"Is he brain-damaged?" Brundar spat, looking at the noble with disdain.

Godfrey, however, studied Tristan with a newfound respect.

"No," Godfrey said quietly. "He’s an opportunist. Greed isn’t bad, Brundar. Not if it moves goods."

Godfrey knew the value of a pure merchant to any faction. Wars needed logistics, and logistics needed people like Tristan who saw gold where others saw blood.

"Leave him be. He’s the client. Our job is to keep him breathing until the check clears."

Godfrey let out a sharp whistle.

A few hundred yards away, a massive Flame-Tiger stopped mauling a beetle and bounded over to him.

"Alright, cleanup time," Godfrey commanded, swinging onto his mount. "Let’s clear the perimeter. All this loot belongs to us."