Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1404: A Royal Gambit

It meant that the calamity brought by the descending otherworld was of a magnitude that even the Human Kingdom, with all its might, could not withstand.

It meant that the shadow of the Giant King now stretched across every inch of the continent.

And for the Blood Elves, it meant the time for deliberation was over. They had to choose: flight or servitude.

With the humans gone, the Blood Elves would be the only faction left on the surface capable of challenging the Stoneheart Horde. In the eyes of the Horde’s radicals, that didn’t make them a rival; it made them a target. A nail sticking up that needed to be hammered down to ensure total unification.

They had to make their choice before the last human ship left the harbor.

"I did not foresee this," the Guardian Tree’s voice rumbled, deep and resonant like the shifting of tectonic plates. "The alteration of the world’s laws has triggered a geopolitical landslide. An Archlord... no longer holds the right to decide the fate of nations."

It had taken time, but the ancient entity had processed the hidden truth. Wisdom came with age, and the Tree was the oldest of them all.

"Guardian," King Rommath said, his voice laced with confusion. "Where do we go from here?"

As the Elven King of this generation, Rommath felt the ground crumbling beneath his feet. In any other era, he would have been remembered as a wise and broad-minded ruler. But the world was changing too fast. His vision, his statecraft—it was all becoming obsolete.

The news that the Giant King had ascended to Demigod status had cast a pall of terror over every sovereign on the continent.

"Your Majesty," the Tree asked, using the formal honorific, a sign of the gravity of the moment. "Do we hold a blood feud with the Stoneheart Horde?"

"No," Rommath answered immediately.

Memories flashed through his mind—the humiliation of the Horde marching to the gates of the City of Blessings during the Civil War; the bitterness of sending Lycanor away as a peace bride. But he shook his head, physically dispelling the thoughts. Those were political scars, not existential hatreds. They were not unresolvable.

"Will the Stoneheart Horde enslave us?" the Tree asked.

"No," Rommath admitted again. The Horde was brutal, but they were conquerors, not slavers.

"Then, Your Majesty, the question is simple. do you desire a peaceful life for your people? Or do you desire the throne and your pride, even if it requires the sacrifice of the majority to maintain it?"

It was a question that pierced the heart.

Rommath hesitated. He understood the Guardian Tree’s implication perfectly. It was the choice between submission and independence.

"Guardian... is there truly no other way?"

He wanted to struggle. It was the instinct of a King to refuse to bow.

"There is," the Tree replied dispassionately. "We abandon the common people. We take the elite, those with supreme talent, and seal ourselves inside my fragment space. We wait. When I ascend to become an Archlord, when the world shifts again, when the Blood Elves can once again stand tall—then we emerge."

The boughs creaked. "But that day may be thousands of years away. Or tens of thousands. Or never."

The ’Ark’ option. Survival for the few, death for the many, and a prison of their own making.

Grand Elder Lireesa had remained silent, watching her King with hawklike intensity. She knew Rommath had suffered indignities during his reign, but this was the crucible. A leader’s true quality was only revealed at the edge of the abyss.

Time seemed to blur. It might have been half a day, or three full days of meditation under the boughs.

When King Rommath finally looked up, the exhaustion on his face had been replaced by a profound, hollow acceptance.

"Guardian. Grand Elder. We will submit."

He exhaled a long, shuddering breath. "Judging by the Stoneheart Horde’s treatment of other assimilated races, our people will not suffer unduly."

As the words left his lips, Rommath seemed to deflate. He looked smaller, frailer. The crown upon his brow slipped slightly, askew, losing its majestic authority.

In truth, surrender was the best option for the average Blood Elf. They would likely gain better protection and resources under the Horde’s banner. The only true losers were the ruling class—Rommath and Lireesa. They would lose their sovereignty, their absolute command, forced to become mere administrators in a larger machine, competing for scraps of favor.

"Royal power is a blade with two edges," the Guardian Tree murmured, its voice echoing in their minds. "One side is the glory of conquest; the other is the ruin of defeat."

The Tree spoke as an observer, detached from mortal ambition.

"Power is like water. Today it is a calm mirror; tomorrow it may rush over a cliff and become a raging torrent."

It was a consolation. No empire lasted forever, not even the Stoneheart Horde. The Tree was telling Rommath that as long as the Blood Elf race survived, the chance to rise again would eventually come.

"There is an opportunity, Your Majesty," Lireesa said, her voice sharp again, planning for the future. "Prince Elyndar and Princess Ariselle should have arrived at Stoneheart City by now."

"If you have truly made your decision, this is the moment. If we offer our allegiance now, the Stoneheart Horde will find it very difficult to refuse a marriage alliance."

This was an open scheme, born of Lireesa’s ancient political wisdom.

It wasn’t a threat; it was a ’double happiness.’ A surrender wrapped in a wedding gift.

Lireesa saw the board clearly. Orion’s wife, Seraphina, was a Demigod. Her position was unassailable, but she would need allies for her future children. The Blood Elves could be those supporters.

If Lycanor, who was already in the Horde, had produced an heir, the Elves would have had a stronger hand. But she hadn’t.

So, they had to double down. Submit, and request a royal marriage to seal the pact.

"Grand Elder," Rommath asked, his voice cracking, "does Ariselle know? Will she oppose this?"

He could swallow the humiliation of losing his crown for the sake of his people. But as a father, trading his daughter’s happiness felt like a knife in his gut.

Will she hate me? he wondered. I have lost my kingdom, and now I must sell my child. He felt like the greatest failure in the history of his line.

"Your Majesty, I do not believe Her Highness will refuse," Lireesa said pragmatically. "The Prince of the Giants... he is the child of a Demigod."

She paused, letting the reality sink in. "Their potential surpasses anything in our history. Under normal circumstances, someone like Ariselle could only gaze up at such a being in awe."

Lireesa wasn’t trying to demean her own Princess, but facts were facts. A Demigod’s offspring was born with a silver spoon of cosmic power. Even the weakest among them would effortlessly reach the level of Archlord—a realm the Blood Elves hadn’t touched in millennia.

"Your Majesty," Lireesa continued, "are you familiar with the Ogre Province within the Stoneheart Horde?"

Rommath looked up.

"If this marriage succeeds, perhaps we can negotiate for a similar status. We could preserve the Blood Elf race not just as subjects, but as an autonomous state."

It was a sliver of hope.

Lireesa clung to it. And now, so did Rommath.