Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1410: Return of the Old Guard

Dirtclaw had a bone to pick. Ever since Orion ordered the purge of the Insectoids within their borders, he and Gustalon—the fellow Warden of Blackstone City—had agreed to trade off shifts.

Gustalon led the first wave. With the efficiency of a storm, he had scoured the northern wastes so thoroughly that the Insectoids were practically extinct in the region.

By the time it was Dirtclaw’s turn, it was just a glorified patrol. There was nothing left to kill.

"Try the region south of the Thunderwood," Gustalon suggested, his voice as calm as the eye of a hurricane. "It’s humid there. They breed fast in the rot. Even if I swept it, they’ve likely respawned by now."

He pointed out potential hotspots on the map. Both of them were stuck at the same bottleneck—peak Legends, banging their heads against the ceiling of the Archlord rank. For warriors of their caliber, stomping on low-level bugs was barely a warm-up.

"The Great Shift is upon us," Gustalon murmured, looking up at the gray sky. "The environment is changing. The laws of the world are rewriting themselves, and the mana density is spiking. War isn’t far off."

Gustalon could feel the invisible currents in the air. The elemental ocean was expanding without limit. This shift meant the very geography of the world would soon be redrawn. And perhaps, in that chaos, his own limitations would finally shatter.

"You smell it too? The blood and ash?"

"Heh."

Dirtclaw grinned, a low rumble in his chest. He knew Gustalon wasn’t afraid. Quite the opposite—his brother-in-arms was itching for a fight. They were both creatures of conflict, forged in the fires of war.

"To be honest, I don’t get it," Dirtclaw mused, scratching his chin. "Where does this unknown world get the stones to invade the Titanion Realm? Did they not scout us? Do they not know how bright the Giant King’s shadow is? Invading other worlds... that’s our job."

Gustalon shrugged. "I cannot speak for the mad. But I know this: their folly is our fortune. Orion’s glory demands expansion. And you and I? We need more land. We need more resources."

Dirtclaw threw his head back and laughed—a loud, brazen sound that echoed off the canyon walls.

"Partner, you speak my language!"

"Hahaha..."

His laughter cut short as movement caught his eye. From the tunnel leading to the underground teleportation array, familiar figures began to emerge.

"I’d recognize that laugh anywhere. It sounds like a dying hyena," a booming voice called out. "It must be our esteemed Warden Dirtclaw."

Dirtclaw narrowed his eyes, then his grin split his face even wider.

"By the Giant King! Look who it is!"

"The Archelder! Our great Pathfinder!"

"And the Prophet... my beloved Commander!"

"Thundar, you old lug!"

Abandoning all pretense of rank, Dirtclaw strode forward, embracing his old comrades one by one.

"I knew it. Once the cross-realm array was online, you lot would come home. The golden age of the Stoneheart Horde is finally here."

He clasped arms with Onyx, the friend who had saved his hide more times than he could count.

"Brothers," Dirtclaw announced, addressing the group. "We are on the verge of greatness. But we are also facing a new crucible. Are you ready to sacrifice everything for the Horde?"

He wasn’t speaking in metaphors. This group—Onyx, Rendall, Earthshaker, Thundar, Dace, Ursa—were all veterans stuck at the peak of the Chieftain rank. They were here to ascend or die trying.

"Elder Dirtclaw," Dace asked, his tone serious. "You are a Hell-Drake Hound now. That is a rare, high-tier lineage. Are you truly willing to burn that away to become a Stoneheart Titan?"

It wasn’t an exclusion; it was genuine concern. Dace knew how hard Dirtclaw had fought to evolve.

"You miss the point, Dace," Dirtclaw replied, his smile unwavering. "We all know who I am. I fought tooth and nail for this form, clawing my way back from the dead. But let’s be honest—my potential is tapped out. My natural talent can’t carry me any further down this road."

It was a moment of raw honesty. He wasn’t like Gustalon, an elemental lifeform backed by the full resources of the Horde, for whom a breakthrough was inevitable. Dirtclaw had hit a wall.

"But now? Now we have a second wind. I believe that with our will and conviction, we can step into a new domain."

The veterans nodded. Orion’s ascension to Demigodhood and his creation of the Stoneheart Titan lineage had kicked open a door they thought was sealed forever. It was a second chance at life.

"Speaking of killing time," Dirtclaw said, pivoting the conversation. "Gustalon and I have an extermination quota to fill. Care to join? We can patrol the territory. Bring your Winter Wolves, your Raptors, your Flame-Tigers... hell, bring the dragons if you have them."

The temptation was immediate and overwhelming. Many of them had acquired impressive mounts during their time away. Returning to the Horde without showing them off would be a crime.

"We ride!"

"Count me in!"

"Let’s go!"

Blackstone City, though situated in the frozen north, was alive with activity.

With the return of the Horde’s old guard, the city felt like it had traveled back in time to the early days of Orion’s rise—rough, rowdy, and bursting with vitality.

Perhaps because of this reunion, Orion and Lilith had moved the entire royal household back to Blackstone City, taking up residence in the Horde Hall.

Tradition demanded a bonfire celebration for returning blood warriors. With Orion’s personal command, the city went into a frenzy of preparation. Even the high elders residing in the lush south were scrambling to teleport north.

In the Stoneheart Horde, the law of the feast was simple: the first horn of ale and the prime cut of roast meat belonged to the Strongest.

That meant the Demigod, Orion himself, would be attending.

Realizing this, clansmen from all over were exhausting every method possible to port into Blackstone City.

To the newer members of the Horde, Blackstone was just an outpost; they viewed Stoneheart City as the true capital. But the graybeards knew the truth.

Blackstone City was the root. The anvil.

As long as these black walls stood, the Stoneheart Horde would never fall.