Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1414: Two Devils and a Saint

Outside Azurehold, Silverwood Realm.

While the Cetus Giants and the native aquatic kin fought tooth and nail against the encroaching armies of the Cult of Four, the leaders of the Atlantis faction—Orion, Leonidas, and Kraken—remained stationed in the rear, observing the chaos.

It was here that the Witch paid them yet another visit.

"Marshals," the Witch began, her tone laced with a thinly veiled threat, "if the legions of Atlantis continue to remain idle, you will find no favor in the eyes of Pontiff Valerius."

She paused, letting the implication hang in the air. "It would be a shame if this inactivity were to... complicate the First Marshal’s ascension to the seat of a Pontiff."

The Witch was not in a pleasant mood. Total war had begun, yet these Atlanteans hadn’t moved a muscle. Their silence was unsettling. The Cult of Four didn’t need Orion or Leonidas to perform miracles, nor did they need a specific body count. What they needed was a stance. They needed Atlantis to commit troops to the slaughter of the sea-kin, proving beyond a shadow of a doubt that they were allies.

Words meant nothing. The Cult demanded blood as a signature on the contract.

"Hah!" Leonidas threw his head back, his laughter booming and wild. "Are you afraid we’ll slide a knife between the Cult’s ribs while you aren’t looking?"

Suddenly, the laughter cut off. Leonidas’s expression shifted from boisterous to predatory. The air around him thickened as he unleashed the crushing weight of his presence—the aura of a Demigod—locking onto the Witch with the ferocity of a beast about to feed.

"You think you can threaten us?"

Beside him, Orion released his own oppressive power. The combined weight of two Demigods slammed into the Witch, compounding the pressure until the very air felt like lead.

The atmosphere froze.

The Witch, already on edge, began to tremble. Under the gaze of two beings capable of tearing reality apart, she found it difficult to breathe, let alone speak.

"I believe," a lighter voice cut through the tension, "this is all a misunderstanding."

Kraken stepped forward, his tone easy and relaxed, breaking the suffocating silence.

Damn them, the Witch thought bitterly. The classic game—two devils and a saint.

She knew exactly what they were doing. The three Marshals of Atlantis were putting on a show, treating her like a fool. But even knowing it, she had to swallow her pride. It was suffocating.

"Third Marshal," she gasped, managing to compose herself as the pressure receded. "I believe... you are right. It is a misunderstanding."

She smoothed her robes, her survival instincts kicking in. She was slippery, resilient. "With the war raging, my words may have been too sharp. I ask for your understanding."

"Heh. If it’s a misunderstanding, then all is well," Kraken said with a polite nod.

Orion and Leonidas retracted their killing intent, returning to a state of impassive statues. The Witch exhaled a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She glanced at each of the three men, steeling herself before speaking again.

"Apologies. The pressure from the Pontiff is immense; I should not have passed that burden onto you," she said, offering a practiced apology before getting to the point. "Pontiff Valerius has ordered me to ask: When will the Marshals lend their strength to the Cult of Four? If you have no intention of fighting, we must inform the three Pontiffs so they may prepare accordingly."

The first sentence was deference; the second was an ultimatum.

Orion and Leonidas remained silent, eyes closed, feigning disinterest.

"Divine Envoy," Kraken smiled, his expression oozing sincerity. "Have you ever heard the saying? If you want the steed to gallop, you must first fill its trough."

If the Cult wanted them to bleed, they had to pay up front. The three brothers had agreed on this long ago: no profit, no participation. Even a political gesture required the Cult of Four to open their treasury.

The metaphor was blunt. The Witch understood immediately.

"Third Marshal," she said, producing a dimensional sphere and offering it with both hands. "These are combat supplies gifted by Pontiff Valerius to the Atlantis support corps. Please, do not consider it too little."

She emphasized the words too little.

The Cult of Four had come prepared. They were willing to pay whatever price Orion and his cohorts asked, within reason. With a powerful enemy in front of them, they could not afford an ambiguous force at their back. Cutting off a piece of their own flesh was a necessary contingency.

The Witch’s earlier threats had simply been a habit—her standard way of doing business. But against men like Orion and Leonidas, who had been plotting against her from the start, her usual charms and intimidation tactics were useless. In any other negotiation, she might have pocketed a portion of these supplies for herself. Here, she dared not.

Kraken took the sphere, swept his consciousness through it, and nodded in satisfaction.

"Pontiff Valerius is truly generous," Kraken announced. "I will personally lead the vanguard to assist you."

He nodded to the Witch, then exchanged a glance with Leonidas and Orion.

Kraken taking the field served two purposes: it was the public declaration the Cult demanded, and it allowed him to gather frontline intelligence firsthand. It was a crucial part of their plan. Without knowing the true state of the battlefield, they risked being blinded by the fog of war and making a fatal error.

"Go," Leonidas rumbled, his voice deep and final. "We will be watching."

Titanion Realm, Blackstone City.

The grand Bonfire Festival had come and gone in a flash, leaving the first-time guests of Blackstone City yearning for more. The unique delicacies and vibrant culture lingered in their minds long after the fires died down.

On the second day, when the Horde Hall had quieted, the Demigod Seraphina arrived in Blackstone City.

"This is the cradle of the Stoneheart Horde," she said, her voice carrying a regal lilt. "I assume there is a place here for me?"

She did not address Orion. Instead, her gaze was fixed on Lilith, who stood by his side.

In the presence of others, Seraphina was every inch the proud Demigod, showing none of the vulnerability or dependence she reserved for her private moments with Orion. Addressing Lilith directly—asking rather than demanding—was a significant gesture of respect from a being of her station.

Superficially, at least, she was treating Lilith as an equal.

"Of course," Lilith replied with a graceful smile. "Marina’s chambers are prepared and dusted daily."

Lilith was sharp. She used the name "Marina"—Seraphina’s alter ego—to bridge the gap. It was a subtle way to humanize the relationship.

The gap between them was real. For Lilith, who was not yet even an Archlord, Seraphina was an entity existing on a different plane of reality. Even if Seraphina was willing to lower herself to banter, Lilith couldn’t ignore the crushing weight of the title Demigod. To pretend otherwise would only make the disparity more awkward.