Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1465: Legacy of the Gallows

Sure enough, Caesar caught the drift immediately. His eyes lit up with realization.

"Brilliant. I’ve been losing sleep over how slow my infantry is. Lady Aurora, your arrival just plugged the biggest hole in our formation."

Caesar had a peculiar quirk—he adopted every woman he respected as family. Aerin was his sister, Aina was his sister, and even the terrifying Elara had become "Big Sis" in his vocabulary. He was a serial sibling-adopter.

"Brother Tangere, don’t worry. I’ll make sure my boys work perfectly with the Brawnbulls!"

Aurora beamed. To be recognized, valued, and immediately integrated into the strategy—it was everything she had hoped for.

The Boss is a genius, she thought, giddy with relief. Grease the palms, clear the path. The Kraken Playbook never fails.

Trust the Boss, get the meat.

And just like that, Aurora, a probationary member of the Champions Alliance, solidified her place in Orion’s inner circle.

Central Region, The Agaman Diocese.

The Agaman Holy Order was the beating heart of the theocracy, the central authority that bound the other dioceses together.

When the great bell in the city’s central spire tolled nine times—long, mournful notes that vibrated in the chest—the entire district fell into a hush, which was immediately followed by a feverish uproar.

Nine tolls signified the beginning of a True Holy War.

It meant total mobilization. The elderly, the children, the women—everyone was now a soldier for the Holy Order. It was doctrine. It was the ultimate test of loyalty to the Goddess.

Inside the Cathedral, Private Sacristy.

Cardinal Maelric bid farewell to the weeping faithful with a smile of benevolent grace. He turned, walked into his private office, and the moment the heavy oak door clicked shut, the saintly expression vanished from his face like smoke in a gale.

"High Inquisitors Albrecht and Cavendish have returned to the Goddess’s embrace."

The voice came from the shadows in the corner of the room. It was the Commander of the Inquisition. This time, his voice wasn’t just cold; it was brittle with suppressed rage.

"I am far more interested in what happened in the Andor Diocese," the Shadow Commander hissed. "Why did the High Priest of Andor fail to report this threat? Why was there no distress signal?"

Every diocese in the Holy Order was governed by a High Priest—a genuine Lord-class powerhouse. For the Andor Diocese to fall into heresy, and for two High Inquisitors to die while the local leadership remained silent... it was as if the entire region had been struck deaf and blind.

"You mean Orel?"

The shadow shifted, dripping with contempt. "I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but by the time the Inquisition caught the scent, Orel had already transferred. He fled to another plane entirely."

The voice in the dark was laced with scorn. To the Inquisition, the public-facing clergy were hollow shells—rotting radishes painted gold by the Holy Light. They were cunning, slippery politicians who vanished the moment the wind turned foul.

"According to the records we recovered from the ruins of Andor, Orel investigated the anomaly outside Grimm once—right after the hurricane appeared."

"Immediately after that, he filed for reassignment. A transfer request you approved, Maelric."

Cardinal Maelric’s face darkened. He realized he had been played. His subordinates had been curating the information he received.

"We theorize that Orel saw the hurricane, recognized the signature of a Demigod-level conflict, and realized a divine war was imminent," the Commander continued. "So, he buried the intelligence and ran."

"Fortunately, he had a shred of conscience left. He left behind a trail of breadcrumbs."

The voice in the shadows grew louder, vibrating with a mix of anger and vindictive pleasure.

"You always accuse the Inquisition of stirring up trouble in your dioceses, Maelric. But the truth is, the rot always starts with those ’capable subordinates’ you trust so much. Do you doubt me?"

Seeing Maelric’s brow furrow, the Shadow Commander chuckled darkly.

"The founder of the Hellscream organization—that mysterious Saintess—is the youngest daughter of Grand Duke Astravale."

"She was supposed to be a devout follower of the Holy Order, a noblewoman who loved travel and charity. Her file is a yard high. We knew everywhere she went, everyone she met. She had a reputation for kindness, free of the usual aristocratic vices."

Eldoria was the Holy Order’s pasture. They knew the pedigree of every sheep in the flock.

"But here is what you didn’t know," the Commander whispered.

"A vein of Holy Light Ore was discovered on Grand Duke Astravale’s land. For the Order, this should have been a blessing. Had the Duke cooperated, he would have been showered with wealth and power. And in fact, that was the Duke’s intention."

Maelric’s eyebrow twitched. He had never seen a report on this.

"Want to know the ending?"

"Your ’loyal’ subordinate, Orel, suppressed the discovery. He wanted the mine for himself. So, he framed Grand Duke Astravale as a heretic. He sentenced the entire family to the gallows."

"Silencing a family is common enough business. But Orel was sloppy. He let the daughter escape."

The voice was indifferent to the morality of murder. The Inquisition had seen worse.

"That girl... she has talent. Somehow, she contacted an Outer God—a heretical entity—and used a forbidden art to deceive the Realm Wards, allowing these heathens to descend upon our pasture."

"Thus, Hellscream was born. And now, a Demigod covets our world."

The voice in the dark turned grave. When they spoke of an "Evil God," they meant a Demigod. A threat that could end civilizations.

"Do you want to know more?" the Commander taunted, his tone shifting from grave to mocking. "Let’s discuss the Black Shura, Raveth."

"Let me see... his family held Port Caelwyn. His grandfather’s territory. And now? It seems that land was also seized by your people."

"Oh, and Port Caelwyn has been renamed by Hellscream. They call it ’Sunless City’ now."

"Heh... Sunless. A place where the Holy Light does not shine."

The naked mockery made the veins on Maelric’s temples bulge. He was gripping the edge of his desk so hard the wood groaned.

"And then there are the others," the shadow continued relentlessly. "Ghost Shura Kharos, Flame Shura Ashkar, Iron Shura Eryx... shall we review how they were radicalized? Ghost Shura Kharos was simply—"

"ENOUGH!"

Maelric roared, his voice cracking like a whip.

He took a deep, shuddering breath, staring into the darkness behind the door.

"If the Inquisition saw all this filth," Maelric demanded, half-rising from his chair, "why did you not warn me? Why did you not let me execute the corrupt?"

"Why?"