Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1481: A Crunchy Snack

The earth didn’t just shake; it shivered. The soil turned to iron under the flash-freeze.

Guards on patrol and believers tending the grounds froze mid-motion, their lives snuffed out before they hit the ground. They stood as statues of ice, monuments to the sudden apocalypse.

Inside the Great Hall, Maelric and the high priests watched the horror unfold on the scrying mirror.

"An Evil Deity," one priest gasped.

"Move! Teleport to Headquarters immediately. We need to initiate the Summoning Rite. Now!"

Maelric shot up from his throne. With a sweep of his crimson robes, he stormed toward the Holy Order’s sanctum, dragging the Lord Commander of the Inquisition and the High Judges with him.

Around them, the holographic projections of priests from other Dioceses flickered and vanished.

This was a code-red emergency. Evil had descended upon the Holy Order’s doorstep. Their only hope was to pool their strength and summon their god. If they failed, the maw of the dark god would swallow them whole.

"Her beauty is not merely skin deep; it is the warmth and kindness that radiates from within..."

Despite the glacial catastrophe, the Agaman Sanctuary responded with military precision.

A dome of pale gold light snapped into existence, encasing the main city. Where the holy light touched the encroaching ice, the frost hissed and retreated, melting into harmless water.

In a humble stable behind the sanctuary, an old man in roughspun linen woke with a start. The cold had bitten through his sleep. He walked out into the open air and looked up.

"The Goddess is kind. She is the Light, illuminating the dark, dispelling the fog, guiding us lost lambs to the path..."

Through the translucent golden barrier, the old man saw the source of the terror: the World Dragon.

For an Ascetic, fear was not an enemy; it was an old friend. Every time they conquered terror, their cultivation deepened, and their faith grew more crystalline. Their will was iron, forged in the fires of dread.

So, the old man chanted. He stepped forward, not on the ground, but into the air. Step by step, he walked toward the heavens, ascending to meet the World Dragon.

"Praise the Goddess. Kindness is power. It melts the indifference of the world, bridges the chasm between souls, and lets your heart speak to mine..."

The nameless Ascetic passed through the golden barrier, hovering before Leonidas. He sang praises to his deity, attempting to admonish the calamity-bringing wyrm with scripture.

"An Archlord at the zenith of his power?" Leonidas rumbled, his voice like grinding glaciers. "And dressed in rags. You must be one of those Ascetics."

The dragon sneered. "You fool. Convert to me."

"Faith in your Goddess brings only ruin. Worship me, and I grant you eternal life!"

"Hahaha!"

To Leonidas, an Ascetic was just a stubborn monk. He knew they were the hardest to break, yet his ego demanded he try.

"Your Eminence," the old man said, his voice calm despite the behemoth breathing down his neck. "This is the domain of the Agaman Goddess. Please depart, lest you ignite a pointless War of Gods."

Ascetics were not rigid, mindless zealots. This old man was wise. Even though Leonidas had already desecrated their land, he offered a chance for peace.

"Hahaha! Do you think I came here because I’m afraid of a God War?" Leonidas roared. "An Ascetic like you... your Faith Energy is pure. Since you’re destined to feed someone, you might as well feed me."

The dragon didn’t wait for a rebuttal. His jaws snapped open, a black abyss rushing toward the old man.

Blinding holy light erupted from the Ascetic, a desperate attempt to engage in a tug-of-war with the dragon’s suction. Against a normal World Dragon, the old man might have held his ground.

But Leonidas was amplified by Divine Power.

The resistance lasted exactly one second. Then, the old man was dragged into the maw and swallowed whole.

"Not bad," Leonidas grunted, savoring the surge of energy. "Rich. Very rich."

To a World Dragon, a high-level Ascetic was a nutrient-dense supplement.

Agaman Sanctuary. The Main Cathedral.

The moment Leonidas swallowed the nameless monk, Maelric completed the ritual.

The statue of the Goddess standing in the nave—previously a faceless, wooden carving—suddenly ignited with blinding brilliance. Having gorged on the panic-fueled Faith Energy of the masses, she woke up.

BOOM!

The statue launched upward, shattering the cathedral’s ornate dome and rising into the sky like a Valkyrie. She radiated a majestic, suffocating aura.

Leonidas spotted her instantly.

"A Will Projection?" The dragon squinted. "No... that aura is too weak. Just a Seed of Will."

He had braced himself for a brawl with a Demigod’s avatar. A Projection carried a significant portion of a deity’s power. A Seed, however, was usually just a spiritual bookmark left behind to harvest faith.

There was a massive difference in power. However, wrapped in the Holy Order’s vast reserves of Faith Energy, this Seed was punching above its weight class, mimicking the pressure of a Demigod.

"Nice. First a crunchy Ascetic, now a Goddess’s Will Seed? Today is my lucky day."

The World Dragon opened his maw again, activating his gravitational devourer.

But this time, he failed.

The Goddess statue raised her torch-like scepter. Infinite holy light cascaded outward, neutralizing the dragon’s gravitational pull.

Simultaneously, golden runes bled from the hem of her dress, swirling and condensing by her side into the spectral form of a massive, golden Dragon Lance.

The lance radiated a terrifying sharpness. Even Leonidas felt a prickle of genuine danger along his scales.

"Easy, brother," Orion’s voice whispered in Leonidas’s ear. "Don’t let the aura fool you. It’s just a projection of a Demigod Artifact. It doesn’t even have the power of a true Relic."

Reassured, the hesitation in Leonidas’s eyes vanished, replaced by ferocity. His Dragon Aura lashed out like a whip, initiating the attack.

A projection of a Demigod Artifact?

Hidden in the Void, Orion watched the battle unfold, his mind racing. Does the founder of the Agaman Holy Order possess a Demigod Artifact?

If Orion had learned this back when he first ascended to Demigod status, he would have turned tail and ran.

But things were different now. He knew the secrets of the high table.

Most owners of Demigod Artifacts—and those terrifying entities of the Sixth Realm—were in deep hibernation. They lay dormant, waiting for a chance to ascend to godhood, or perhaps to slay a god. Whatever the reason, sleep was their status quo.

Even Thresh, the Commander of the Champions Alliance, was currently slumbering in his true form.

In fact, Orion’s own refusal to descend his true body into this world wasn’t just out of fear of shattering the realm’s fragile physics. It was because he sensed a vague, looming crisis.

That instinctive dread kept him on edge. It was why his true body remained in the Chaotic Void, grinding through cultivation day and night, preparing for the storm to come.