Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1488: Dividing the Spoils

Orion had tasked Dirtclaw, Gustalon, and Kaelen with purging the Insectoids from the Titan Realm.

Kaelen departed from Blackstone City, following the trade routes of the fallen human kingdoms south toward the coastal territories bordering the dragon lands.

The logic was sound: the human kingdoms had kept the insect populations in check for centuries, meaning the infestation there was thin. Furthermore, the southern coast lived under the shadow of the Dragon Race. The terrifying dragon fear that permeated the region made it a hostile environment for a hive to establish a foothold.

Kaelen’s march would be a relatively simple cleanup operation.

"This is our first operation since ascending to Archlord," Dirtclaw rumbled, standing atop the ramparts and gazing south. His voice was thick with anticipation. "We need to make a statement."

"The wind carries secrets," Gustalon whispered. His eyes were closed, miniature whirlwinds dancing playfully around his fingers.

Since his ascension, Gustalon’s communion with the wind had deepened, entering a realm of abstract understanding. For him, exterminating the insects would be trivial. He could summon a tempest to shred the very earth, leaving the insects nowhere to hide.

But annihilation wasn’t the goal—neither his nor Orion’s. A hurricane of that magnitude wouldn’t just kill bugs; it would erase homes and reshape the landscape.

"We move out at dawn," Gustalon said, opening his eyes. He was eager to test the limits of his new form.

Dirtclaw watched Gustalon vanish into a breeze, a grin spreading across his face.

Archlord.

Gods knew how desperately they had craved this power. To think a single journey to My Lord’s Divine Kingdom had bridged the gap of centuries.

"Everyone says this is the golden age for the new blood," Dirtclaw mused to the empty air. "They forget... it is our time, too."

World of Eldoria, Agaman Temple.

With the Goddess Agaman’s believers sacrificed to the Rite, a deathly silence had fallen over the diocese. But for the Coalition, that silence was the prelude to celebration.

"Opulence," Leonidas muttered, looking around the cathedral. "Let me tell you, Brother, in any era, a church is just a playground for the ruling class and a pen for the sheep."

He leaned back in a pew in the center of the nave. "It looks magnificent—solemn, holy, exquisite. But beneath the gold leaf, it’s filthy. Corruption, sin, murder, greed... stealing virtue, framing heretics, crushing anyone who threatens their bottom line."

Soft, multicolored light filtered through the stained-glass rose window, casting a halo over half of Leonidas’s face. For a moment, the butcher looked almost saintly.

Orion looked at him, amused by the sudden philosophical turn.

Still, the architects knew their craft. The lighting was engineered to induce a sense of warmth and safety. Sitting there, one could almost feel forgiven.

"Seven dioceses," Orion said, cutting to business. "I’ll take three. You take two. We’ll throw the remaining two—Stellaris and Twilight Vale—to the subordinates. Let them carve it up based on merit."

The war for the continent was paused, not finished. The cake was baked, and Orion knew it was best to serve it while it was hot. Wait too long, and hearts would waver; the prize would stale.

"Done," Leonidas agreed. "You did the heavy lifting this time. Everyone rides your coattails on this one."

It was a distribution plan they had drafted long ago; this was just the seal of approval. In the entire Coalition, only Orion and Leonidas had the status to hold the knife.

"Brother," Leonidas asked, leaning forward, "I clearly felt your avatar get annihilated by the Holy Light. How did you reform it so quickly?"

It had been gnawing at him. The Son of Agaman’s attack had been ferocious.

"Because of this."

Orion extended his hand. Hovering above his palm was a transparent, double-sided mirror shard.

The Mirror of Theras.

"Now that I’ve mastered it, I can project a magical field," Orion explained, unable to hide the pride in his voice. "Within that field, I can manifest an Undying Projection and cast the Silent Interdict."

Leonidas stared at the shard, practically salivating.

"Wait," Leonidas said. "So, the one fighting that Saint... that was just a projection the whole time?"

"Correct," Orion smiled, admiring the artifact. "And the best part? All combat experience and insights gained by the projection are transferred back to the main body intact."

This was the terrifying utility of a Demigod Artifact fragment. With this, Orion’s old collection of relics was effectively obsolete. It was one of the reasons he had been so generous in handing his old gear down to his children.

"That... is absolutely broken," Leonidas muttered.

The fact that Orion held a piece of Lord Theras’s power spoke volumes. Agaman knew that Theras was an entity on her level—perhaps even higher. Seeing his signature on Orion was a major factor in her decision to retreat.

The Coalition forces settled in to rest and divide their spoils. But within the inner circle, the tension hadn’t fully dissipated. The ocean remained unconquered.

Orion returned to his Divine Kingdom within the Abyssal World.

He had loose ends to tie up. specifically, the severed arms of the Son of Agaman, and the weapons they still clutched—the Guardian Shield and the Holy Sword.

The arms were easily disposed of; Orion broke them down, converting the flesh and blood into the purest faith energy to nourish his realm.

The Shield and Sword, however, required a different touch.

They weren’t true relics. They were energy constructs manifested by a Demigod’s avatar—disposable weapons that mimicked the power of the real things. Once the divine power inside them was exhausted, they would dissipate into nothingness.

Orion had a simple plan: hijack them. He would convert these disposable batteries into weapons for his own Undying Projection. If they broke during combat, he wouldn’t shed a tear.

Orion shifted into his Stoneheart Titan form. His massive left hand seized the Guardian Shield, his right the Holy Sword.

Simultaneously, the Mirror of Theras floated from his brow, casting the Silent Interdict.

Orion surged his own divine power forward, pumping a torrent of faith energy into the fading weapons.

Instantly, the dormant consciousnesses within the weapons flared to life. These were the imprinted wills of the Holy Guardian Knights who had originally forged the archetypes of these weapons.

They were waking up.