Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1509: Breeding and Barbarians

Coraline offered a faint, dismissive smile, feigning indifference.

Shameless... utterly lewd...

Internally, however, she was seething, cursing Orion with every fiber of her being.

"Be my woman," Orion said, his voice dropping to a low rumble. "Do this, and I will carve out this entire maritime dominion as a fiefdom for our offspring."

The flippancy on Orion’s face faded, replaced by a grounded solemnity. Before, his words had been mere teasing—a way to get under her skin—rather than born of actual lust. But now? The thought had genuinely taken root.

If smooth words could ensnare a Demigod, tempting her into his bed to bear his heirs, Orion would gladly sign away the territory before him.

Unfortunately, Coraline saw right through him and offered a ruthless rejection.

"The Giant King has quite the sense of humor," she replied coolly. "The world is vast. Why limit ourselves? The weak are meat for the strong, and rising from the ashes is the cycle of life. Beyond these waters, there are always new oceans to conquer."

Orion’s playful facade vanished completely. He stared at Coraline. The wisdom and sharp intuition she displayed sparked a sudden, violent impulse in him.

The urge to kill.

Letting a brilliant enemy escape to lurk in the shadows was not Orion’s style. For a heartbeat, he considered silencing her permanently. But the thought was impractical.

"Lady Coraline, I am not jesting," Orion said, his tone leveling out. "A woman of your intellect is a prize worth chasing."

If he couldn’t destroy her, he would attempt to pull her into his orbit, to bind her to his banner. There was no love or romance in the offer—only cold, calculated interest.

"Giant King, I thank you for your kindness, but I will have to consider it."

It was a polite, soft rejection.

Orion was no love-struck fool. Seeing the door close, he dropped the subject immediately. He stood silent, watching Coraline, Corren, and Vaelor as they directed their forces to salvage key personnel and resources.

Did the Dreadfins rot his brain?

The thought traveled via telepathic link between the other two Demigods.

First he exiles Coraline, and now he propositions her? What is going on inside that skull of his?

The sheer audacity of the man.

Corren was disgusted. If he stood a chance in hell of winning, he would have drawn his weapon the moment Orion first disrespected Coraline. He and Vaelor had spent ten thousand years courting her just to reach a point of platonic friendship. Orion, the barbarian, had tried to skip straight to breeding in a single conversation.

He has no honor, Vaelor projected back, standing firmly with Corren on the matter.

Both of you, silence, Coraline cut in sharply. A faction of this magnitude likely possesses arts to intercept spiritual communication. Be cautious. Do not provoke unnecessary trouble.

She glanced upward. That terrifying, aura-less Magic Mirror still hung above them like a guillotine. If they angered Orion now, they wouldn’t just lose their Demigod avatars; they would lose the kin they were desperately trying to evacuate.

Swallowing their pride and leaving quietly was the only rational play.

And so, under Orion’s watchful gaze, the three Demigods—Coraline, Corren, and Vaelor—led their kin away, abandoning the World of Eldoria.

The clash of Demigods that Orion had anticipated never came. Both sides exercised restraint, with Coraline serving as the linchpin that kept the peace.

Titanion Realm, Blackstone City.

Deep within a cavern in the eastern ridges, a lazy, languid voice echoed in the darkness.

"The invincible, beautiful Lorelia has slept for so long... I don’t even know what year it is."

"Hmm... familiar scents. Master’s smell... and the Mistress’s lingering trace. Did Master go south?"

As the voice drifted out, a foot clad in a crimson leather combat boot stepped from the shadows. A young woman with blood-red eyes and hair emerged from the crypt, stepping onto the stairs leading up to the ramparts.

It was Lorelia.

She was unrecognizable from her former self. If the old Lorelia had been a blossoming adolescent, this version was a young woman on the cusp of adulthood. The insectoid traits of the cave spiders that once marked her body had vanished completely during her evolution. At a glance, she was indistinguishable from a human.

"Hum hum... little girl loves to eat meat... swinging her bare feet... walking through the forest and the grass... she spots her favorite little goat..."

"Sero-ro-ro... Sero-ro-ro... So hungry... so tasty..."

It was a nursery rhyme Orion had once taught her about a girl picking mushrooms in the forest. In Lorelia’s rendition, however, the lyrics had been twisted into something far more predatory. As she sang about the little goat, she extended a long tongue, licking her lips with a wet, slithering sound.

She climbed to the beacon tower—her favorite napping spot from her childhood—which offered a panoramic view of Blackstone City.

"Hmm, so many strange scents now. Blackstone has become lively," she mused. "But the smells of my friends are still here. It seems everyone is the same."

Lorelia inhaled greedily, savoring the smoke and life of the city. It was the scent of home, etched deep into her memory.

"Not bad. You’ve done well this time."

Orion materialized beside her, his hand reaching out to ruffle her hair.

He turned her smooth locks into a bird’s nest, but Lorelia didn’t mind in the slightest. She leaned into his palm, rubbing her head against his hand like a massive, affectionate cat, basking in the contact. Since she was small, Orion’s palm had always been the warmest place in the world.

"Master, Lorelia is an Archlord now. Do I get a reward?"

An Archlord-level Broodmother was no trivial existence.

Orion hadn’t expected her to surpass Soraya, who controlled the Desert’s Authority, and reach the rank of Archlord first. A Broodmother at this level was a strategic asset entirely different from a standard combatant.

"Little glutton, asking for handouts the moment you wake up."

Orion patted her head again, smoothing down the mess he’d made. Then, he rested his hand on her shoulder.

Along the skin of Orion’s hand, a layer of fine, dense dragon scales rippled into existence. This was his personal legendary defense, a gear typically reserved for the Archlord rank. Lorelia, as a Broodmother, was a high-value target who needed maximum protection.

"Dragonscale Leather Armor."

"Wow... Master, are you really giving this to Lorelia?"

The Dragonscale armor was Orion’s second skin; since integrating it, he had almost never taken it off.