Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1605: Harvesting Realms

The Titanion Realm. The World Tree.

Orion opened his eyes. The scene before him mirrored the exact moment the world had rebooted. The Lifeless Dreadgod, Archbishop Kysar, and Moriphara remained seated high upon their thrones as the four main branches of the World Tree emerged from the void.

Orion, Kysar, and Moriphara all locked their gazes on The Lifeless Dreadgod, or more accurately, the World Tree branch rising behind him.

That branch was currently hoisting up a small world. Technically speaking, it was devouring it.

"Heh heh heh... I suppose I made a bit of a racket. Didn’t mean to wake you all," The Lifeless Dreadgod sneered, utterly unconcerned with what Orion or the others thought.

No one replied. Every eye remained glued to the branch. As the World Tree consumed the small realm, The Lifeless Dreadgod’s branch visibly thickened and surged with power.

Orion’s brow twitched. He knew exactly what was happening. When The Demigod of the Moonwell merged her Pocket Dimension into the World Tree, Orion had reaped a similar benefit. However, her Pocket Dimension was a mere drop in the bucket compared to the entire world The Lifeless Dreadgod was currently assimilating.

"See this? It’s one way to fast-track the foundation of our realm. Quick and dirty," The Lifeless Dreadgod said, his tone shifting from casual to mocking. "Don’t tell me you lot didn’t know?"

Still, silence. They just watched the mechanics of the consumption. The small world under The Lifeless Dreadgod’s control offered zero resistance.

Orion watched closely. The roots of the Titanion Realm’s World Tree plunged into the small world like an Abyssal Wyrm, violently churning its origin power. A nascent, half-formed World Tree was violently uprooted from the realm’s World Essence. Trapped in the crushing grip of the Abyssal Wyrm roots, it withered instantly, turning to ash.

With its World Tree shattered, apocalyptic destruction immediately leveled the small world. Magma breached the crust, turning the land into a churning sea of fire.

The native civilizations were erased in minutes. Massive floating fortresses lost their buoyancy, torn to shreds by chaotic gravitational forces. The inhabitants erupted into clouds of blood in their terror, raining down with the debris to be swallowed by the ash and fire.

Every living organism—flora, fauna, microbes, and elementals—plunged into a state of rapid decay and disintegration. In less than fifteen minutes, an entire world was reduced to raw, unadulterated World Essence.

The Abyssal Wyrm roots acted like a siphon, draining the realm dry in an instant.

Eventually, the chaos settled into dead dust.

When Orion finally pulled his gaze away, he noticed a single, golden droplet hovering in The Lifeless Dreadgod’s palm. A gift from the World Tree. It looked like water, but it was the purest distillation of World Essence.

Under the watchful eyes of the other three, The Lifeless Dreadgod let out a harsh bark of laughter and swallowed the golden drop. His aura spiked noticeably.

"I know none of you are simpletons," The Lifeless Dreadgod rumbled. "Bolstering this world’s origin isn’t a one-man job. We only reap the real rewards if the Titanion Realm fully matures. Time waits for no one."

His icy voice faded, but that final warning lingered in the air. Orion frowned, catching the faint, undeniable edge of urgency in the Dreadgod’s words.

Glancing at Archbishop Kysar and Moriphara, Orion didn’t bother offering a farewell. The branch beneath him vanished. They were rivals in a brutal arms race; pleasantries couldn’t mask the bloodlust between them.

The Titanion Realm. Staghelm City.

As the World Tree’s blessing concluded, the brilliant silver moon faded. Under the awestruck gazes of the citizens, Isilra drifted back down to the city, landing softly beside The Demigod of the Moonwell.

"Mother... what happened to me?" Isilra asked, swaying slightly. The baptism of World Essence had left her completely disoriented.

The Demigod of the Moonwell didn’t answer immediately. She simply pointed at the sky. A phantom silhouette of the silver moon still lingered where Isilra had floated.

"Isilra, do you see your path?"

To the residents of Staghelm City, that phantom moon was just the fading afterglow of a miracle. But to The Demigod of the Moonwell, it was Isilra’s future. It was her definitive path to the demigod tier.

"What is that...?" Isilra murmured, staring up at the phantom moon. Her confusion slowly melted into awe, before finally settling into absolute, crystal-clear enlightenment.

One day later, Staghelm City was officially renamed Argentis.

It was named for the eternal, unyielding silver moon now anchored in its sky—the absolute symbol of Isilra.

The Central Continent. Stoneheart City.

The streets were a chaotic blend of commerce and survival. The haggling of merchants representing a dozen different races mixed with the ringing of blacksmith hammers and the low, guttural roars of tamed beasts.

Cutting right through this bustling prosperity was an adventuring party that looked entirely out of place as they crossed into Orion’s territory.

There was Aina, wearing a pristine, fairytale-esque gown; Aerin, a Wood Elf Ranger sporting a playful, tailored tunic with cinched cuffs; Caesar, a towering warrior with a massive greatsword strapped to his back; Tangere, completely hidden beneath a heavy grey cloak; and Scarecrow, wearing a straw hat and currently being carried over Caesar’s shoulder like a piece of luggage.

"So this is the boss’s turf?"

"It’s insanely built up."

Caesar craned his neck. He wasn’t looking at the clean cobblestone streets or the glowing magical streetlamps. He was watching the massive flocks of tamed ravens and Flying Fish Mayflies soaring overhead. Coordinating flocking beasts on that scale was the ultimate flex of a highly advanced territory.

"Holy hell," Aerin muttered. As a member of the Wood Elves, she was hyper-sensitive to her surroundings. "The ambient magic here is off the charts. Hulk is on another level."

"The defining leap from a tribal, agrarian society to a true commercial civilization requires one thing: surplus," Aina noted, her eyes sweeping the area. "Surplus food and resources breed social stratification, specialized guilds, bureaucracy, and organized religion. Clearly, this place has already hit that critical mass of societal restructuring."

She pointed toward the towering, heavily fortified walls of the inner city, then gestured to a fresh line of slaves being processed near the gates.

The sheer wealth and prosperity of Stoneheart City left Aina in awe—and deeply envious. She couldn’t help but calculate. If this city were hers, the amount of blood she could siphon from it, the sheer size of the army she could feed... it was staggering.