Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1624: Mark of the Chieftain

Dawn broke over the city gates. Earthshaker, long retired, was decked out in full battle armor—a rare sight these days. He leaned heavily against a Totem Pole, his eyes narrowed as he scanned the distant horizon of the main road.

"Old Chieftain, the Prince won’t be here until this afternoon," Ol’ Two-Horns said. "Wanna head inside and catch some shut-eye? Or maybe find a distraction?"

Out of all the Buffalofolk, Ol’ Two-Horns was the luckiest bastard alive. He was the only one of Earthshaker’s old brothers-in-arms to survive the bloodbaths. Since Earthshaker hung up his axe, the two had been inseparable—drinking, chasing women, and shooting the breeze with zero filter.

"Inside? Distractions?" Earthshaker scoffed. "We’ve painted every inch of Buffalo Bastion red. There’s nothing left in there to see. Isn’t it better to wait out here and pay our respects to a Prince of the Stoneheart Horde?"

He picked his nose, bored. Truthfully, he missed the old crew—Archelder, the Prophet, the rest of the guys.

I need to pack up some local moonshine and crash their territories for a drink soon, he mused, his mind drifting through memories of a life well-lived.

"Old Chieftain, is the Fourth Prince really just passing through?" Ol’ Two-Horns asked. The seasoned veteran plopped his ass down right at Earthshaker’s feet, completely ignoring the baffled stares of the surrounding guards.

"Ah, hell. Almost forgot why we’re out here!" Earthshaker slapped his forehead.

He delivered swift kicks to the backsides of two idle Buffalofolk nearby. "Mok! Morg! Round up every calf in the Horde who’s about to hit adulthood. Get them to the gates right now to welcome the Prince."

They were his adopted sons, hailing from a different branch of the clan.

"And if their stubborn parents put up a fuss, tell them I’m handing their kids a future on a silver platter. Tell them Earthshaker said opportunity is knocking, and it won’t wait!"

"Boss, is that wise?" Ol’ Two-Horns scrambled up and leaned in, dropping his voice to a whisper. "Word from the capital is that the Fourth Prince’s backing is thin. Can he really claim the throne?"

"Wise? You don’t know shit!" Earthshaker roared, not bothering to keep his voice down. "A scrub like you, who burned through a hundred and eight portions of the Horde’s resources just trying—and failing—to reach the Lord tier, has no right to discuss Horde politics!"

"C’mon, boss... bro..." Ol’ Two-Horns flushed crimson. It was his most humiliating secret, the reason he could never look his old squadmates in the eye. "Do we have to bring that up?"

"Hmph. You aren’t qualified to talk politics. Hell, neither am I!" Earthshaker snorted, looking strangely smug about the fact.

"Get this through your thick skull, Two-Horns. Our loyalty lies with the Chieftain. His Majesty. The first Giant King. We bleed for the Stoneheart Horde we carved out with our own axes. As long as the Chieftain is alive, who gives a damn who sits on the Giant King’s throne?"

That was the bottom line—the founding truth that too many had forgotten. As one of Orion’s soul-bound retainers, Earthshaker’s vision was crystal clear.

Orion had once offered to sever their master-servant contract, but Earthshaker had flatly refused. Are you kidding? To him, bearing that contract was the ultimate badge of honor.

As long as he carried it, the Buffalofolk Race would never be pushed to the brink of ruin. It was an absolute lifeline. If anything ever happened to him, Orion would instantly sense it through the bond. And if Orion knew about a problem, that problem ceased to exist. Earthshaker understood this dynamic perfectly.

Plus, having a direct link to the Supreme Chieftain was the ultimate bragging right whenever he reminisced with the other veterans.

"Uh... boss, shouldn’t it matter?" Ol’ Two-Horns scratched his head, completely lost in the political weeds.

"All you need to know is this," Earthshaker declared. "There will be a second Giant King, a third, a hundredth... but the Stoneheart Horde will only ever have one Chieftain! And that is my master, Orion Stoneheart!"

The title of Chieftain—the one universally recognized by every race within the Stoneheart Horde—belonged to Orion and Orion alone. Kings could come and go, but the Chieftain was eternal. This was the absolute will of the Horde, from the top down.

"Long live the Chieftain!" Ol’ Two-Horns bellowed instinctively. "May My Lord’s will reign forever!" He didn’t understand the first thing about politics, but the old war cries were hardwired into his soul. Chanting them still made his blood pump.

"You idiot. If you hadn’t been riding My Lord’s coattails, you never would’ve even sniffed the Lord tier." Earthshaker patted Ol’ Two-Horns on the shoulder, his fiery energy suddenly fading into melancholy.

If he were drinking with Archelder, the Prophet, or Dirtclaw, he wouldn’t have to explain anything. Those guys could dissect the Horde’s geopolitics in their sleep.

"The Fourth Prince is heading to The Bastion Wall," Earthshaker explained quietly. "That’s where the real glory will be forged. The calves have to go. It’s the only way they’ll level up and break their limits. Otherwise, they’ll end up just like you and me—stagnant, washed up, with no real future."

He let out a heavy sigh. Insulting Ol’ Two-Horns was just a way to deflect his own insecurities. Ol’ Two-Horns was hard-capped at the Alpha level due to trash-tier potential. But wasn’t Earthshaker in the exact same boat? He was bottlenecked at the Legendary level. Even after Orion had granted him enough prime territory to theoretically push him to Arch Lord, he hadn’t moved an inch. He had simply hit his natural ceiling.

"Dirtclaw, though... that guy’s a beast. He’s probably out there beyond The Bastion Wall right now, carving a bloody path through the unknown."

Earthshaker had no idea that the "beast" he was idolizing had recently suffered a brutal beating outside The Bastion Wall and was currently licking his wounds on the ramparts.

"I can smell ale and alchemical potions on the wind. I can hear blacksmiths hammering out horned helms, the clash of sparring shields, and the thrum of the Totem Poles." A warm, familiar voice suddenly drifted into their ears. "Uncle Bull, Buffalo Bastion is practically buzzing with life. Looks like the clan is thriving."

Before Earthshaker and Ol’ Two-Horns could even process the words, Kaelen materialized right in front of them.

"Your Highness!"

"Greetings, Your Highness!"

Earthshaker immediately dropped to take a knee, but an invisible force caught him. Kaelen stepped forward, physically supporting the old veteran’s arms to stop the formal bow.

"There’s no need for that," Kaelen smiled.

Bearing the Stoneheart Titan bloodline, Kaelen could easily sense the soul-contract radiating from Earthshaker’s core. It bore Orion’s unmistakable signature. The aura of the mark was so intense that Kaelen had locked onto it miles away. That was precisely why he had left his retinue behind to travel ahead and meet the man alone. It was a calculated show of deep respect for the veteran—and a subtle political maneuver to secure his loyalty.

"Your Highness! Come, let’s head inside. I’ve already ordered the greatest feast in the city prepared for you!" Earthshaker beamed, clapping a hand on Kaelen’s shoulder and guiding him toward the gates.

This wasn’t their first rodeo. In fact, they were old friends. Ever since the Butterfly Mother and Kaelen emerged from the Emerald Dream Realm, Earthshaker and the young Prince had spent a good chunk of time fighting side-by-side in the trenches.