Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Chapter 1637: Crimson Thrall

Within the Godforsaken Land lay Wyvern’s Roost. It was a massive nesting ground, a Godforsaken Land capable of mass-producing Wyverns, and one of Leonidas’s prized territories.

Deep within the central lair of Wyvern’s Roost, a crimson egg shuddered—the telltale sign of an imminent hatching.

Crack!

A fissure spiderwebbed across the shell’s apex, venting a rich, fiery aura. Tiny draconic claws punched through, tearing the shell open from the inside out to reveal a crimson Wyvern. The hatchling let out two sharp squawks before lowering its head to devour its casing.

As it fed, cryptic runes coalesced deep within its reptilian eyes. Moments later, the previously energetic and bright-eyed crimson Wyvern grew sluggish, its consciousness fading into the void. When a new light finally sparked in its eyes, the creature was irrevocably altered—dull, vacant, and completely mindless.

Wyvern’s Roost, oh, Wyvern’s Roost. Such a nostalgic name! the Witch’s voice echoed within the hatchling’s hollow mind. To think that Alexander, Arthas, and I helped Leonidas conquer this very land... Alas, time ruins all things. The past is nothing but smoke and mirrors.

This was the Witch’s strategy to infiltrate the Titan continent and slip into the ranks of the Champions Alliance. She knew perfectly well that none of her avatars could ever set foot on the Titan continent. Orion and the Commander would instantly detect even the faintest trace of her soul signature and annihilate the avatar on sight.

Therefore, this crimson Wyvern was not her avatar. It was a thrall—a highly specialized servant. It carried absolutely none of the Witch’s soul mark. Only when she actively cast a spell could she descend through an esoteric medium, briefly possessing the beast to glean its memories. This parasitic contract inflicted severe neurological damage; when not possessed, the Wyvern was little more than a braindead husk.

I need to nurture this thrall quickly. It must meet Leonidas’s recruitment standards for his Wyvern legion. That’s the only way to infiltrate the Titan continent undetected.

Given the current political climate, intel on the Champions Alliance’s newly Awakened is most likely to surface within Orion’s territory.

I must prepare. I need this Wyvern thrall to bind itself to a high-ranking knight on the Titan continent. Their master-servant contract will overwrite and mask mine. Only then can I hide right beneath the Commander and Orion’s noses.

Her thoughts faded as she piloted the crimson Wyvern out of the nest. It let out a pathetic squall, waiting for the older Wyverns to feed it.

Titan continent, Lizard City.

Lizard City was Slagor’s domain. A member of the lizardman Race, he was one of the very first Alpha level powerhouses to swear fealty to Orion. Through countless bloody campaigns, he had amassed towering war merits, earned a Lord’s Stone, and broken through to the Legendary level.

He had even assimilated the Stoneheart Titan bloodline, though his bloodline purity was too low to support an advancement to Arch Lord.

Stalled at the peak of the Legendary level, Slagor had returned to his people, shifting his focus to breeding superior heirs. He knew his current strength was no longer enough to lead the vanguard for the Horde. Guarding the city and tending to their flocks was the best way he could contribute.

Besides, he longed for a bit of peace. Looking back, it was almost unbelievable how many heroes had emerged from those two adjacent territories: the black Forest and the Poison Dragon Swamp.

"Let me tell you, brats," Slagor boomed. "The very first time the Chieftain stepped foot into our lizardman territory in the Poison Dragon Swamp, I knew he was built different."

"Back then, we had both just broken into the Alpha level. The Chieftain and I exchanged eight hundred blows. We brawled in the depths of the Poison Dragon Swamp for seven days and seven nights."

"I’m telling you, that was the pinnacle of my life. I fought My lord to an absolute standstill."

Slagor sat upon a massive armchair draped in beast hides. He was surrounded by a litter of younglings handpicked by the Horde—all bearing his bloodline. He tossed handfuls of hard candy he’d exchanged from the Horde’s treasury as he spun his tall tales.

A quiet life. Peaceful days.

But that peace shattered in an instant with a deafening explosion.

Eerie spatial ripples warped the sky above Lizard City. Spatial Wormholes ripped open, wreathed in blinding, gold-woven flames.

Slagor snapped his head up just in time to see a young mage step out of the Wormholes. The human wore crimson robes trimmed with gold and embroidered with a radiant sun motif.

"So this is the Titanion Realm?" The young mage ignored Slagor entirely, gazing at the firmament as he sensed the laws of this newly-birthed world. "A suffocating density of World Essence. Everything is in a constant state of flux. This phenomenon should only exist in an Ascendant Plane. Yes, this is the place."

Only then did the mage lower his gaze, looking down at Lizard City and the veteran warrior who had been watching him.

"A Legendary level. A lesser race. Muddy abyssal bloodline. A communicable, low-intelligence lifeform."

The mage didn’t bother to lower his voice. His clinical assessment echoed like a tolling bell across the entire city, ringing clearly in Slagor’s ears.

Slagor had spent a lifetime tempering his patience and relying on his wits. But in that second, he saw red. Being slapped with tags like ’lesser race,’ ’muddy bloodline,’ and ’low-intelligence’ incinerated his restraint. He went completely ballistic.

"Where did an ignorant mage like you get the gall to trespass on the territory of the Stoneheart Horde?!" Slagor roared. "I don’t care who you are; I’m breaking your legs today!"

Fury boiled his blood. Slagor’s clothes shredded as his physique rapidly expanded. Jutting tusks, Drakthul scales, crimson hide, and a secondary pair of bone-spiked arms erupted from his back. He had triggered his Stoneheart Titan true form—his absolute peak combat state.

Even facing an Arch Lord, an enraged Slagor wouldn’t flinch. He stood on the soil of the Stoneheart Horde, under the watchful eyes of the Giant King Orion, and before thousands of his kin.

"You’ll pay in blood for your arrogance!" he bellowed.

Roar!

Opening with a giant’s roar, Slagor summoned a set of Bone Plate Armor that encased his massive frame, making him look three times as demonic.

"Kill!"

Slagor drew his greatsword with his primary hands. His secondary arms gripped two cryptic scrolls—the real trump cards that gave a mere lord the audacity to face an Arch Lord head-on. He had traded for those scrolls from the Horde’s treasury, a failsafe prepared by a veteran who valued his life.

Having survived numerous foreign wars with the Stoneheart Horde, Slagor was no stranger to Arch Lords, whether as allies or enemies. To him, this arrogant young mage was nothing special.

As Slagor would put it: When it comes to being young and terrifying, could this mage hold a candle to Elara, the Eldest Daughter of the Horde?