Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Poison Dragon Swamp

A long migration convoy stretched across the swamp, forming a striking scene against the backdrop of the post-spring rain landscape.

At the forefront of the procession, Slagor sat atop a massive swamp crocodile, his face and eyes filled with urgency.

"Chieftain, are you sure migrating to the Black Forest without prior notice won't provoke the giant chieftain's hostility?"

The question came from a lizardman elder riding alongside Slagor on another swamp crocodile.

"Who told you we didn't send notice?"

Slagor's tone was sharp, his inner turmoil evident.

"Last autumn, didn't I send a messenger with a letter?"

The elder hesitated, his concern deepening. "But, didn't the giant chieftain reject us?"

At these words, Slagor abruptly turned his head, his gaze venomous as he stared down the elder. His voice dropped to a menacing growl, each word laced with lethal intent.

"The messenger I sent never returned. He must have been killed by the beasts of the Black Forest!"

"Our messenger didn't come back, and I never received a reply!"

"Or… are you saying you've seen the messenger I sent?"

The final question was delivered with an unmistakable threat, Slagor's killing intent palpable despite the elder's well-meaning concern.

Under the weight of Slagor's glare, the lizardman elder suddenly realized what his chieftain was implying.

"Chieftain, I did send my men to search for the messenger, but we never found him. It's true—our messenger must have perished in the Black Forest. We had no way of knowing the giant chieftain rejected us!"

Catching on to Slagor's intentions, the elder quickly adjusted his tone, his words flowing more smoothly, his eyes brightening with understanding.

"You're absolutely right, Chieftain. Our messenger never returned!"

"This time, as we head to the Black Forest, I've prepared gifts for Orion. And while we're there, we'll search for our missing messenger."

Slagor smirked, satisfied with his own reasoning. It was both clever and shameless.

The moment the spring rain began to fall, Slagor had wasted no time leading his tribe toward the Black Forest.

Time was of the essence. If they delayed and the icefield monsters reached the swamp, surrounding the entire region, Slagor and his tribe would have no chance of escape.

"Chieftain, can we really trust the giant chieftain of the Black Forest?"

The lizardman elder's voice carried a hint of doubt. He had stayed behind to defend the swamp during the Myriad Races Invasion and had not witnessed Orion's strength firsthand.

"As long as no Legendary-level figure shows up, Orion won't lose!"

"I'm certain of that!"

"Elder, all you need to know is that Orion's strength as an Alpha-level warrior rivals that of Lord Gareth!"

The elder frowned, skepticism etched across his face. To him, the idea of an Alpha-level warrior matching a Legendary-level figure was absurd—a joke, even.

Slagor glanced at the elder but chose not to address his doubts further.

"Pass the word—pick up the pace. Up ahead are the Barren Mountains. Once we cross them, we'll reach the Black Forest."

---

Northern Icefield Region

On a southern-facing cliff of a snow-covered mountain stood a warrior clad in icy armor, a massive sword strapped to his back.

The warrior's skin was frost-white, his head adorned with two horns, and his piercing blue eyes glimmered with an otherworldly light.

This was Jorik, a half-blood Glacial Dragon and the lord of the icefield region.

Lord Jorik gazed southward, his expression filled with longing.

It was said that far to the south lay lands teeming with beasts and magical plants, a treasure trove of resources that could elevate one's strength.

To grow stronger, Jorik needed to begin his conquest from the icefield, pushing ever southward.

But time and again, his ambitions had been thwarted by the half-dragon Gareth of the Abyssal Chasm.

However, this time was different. Gareth had been gravely injured and could no longer stand in his way.

As Jorik pondered his next move, a sudden gust of wind swept up the mountainside, carrying snowflakes in its wake.

"Gustalon greets Lord Jorik!"

The wind stilled, and a small whirlwind materialized at the edge of the cliff. Within it stood a strange creature—its upper body humanoid and translucent, its lower body a swirling vortex of wind.

"Gustalon, the only wind elemental in the icefield. You've arrived quickly."

Jorik's expression remained stoic as he regarded Gustalon, though a faint glimmer of approval flickered in his eyes.

"Lord Jorik, the wind is free and unbound. I, too, yearn for the air of the south. I want to stir the leaves of its forests and scatter the petals of its flowers!"

Jorik's gaze bore into Gustalon, making the wind elemental visibly uneasy. Finally, Jorik spoke.

"Gustalon, go. Scout the Abyssal Chasm for me."

"As you command!"

Gustalon bowed slightly before transforming into a whirlwind and speeding southward, with snowflakes swirling in the wind.

Once Gustalon had departed, a massive head emerged from the mountainside below, followed by an equally enormous body.

The thunderous sound of footsteps echoed as the colossal creature began ascending the mountain toward the cliff.

At the base of the mountain, a large gathering of monsters was assembling in an orderly fashion. From their midst emerged a beautiful girl with snow-white skin.

---

Abyssal Chasm, Underground Cavern

Lord Gareth slowly opened her eyes, gazing at her three most trusted subordinates: Ridi, Arden, and Gurnar.n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

"Have your tribes gathered?"

"Yes, my lord. All our people have been brought together and are hiding in the underground caverns."

"The monsters of the icefield are stirring. Lord Jorik is rallying his forces. Do not leave the caverns."

"We understand!"

"Remember, if Jorik catches you, even I may not be able to save you."

Gareth's tone was bitter, her frustration evident. But there was little she could do.

She was injured. In her current state, she could at best hold Jorik at bay.

If she failed, Gareth would not hesitate to have Jorik seek the help of the defiant and audacious giant chieftain.

This was Gareth's contingency plan. Of course, if it came to that, her reputation as the Lord of the Four Domains would be in tatters.

---

Black Forest, Northern Border

Orion stood atop the thunderhawk, his mood calm. So far, the Black Forest remained quiet, with no signs of trouble.

He gazed toward the Abyssal Chasm, briefly considering scouting the area. After some thought, however, he dismissed the idea.

"Rayden, head east. Let's check on the swamp."

The thunderhawk, Rayden, let out a sharp cry before banking eastward, swiftly flying toward the Poison Dragon Swamp. Read the latest on empire

---

Barren Mountains

Two forces stood at a tense standoff, the atmosphere thick with hostility, ready to erupt at any moment.

Slagor captured one of the Troll bloodline warriors, successfully drawing out the Troll chieftain, Gronthar.

"Honorable Slagor, if my people have offended you, we are willing to apologize and offer tribute," Gronthar said humbly from a distance, his tone polite and measured.

Outwardly, Gronthar appeared calm, but his mind was racing.

"Slagor, the Alpha-level powerhouse of Poison Dragon Swamp, has brought his entire tribe to the Barren Mountains. Are they planning to take over the Barren Mountains? Or worse, are they here to conquer Trolls?"

Gronthar was strong, but he knew he stood no chance against an Alpha-level warrior like Slagor.

Perched atop a massive swamp crocodile, Slagor gazed at Gronthar with a look of quiet admiration. He appreciated the Troll chieftain's composure in the face of such a precarious situation.

However, Slagor hadn't come to conquer the Trolls. His goal was far more strategic.

To ensure his tribe's survival in the Black Forest, Slagor needed to curry favor with Orion, the giant chieftain. And the Trolls were part of his plan—a gift to present to Orion.

In Slagor's mind, persuading the Trolls to join him wouldn't even require force.

"Gronthar, your Troll tribe has been isolated in the Barren Mountains for far too long," Slagor began, his tone neither condescending nor aggressive. Instead, he sounded like a concerned elder, brimming with sympathy.

"If you stay here, your tribe is on the brink of extinction, and you don't even realize it."

The calm expression on Gronthar's face faltered. His brow furrowed as he stared at Slagor, confusion evident in his eyes.

Slagor turned his gaze northward, his voice tinged with a sorrowful empathy that seemed almost genuine.

"You Trolls have been forgotten by Lord Gareth for so long that you don't even know the icefield invaders are preparing to descend upon the Four Domains. It's truly tragic."

The words "truly tragic" carried a weight that seemed to resonate deeply—not just with the Trolls, but with Slagor himself. He wasn't just speaking about the Trolls; he was also lamenting the plight of his own lizardman tribe.

"What?"

"The icefield invaders are coming this year?"

"That's impossible!"

Gronthar's composure shattered. His face turned pale, and his body trembled slightly.

It took him a long moment to recover. When he finally did, his eyes were filled with worry as he stared intently at Slagor.

"Honorable Slagor, are you certain? Could this just be a rumor?"

Slagor had anticipated this reaction. He smirked faintly, his tone casual but laced with a hint of mockery.

"Hah… A rumor? This information came directly from Lord Gareth herself. Do you think she would spread falsehoods?"

In truth, Slagor wished the news were false. Life in the Poison Dragon Swamp had been peaceful and comfortable.

But now?

To secure Orion's protection and assistance, Slagor not only had to persuade the Trolls but also prepare gifts that would appeal to the giant chieftain.

"I and my tribe are migrating to the Black Forest to seek the protection of the giant chieftain."

"The Black Forest has at least five Alpha-level powerhouses. They have the strength to resist the icefield invaders."

"Gronthar, will you join us? Or will you stay here and face the icefield monsters alone?"

Slagor's words were framed as a personal choice, free of coercion. But in reality, his statements were a form of subtle pressure, forcing the Trolls to make a decision.

"This… this…"

Slagor maintained his kind, patient demeanor, standing atop his swamp crocodile in silence, waiting for Gronthar's response.

But even after half an hour, Gronthar remained hesitant, unable to make up his mind.

Slagor narrowed his eyes, studying the Troll chieftain. After a moment, he sighed.

"Ah… Time is running out. I'll move on ahead."

"Gronthar, take your time to think it over."

With a wave of his hand, Slagor signaled his tribe to resume their march. The convoy began descending the mountain, heading toward the Black Forest.

Before leaving, Slagor cast one last glance at Gronthar.

This retreat was a calculated move—a psychological tactic. Slagor was confident the Trolls would eventually follow.

Of course, he wasn't lying about the urgency. Slagor needed to reach the Black Forest and join forces with Orion's group before the icefield monsters arrived.

By combining their strength, their chances of survival would greatly increase. This was the essence of Slagor's plan.

During the Myriad Races Invasion, Slagor had tasted the benefits of cooperating with Orion. This time, he was determined to do the same.

What puzzled him, however, was Orion's initial rejection of his proposal. Slagor still couldn't figure out the giant chieftain's reasoning.

---

As the Poison Dragon Swamp convoy disappeared from view, Gronthar's younger brother, Brakthul, grew restless.

"Big brother, what should we do?"

"If those icefield invaders really come, what are we going to do?"

"This stretch of the Barren Mountains will definitely attract the attention of the snow ogres, and they're already our enemies!"

Brakthul was straightforward and impulsive, incapable of hiding his thoughts or emotions.

Gronthar suddenly turned, his voice booming.

"Stop talking! We're going back to gather the tribe members!"

Though Gronthar was still uncertain, he understood the urgency of the situation. The tribe needed to be ready to act immediately once a decision was made.

Gathering the tribe would also give him time to think things through.

"Ah… Righ! Let's gather the tribe quickly!"

"And, big brother, shouldn't we hurry? What if we can't catch up to Slagor's group?"

Gronthar shot Brakthul a stern glare.

"Shut up! I'll make the decision!"

---

Meanwhile, Slagor's convoy continued its march, albeit at a slower pace.

Slagor deliberately reduced their speed, giving the Trolls time to catch up.

The Trolls were a key part of the gift Slagor intended to present to Orion. There was no way he would give up on them so easily.

Slagor didn't look back at the Barren Mountains. He was confident the Trolls would follow—it was only a matter of time.

---

Northern Abyssal Chasm

A gust of wind and snow cautiously swept into the region. Finding no resistance, it grew bolder, swirling through the area with increasing confidence.

"How strange. Aside from beasts and subterranean creatures, there are no Abyssal Chasm troops stationed here!"

"Could it be true, as Jorik said, that Gareth is injured and has withdrawn all her forces?"

"Gareth is such a coward!"

"Ah… I can smell freedom. The air here is so much warmer. I want to sweep through every corner of this place!"

"…"