Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1289 The Phoenix's Flame

"Invading the Stoneheart Horde's northern territories is the path of least resistance. It allows them to bypass the main strength of the Alliance of Four in the south while still securing land."

Lilith traced a finger across the map. "If I were the mastermind behind the Alliance of the Hundred Races, I wouldn't throw my armies against the combined might of the southern superpowers. I would try to carve a piece off the Stoneheart holdings first. It's a calculated risk: offend one faction to survive, rather than challenging all four at once."

Sylvana remained silent. As a skilled administrator and former tribal leader, she was brilliant, but she lacked the grand strategic vision of a conqueror.

"Is that... likely?" Sylvana asked, her voice tinged with worry.

"Why wouldn't it be?"

Lilith looked up, her gaze drifting toward the window that faced the frozen North.

"Let them come," she said, her voice dropping to a soothing coo as she turned her attention back to the desk. "If they dare cross our borders, Fenyra will turn them to ash."

Perched on a branch of petrified Emberwood atop the desk was a small, vibrant bird. To the untrained eye, she looked like a decorative pet. In reality, she was a Phoenix, an entity of Arch Lord power and Demigod potential.

Fenyra had been dozing, beak tucked into her breast feathers, utterly bored. But at the mention of invasion, her head snapped up. Flames licked the edges of her golden plumage, and the temperature in the room spiked ten degrees in an instant.

She was one of the aces Orion had left behind. Her presence alone was the nuclear deterrent that kept the other three Southern factions from eyeing the Stoneheart Horde too hungrily during Orion's absence. As long as an Arch Lord roosted here, the Horde was safe.

"Thank you for your enthusiasm, Fenyra," Lilith smiled.

She produced a fire-attuned crystal core from her spatial storage—a snack worth a small fortune—and offered it to the bird. As Fenyra crunched happily on the gem, Lilith took a comb of solid gold and began to groom the bird's radiant feathers.

Fenyra trilled, leaning into the touch. Despite her ancient lineage and terrifying power, she had never left the Godforsaken Land before this. In many ways, she was still a child, easily placated by snacks and pampering.

"The board is still being set," Lilith whispered to the bird. "It is not yet time for you to burn the world."

Fenyra yawned, the fire in her eyes dimming as she settled back down to sleep.

Lilith set the comb aside, her expression hardening.

"We must prepare for every eventuality," she told Sylvana. "Defense protocols for the Southern territories must be tightened, but the North... the North is our cradle. It is where our armies are bred. We cannot afford a single mistake there."

She paused, a plan forming in her mind.

"Sylvana, send word to the training grounds. Summon Elara and Prince Pallas. I have a mission for them."

Aside from the elusive Caelus, Lilith had taken direct responsibility for raising Elara and Pallas. They were on the cusp of adulthood. They were strong, yes, but they were green.

Lilith believed the coming civil war in the Titanion Realm was the perfect crucible.

Years ago, Orion and the founding elders had forged their legends in similar fires, back when they were merely Alpha-level or even Hero-tier warriors. Now, Pallas had reached the peak of the Alpha rank.

He was no longer a fledgling. He needed to see blood. He needed to understand the weight of life and death—his own, and that of his enemies.

As his mother and the Matriarch of the Horde, Lilith refused to let the Giant Prince grow up soft. He would not tarnish his father's glory.

And with Elara accompanying him, Lilith had no fear for his safety. Elara was fiercely protective; she wouldn't let anyone bully her little brother.

"It is time," Lilith murmured to herself.

She looked out the window again, finally understanding why Orion had begun delegating power so early in his reign.

Centralized power breeds complacency. Distributed power breeds ambition. It forces the talented to hunt, to compete, to rise. That was the only way the Stoneheart Horde would continue to produce generations of monsters.

I suppose it is time for me to let go of the reins a little, too.

It wasn't that she was tired of ruling. It was that she saw the truth: true power didn't need to be hoarded. As long as she possessed absolute strength, authority could always be recalled.

The Royal Castle. The Prince's Personal Training Hall.

The sounds of heavy impacts and pained grunts echoed off the stone walls.

Prince Pallas, the son of the Giant King, was currently serving as a punching bag.

Thwack!

Elara moved like a blur of motion. She vaulted off the shaft of Pallas's thrusting trident, her small boots finding purchase on the metal, and launched a flurry of kicks directly into his massive chest.

As Pallas stumbled back, gasping for air, Elara didn't let up. She closed the distance instantly, leaping onto his shoulders. She spun around his neck like a gymnast, using the flat of her short spear to rhythmically smack him on the head.

Bap. Bap. Bap.

"Do you yield? Do you yield yet?" Elara chirped, emphasizing every word with a thwack.

It was a comical sight.

Elara still looked like a six-year-old girl. Time seemed to have paused for her physically.

Pallas, on the other hand, was a juggernaut. Standing nearly ten feet tall, he was a mountain of muscle and Bloodline power. Like his father, he favored the trident.

But in this sparring match, size didn't matter. Elara was dismantling him.

While Pallas relied on brute force, Elara was a prodigy of technique and speed. Her talent for martial arts—aside from her terrifying magical aptitude—was simply in a different league. Even Orion had personally tutored her, recognizing that her potential was terrifying.

"Sister! Sis! My adorable, violent sister!" Pallas dropped his trident and covered his head with hands the size of dinner plates. "I yield! I yield! Stop hitting me!"

He scrambled away, looking less like a warrior prince and more like a frightened puppy.

In the entire Stoneheart Horde, there were only three people Pallas feared: his father Orion, his mother Lilith, and his sister, Elara.

His other brothers? He wasn't afraid of them at all. Caelus and Kronos were easy marks. A few "Big Brothers" here and there, and they would melt, handing over whatever gifts or snacks Pallas wanted.

But Elara? Elara had no such weakness.

"Hmph," Elara hopped down, landing lightly on her feet. She twirled her spear and glared up at him. "Next time you try to use your reach advantage on me, I won't use the flat end. Got it?"