Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1294 The Clown's Dissection

Lokiviria bowed deeply, his respect for his teacher being both sincere and profound.

"Enter."

As Lokiviria entered the room, a pungent odor immediately assaulted his senses. The chamber was filled with various crawling organisms. Seated at a circular table, the Clown was surrounded by a mess of dissected remains—some clearly belonging to insects.

"Have you come because you are plagued by confusion?"

The Clown did not even glance up. He was already fully aware of the questions Lokiviria intended to pose, having monitored the entire proceedings of the war council.

"Yes, Mentor. This disciple is burdened by many uncertainties."

Lokiviria performed a formal disciple's salute. Although this palace and kingdom belonged to him, he reverted to the status of a mere student in the Clown's presence. He did not dare exhibit even a hint of pride.

His visit was not solely for his own sake, but also on behalf of the other Lords. They were anxious to hear the Clown’s perspective on their ambitious strategy.

"Speak."

Putting down his scalpel, the Clown signaled for Lokiviria to take a seat.

"Mentor, after consulting with the fellow Lords, I have come to realize that the Stoneheart Horde commands a massive territory here in the North."

Bitterness laced Lokiviria’s tone. "The entire northwestern region is under their thumb. My own mobilization... it feels like a farce compared to their strength."

He had witnessed the scale personally. Standing at the border of the Centaur lands, he had looked out over the Stoneheart domain. The magnitude of their faction surpassed his wildest thoughts. Trying to unify the scattered northern tribes seemed like a hopeless endeavor when faced with such a monolith.

"The coalition is in agreement," Lokiviria continued, regaining his composure. "We intend to seize the Stoneheart territories in the North first. We believe a secure rear guard is essential before we can truly ascend. If we can conquer their northern lands, every member will receive a portion of territory. We can then consolidate our power."

As he spoke, Lokiviria became more enthusiastic. He could almost taste the victory—the moment he would drive out his despised enemy, the Tribe.

"And then?"

The Clown’s query was flat, heavy with blatant scorn.

"And then?" Lokiviria blinked, his momentum suddenly halted.

"And then you are finished," the Clown cut him off. "Your future vanishes. Your life reaches its end. Your kin are wiped out. Your lands are carved up like meat for a feast."

These words were as cold as ice, shattering Lokiviria’s delusions.

Lokiviria sat paralyzed, his eyes wide with shock.

"You find that hard to believe? Let me describe the outcome for you."

Selecting a new beetle and his scalpel, the Clown focused intently on his work. His voice remained steady, almost casual.

"Suppose I assist you in stalling the Giant King of the Stoneheart Horde. Do you truly believe your disorganized Alliance of the Hundred Races is capable of conquering their northern lands? If you fail, it is the end. The Alliance will crumble. Upon your failure, the Stoneheart Horde will likely launch a counter-stroke and annex the entire North. Never underestimate the power of an Arch Lord faction. Their hidden reserves are deeper than you can imagine."

The Clown scowled and cast the beetle aside; it had perished during the procedure. A botched experiment.

He reached for another, his movements becoming even more precise.

"But let us imagine you get lucky. Suppose you actually achieve victory. How much territory do you expect to gain? With so many starving mouths to satisfy, the Stoneheart land will not suffice. Even if you claim the largest portion, it is barely enough to maintain a single Lord."

He made a surgical cut. "The other Lords will be left with mere scraps. Their immediate crisis of survival will be temporarily averted. They will grow complacent. And then," the Clown looked up, his painted grin never reaching his eyes, "the Stoneheart Horde, driven by fury and disgrace, will return with their full power. It will be a total war of extermination."

"By that time, I will no longer be here."

He went silent, letting the gravity of his words weigh down the room.

"Lokiviria, how do you intend to withstand the fury of a near-demigod on your own?"

Snap.

The beetle in the Clown’s grip crunched. A second failure.

Drip.

A bead of sweat struck the floor.

Lokiviria was shaking. Perspiration poured down his face, stinging his eyes.

"Considering the temperament of your 'allies'," the Clown went on, "they will bind you hand and foot. They will deliver you to the Stoneheart Horde as a peace offering, hoping to quench the Giant King's rage with your lifeblood."

"In that sequence of events, you die. There is no other outcome."

This wasn't a mere threat; it was a forecast rooted in cold logic. The Clown understood these beings. He understood the mechanics of fear.

"Lokiviria, realize this: You possess very few cards. You must play them to achieve victory, not to facilitate your own demise."

Lokiviria was consumed by terror. The future the Clown described felt far too tangible. He envisioned himself in chains, his chest sliced open, and his Lord’s Stone being torn out by the Giant King. He saw his mother, whom he had hidden for her protection, being dragged out by treacherous allies to be offered as a bribe.

"Mentor... please, save me!"

His voice was raspy and filled with desperation. He felt as though he were drowning, with the Clown being his only hope of survival.

The Clown fell into a silence, focused entirely on his carving.

The quiet lasted for an agonizing duration. Just as Lokiviria’s hope began to fade, the Clown spoke in a relaxed tone.

"Lokiviria, you have to understand the reason these Lords follow you. They follow you because they are desperate. Much like you, they have no room to live. Until your grand objective is reached, you cannot allow them to be satisfied. You cannot permit them to relax."

"If they secure their land, your Alliance of the Hundred Races will become nothing more than a hollow shell."

The Clown saw the entire board with perfect clarity.

Once those Lords had a taste of land, would they still be willing to march South against the terrifying Arch Lord factions?

No. They would entrench themselves. They would return to their cowardly ways. Unless they wished for death.

"Mentor... are you saying that attacking the northern Stoneheart lands goes against our primary objective?"

"Precisely."

Lokiviria was far from unintelligent. He possessed talent; he simply required proper direction.

He finally recognized the strategic error. Their aim was to shift the North-South border further south. Attacking Stoneheart territory in the North was merely moving pieces within the same box. It was internal strife, not true expansion.

"That is a portion of it," the Clown remarked, a hint of genuine satisfaction appearing on his face.

Whether his pleasure came from his student finally understanding the lesson, or because the beetle in his hand had survived the initial incision, was impossible to tell.