Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1305 The Wardens Return

The North. Blackstone City.

Deep within the secluded reaches of Moonshadow Valley, the runic symbols of a teleportation array erupted in a blinding radiance. As the mystical vibration subsided, two travelers emerged from the dissipating vortex.

"Hah..." Dirtclaw took a deep breath, relishing the sharp bite of the local atmosphere. "There is truly nothing like the air in Blackstone City. This slight frost? It rouses the spirit and purifies the mind."

He leaned back, staring up at the slate-gray sky that acted as a constant shroud over the territory. Blackstone City had recently broken free from winter’s iron shackles and was currently balanced on the precipice of a spring thaw.

"It remains exactly as I remember," Gustalon noted, standing at his side.

Gustalon possessed the soul of a wanderer. Excluding the reclusive Orion, he was among the few within the Stoneheart Horde who had traversed every mile of their vast lands. His knowledge of Blackstone City reached down to its very foundation stones. He understood the city well enough to perceive that time here appeared to have stood still.

"Heh. It might not have changed, but it has certainly drawn some unwelcome guests," Dirtclaw remarked with a low, predatory chuckle.

Existing at the absolute peak of the Legend rank, his senses were perfectly synchronized with the land. He could feel the rhythmic pulse of the Tribe’s domain—a surging tide of Faith Energy that provided him with constant nourishment. For Wardens of his caliber, this accumulated power was their lifeblood.

However, he now sensed a disturbance. Intruders were gnawing at the fringes of the Tribe’s borders, scavenging the very energy he required to achieve Foundation Establishment into the rank of Arch Lord.

To the Wardens, this was more than a mere incursion; it was a blatant attempt to sabotage their path of Cultivation.

Dirtclaw had been fuming when the command arrived to garrison Blackstone City. Now, that resentment had hardened into a frigid, lethal focus. He would do more than just slaughter these trespassers; he intended to harvest their remains and offer their souls as a sacrifice.

Do they truly possess a death wish?

For a fleeting moment, Dirtclaw’s aura erupted—a jagged, suffocating weight that saturated the entire valley—before it retreated as rapidly as it had surfaced.

"The conflict between the North and South has commenced," Gustalon observed with composure. "There will always be narrow-minded Lords who are easily goaded into committing such follies."

"They shall pay dearly for their ignorance."

"Move along," Gustalon prompted, giving him a slight nudge. "The Lady is awaiting our arrival outside the barracks."

The murderous glint in Dirtclaw’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by a fawning smirk. "True, true. We mustn't keep her waiting. Let us go!"

A short while later, near the gates of the military outpost adjacent to the Horde Hall.

Before Lilith, Lysinthia, or Lycanor could speak, Dirtclaw’s booming voice already echoed across the courtyard.

"My Lady! Your radiance and intellect surpass the very constellations! You are an undying light in this infinite cosmos, and we are merely humble shadows looking up in reverence!"

Lilith and Delilah were identical twins, sharing a connection that transcended basic biology. In Dirtclaw’s mind, extolling Lilith was no different than praising his true sovereign, Delilah. Consequently, he delivered his most lavish flattery without a shred of restraint.

He then shifted his focus to the next woman. "And the distinguished Lady Lysinthia. Your refinement is peerless—the most stunningly cold beauty I have ever beheld. One longs to gaze upon you, yet lacks the courage to meet your eyes!"

Lysinthia responded with a polite, knowing grin. She was familiar enough with Dirtclaw to ignore his dramatic flair.

"And lastly, the virtuous Lady Lycanor," Dirtclaw added, his voice adopting a tone of genuine admiration. "Your innate talent is a blessing from the heavens. It is truly something to be envied."

With Lycanor, Dirtclaw saw no need for hyperbole. Her power was the result of ninety-nine percent grueling effort and raw potential; unlike others, she had not ascended by merely standing on the shoulders of the Stoneheart Horde giant.

"Welcome home, heroes," Lilith greeted them warmly. "You have pushed the Tribe’s influence further within the Otherworldly Battlefield. Your achievements shall be immortalized in the Tribe’s chronicles."

"Dirtclaw, Gustalon. It is good to see you return."

Lilith initiated a bow, which Lysinthia and Lycanor mirrored. It was a formal act of respect, representing the collective gratitude of the entire Stoneheart Horde for their victorious champions.

"Please, My Lady, you grant us too much honor!"

"We have only fulfilled our duty!"

Gustalon and Dirtclaw quickly returned the gesture. Once the formalities concluded, they followed Lilith into the outer fortress of the Horde Hall to take their places in the war room.

Lilith got straight to the point. She presented every piece of intelligence the Sentinel Corps had managed to uncover regarding their foes.

"The opposing army belongs to the Alliance of the Hundred Races. Their commander is a Lokiviria," Lilith detailed, gesturing toward a map. "An Arch Lord—a mysterious figure—is backing them from the shadows."

"Their target is the South. They want to shift the borders. The specific Lords encroaching on our lands are the cowards who lack the nerve to confront the Alliance of Four on the primary front."

The strategy session lasted for some time. Eventually, after handing over command and resources to the two generals, Lilith, Lysinthia, and Lycanor prepared to leave. They were needed back in the South to protect Stoneheart City.

Gustalon and Dirtclaw were now the reigning Alphas of the North.

"When did these northern tribes become so bold?" Dirtclaw questioned, watching the door close. "Are they unaware of the Stoneheart Horde's might? Do they believe our rise to power was based on mere luck?"

He turned his attention toward Gustalon. Dirtclaw had originally thought Orion summoned them to fight the main host of the Alliance of the Hundred Races. Instead, they were tasked with cleaning up a mess left by weaklings fleeing the real theater of war.

To Dirtclaw, these enemy Lords were nothing more than walking corpses.

"I suspect," Gustalon said with a rare, thin smile, "that My Lord has granted us a holiday. Who can say? Perhaps once we finish this, we will receive a legitimate mission."

It was intended as a jest, but it would prove to be prophetic much sooner than anticipated.

"Sigh... I find it hard to believe our foes are just a pack of cowards," Dirtclaw muttered. "Gustalon, watch the place for a bit. I am heading home."

He wasn't underestimating the opposition; he was simply acknowledging reality. Given their current strength, even if a Lower Arch Lord appeared, the two of them together could maintain their ground. Victory was a separate question, but these invaders? They were insignificant.

Gustalon nodded, unconcerned. Though he owned a manor in Blackstone City, he had spent less than a week there in total. It didn't feel like a true home to him.

Dirtclaw felt differently. Blackstone City contained his first genuine "den" in this world—a territory that belonged solely to him. And within that den, a harem of Gnoll beauties was eagerly awaiting his return.

The Sixth Layer of the Abyss.

War had arrived in earnest.

Deep within the lands south of the Foundry Citadel, across a massive, sprawling terrain, the Conquest Legion was locked in a violent struggle with the invaders.

This territory had once been a dark, vibrant forest filled with low-tier magical plants and rich soil. Now, the relentless drums of war had reduced it to a desolate wasteland.

The ground was saturated with blood, staining the earth a sickening shade of dark crimson. The air was heavy with the smell of sulfur and the heat of rising magma, drowning out the natural scents of the woods.

It was the pungent aroma of Demon Fire. The unmistakable scent of sin.