Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1320 The Weight of a Wooden Sword

"Scram! Forbidden curses are reserved for Arch-Lords. Are you trying to blow your own limbs off?"

The "Warrior Caelus" bluntly dismissed the plea from his alter ego.

"Switch with me! Your tedious 'One Cut' style is never going to finish him off!"

Inside his mind, the "Mage Caelus" persisted with his whining. He was a narcissist who lived for the spotlight, and a public execution fueled by high-tier magic was precisely his brand of theater.

"I only require a single strike. Just pay attention and learn."

While the two consciousnesses bickered internally, Lokiviria was already closing the distance, his weapon raised high in the air.

"This is the brat of my sworn enemy! Slay him! AVENGE MY FATHER!"

Lokiviria had descended into madness. Abandoning his duel with Prince Theodore, he redirected every ounce of his malice toward this new opponent.

Curiously, Theodore chose not to interfere. Instead, he lowered his blade and observed the scene with profound interest.

This Giant Prince was essentially a ghost within the Human Kingdom's intelligence circles. The only data they possessed was the vague title of "First Prince." Rumors suggested he was a recluse who commanded the total loyalty of the Stoneheart Horde, yet the reason remained a mystery.

As Theodore pondered, Caelus spoke, his tone freezing the surrounding air.

"Do you truly believe you are worthy of wielding a blade?"

Caelus reached for his belt and produced a wooden sword. It was a basic, unembellished tool, carved by the hands of Commander Thresh himself.

He gripped it with one hand. There was no complex stance and no visible gathering of mana.

He simply brought the wood down in a vertical arc.

ZZZZZT.

A noise resembling tearing silk or the cracking of glass vibrated through the atmosphere.

An invisible tide of Sword Aura surged from the wooden practice weapon. It didn't just fly through the air; it literally sliced through the fabric of space.

Charging forward, Lokiviria collided head-first with the spatial distortion.

There was zero resistance. No ringing of steel on steel.

Lokiviria was cleanly bisected.

The sight was hauntingly surreal. His frame split perfectly in two, the halves drifting in opposite directions. In the narrow void between his remains, Lokiviria’s pupils continued to dilate, frozen in an expression of pure bewilderment.

Death had claimed him before he could even register it.

Suddenly, the bloody image flickered and vanished. The severed corpse dissolved into a cloud of thousands of wood chips, which scattered into the breeze.

A great distance away, Lokiviria materialized, gasping for breath. His hand instinctively shot to his forehead, searching for a fatal wound that wasn't there.

All that remained was a lingering, ghostly shiver.

"What... what kind of strength is this?"

"How can he be this powerful?"

"Is he really just a Giant Prince?"

Lokiviria was shaking uncontrollably. That "death" had consumed a substitution artifact—a precious life-saving treasure burned in a heartbeat. But the dread was palpable. Standing before Caelus, he felt like a mere insect facing a mountain-leveling tsunami. He was utterly helpless.

He wasn't the only one paralyzed by the display.

Theodore, Delphine, and Blizzarion—the elite geniuses of the Human, Elf, and Dragon races—watched in a state of shock.

That lone strike was... flawless.

A Peak Legendary warrior had been effectively killed in one shot. Had that wooden sword been pointed at any of them, the outcome would have been identical.

Drip.

A bead of cold sweat slid down Theodore’s face. The initial surprise on their countenances slowly twisted into a sense of looming dread.

The Stoneheart Horde was becoming an unstoppable force.

First, there was the Giant King Orion, a monster without equal. And now his son, a shut-in who commanded power that defied all common sense.

Gulp.

Pallas swallowed roughly, slowly turning his gaze toward Elara.

"Sister... is that actually Big Brother? Tell me I'm not dreaming."

His skepticism was understandable. Caelus had never flaunted his strength. To the members of the Horde, he was merely the "First Prince"—a high-ranking title backed by zero achievements. Pallas knew Caelus was a "Natural Lord," but he had viewed it as nothing more than a label.

Now, the distance between them felt like an uncrossable abyss.

"That is indeed our brother," Elara answered.

She remained composed compared to Pallas. Her large eyes narrowed with respect as she stared at Caelus’s back. She had known he was formidable, but this? This exceeded her wildest guesses.

While the youth were stunned, someone far above in the clouds was gripped by terror.

'Sword Aura?'

'One Cut?'

'It’s impossible...'

'Could he be... Thresh’s successor?'

For the first time since he reached the realm of a demigod, the Clown felt a spark of true emotion.

He completely ignored his adversary, the Human Saint, and stared down at Caelus. His gaze tried to pierce through the Giant Prince, attempting to unravel his secrets.

However, he found nothing.

Caelus’s aura was shrouded, a void that defied all inspection. Unless he was actively attacking, he remained an enigma.

'He must be Thresh’s disciple! There is no other explanation!'

The Clown hissed to himself, and then, raw avarice took hold.

He plunged downward.

Abandoning the duel, the Clown’s avatar shot toward the earth like a falling star. He wanted Caelus for himself.

Whether he took over the body or processed the boy into a living puppet, Caelus was a treasure worth far more than the outcome of this entire war.

"My friend, you are overstepping!"

BOOM!

A figure blocked his path. It was Saint Noel, the protector of the Human Kingdom.

As the most powerful warrior in this theater, Noel was duty-bound to safeguard the royalty of the Alliance of Four.

If the successors of the Stoneheart Horde, the Blood Elves, or the Dragon Race perished under his watch, the political consequences would be catastrophic.

Caelus was a talent beyond the regular tiers. If he fell here, Orion would reduce the Human Kingdom to a wasteland. Noel could not permit such a disaster.

Thus, he intercepted the Clown with everything he possessed.

"Move, you insignificant piece of garbage!"

The Clown bellowed, discharging a wave of divine energy to brush the Saint aside.

"Garbage?"

Noel’s eyes burned with fury.

"Hahaha! A nameless cur from the shadows dares to call me trash in this realm? You must be seeking death!"

Noel was an Arch-Lord, a living myth and a hero to millions. He had maintained his decorum until now, but being insulted by a circus freak broke his restraint.

Calling upon the might of his Relics, Noel stopped holding back. He struck at the Clown’s avatar, forcing him back with blow after blow.

Meanwhile, on the battlefield below, the conflict continued to seethe.

Detecting Lokiviria’s presence reappearing in the distance, Caelus took a single stride forward.

He raised the wooden sword once more.

"Just a cockroach that doesn't know when to die."

***