Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1321 Void Blade

Caelus had anticipated that his initial blow might not finish the foe. Throughout his life, he had practiced his sword swings against the empty void ten thousand times, slicing through nothing but the wind. To him, failure was merely a stepping stone in the journey of Cultivation.

If a single strike proved insufficient, he would simply deliver another. And another. He would continue until his target was reduced to nothingness.

ZZZZZT.

Once again, Lokiviria’s physical form was carved in two.

There was no friction, no shield to stop the blade. It was the simple, unavoidable parting of spirit and marrow.

In this moment, Lokiviria felt the freezing touch of the grave. His final insurance policy—the substitution artifact—had already been exhausted. He had no more life-saving treasures to burn.

Is this my end?

Am I truly dying here?

My grand legacy... remains unfulfilled. I wished to look upon Mentor one last time... and Mother... wherever she might be...

Mother... my heart is full of regret...

Just as the darkness of hopelessness began to consume him, the insectoid effigy concealed within his garments burst apart.

SNAP!

The fabric of space twisted violently. Within a heartbeat, Lokiviria was gone from the field of battle.

This was a hidden fail-safe crafted by the Clown. More than a simple substitution, it was a randomized, short-range spatial teleportation matrix. The Clown had never revealed its true mechanics to Lokiviria.

In the world of experts, a second life is rarely enough. If a foe can slay you once, they can surely do it again. The only genuine salvation is a way out.

A spatial ripple?

For the first time, a hint of astonishment flickered within Caelus’s stoic gaze.

As a practitioner of magic himself, he understood the complexity of teleportation. The spell Lokiviria had activated was a high-level construct—intricate, impossible to track, and far beyond Caelus’s current realm of expertise.

This realization pointed to a singular truth: Lokiviria was backed by a formidable power. Someone truly perilous.

The sudden exit of the primary combatant left the area in a heavy, unnatural silence. The clash of steel halted as the soldiers tried to comprehend the scene.

“He retreated?”

After a long pause, Prince Theodore ascended toward Caelus, hoping to offer a formal greeting to this enigmatic savior.

“How tedious.”

Caelus paid Theodore no mind. He didn't even grant the Prince a glance.

Taking a single step forward, the atmosphere shimmered beneath his heel, and he vanished into thin air.

He was gone.

He had no intention of hunting Lokiviria. The teleportation had been too erratic and chaotic to follow. Caelus had simply concluded that his work here was finished. He had witnessed the struggle, punished the arrogant Young Master who had slighted him, and now he was bored.

As for Elara and Pallas? They needed to face their own tribulations. He had no desire to act as their guardian.

Theodore remained suspended in the sky, his hand extended in a half-finished gesture, looking both foolish and bewildered.

“What... what just happened?”

His question met only silence.

However, Theodore lacked the luxury of dwelling on this social snub. Lokiviria had fled, and the morale of the enemy was crumbling. The momentum of the war had shifted, and he needed to capitalize on the victory.

High above the clouds, the battle between Arch-Lords was nearing its climax.

“Unknown traveler, I do not know why you support these northern barbarians, but you are treading on dangerous ground,” Saint Noel cautioned, his voice echoing like thunder. He had sensed the Clown’s predatory focus on Caelus and had stepped in just in time.

This was precisely why Caelus had made his exit.

Possessing the instincts of a Natural Lord and a “God Seed,” Caelus had senses that functioned like premonitions. He had felt the Clown’s greedy eyes and the murderous intent pouring from the heavens. It had triggered his survival instincts, and since he was not yet ready to challenge an Arch-Lord, he chose to withdraw.

“Useless garbage!”

The Clown hissed in fury. This was his second encounter with the Human Saint, and the experience was galling.

He was aware that Noel was merely an average Arch-Lord who relied heavily on his Relics. In a fair fight, the Clown could have easily overwhelmed him. But this current avatar was designed for a quick strike, not a protracted war of attrition.

Because of this weakness, he had failed to seize Caelus—the perfect pawn to use against Orion.

Fine. The chance was lost. He would return to the original plan.

The Clown suppressed his avarice and narrowed his focus. He stopped watching the earth and turned his full malice toward Noel.

Igniting his counterfeit “Body of Faith,” he transformed himself into a streak of destructive light.

“Let us finish this!”

He collided with the Saint with the force of a falling star.

Noel, recognizing the desperate gamble, held nothing back. He unleashed the total power of his Relics to meet the assault head-on.

BOOM!

A roar like the fury of a deity shook the firmament. The sky cracked open, revealing the swirling, dark abyss of hyperspace.

Behind the Lines. A Secret Grotto.

Lokiviria, spitting out mouthfuls of gore, tumbled from the spatial rift.

He felt the tremor of the explosion in the sky, a force that vibrated through the very stones of the cave.

Then, a voice resonated in his mind. It was the Clown, sounding exhausted, sorrowful, and ancient.

“Lokiviria. If these words reach you, then I have perished.”

“Forgive me. I was unable to help you realize your vision.”

The tone was perfectly orchestrated—the sound of a devoted master bidding his disciple a final farewell.

“With my passing, you are without a protector. Neither the North nor the South will permit you to live.”

“If you wish to survive... find a secluded corner of the world. Change your identity. Bury your history.”

It was a masterclass in psychological manipulation. The Clown knew exactly how to twist the blade of despair.

Lokiviria collapsed against the damp cavern wall. He was broken and utterly alone. His mentor had died, giving his life to ensure his escape. The weight of his failure was crushing.

“Your mother is within this grotto. I located her... but I arrived too late. Go to her.”

“If you still hold onto your rage... if you are prepared to trade everything for your revenge... descend to the lowest level of this place. You may find something there to aid you.”

“Farewell, my student.”

The mental connection went cold.

Lokiviria stood in a daze.

He moved like a puppet toward the depths of the cave. If there was any light left in his world, it was the hope of seeing his mother, Rowena.

But when he arrived at the heart of the chamber, there was no reunion.

He found only two mounds of earth marked by stones. One large, one small.

A wooden plaque stood beside them.

Apprentice, I do not know when you will find this.

But you deserve the truth.

After fleeing the Tribe, your mother was relentlessly hunted by a pack of Giants and Succubi. She perished while fleeing.

She died while bringing you into this world.

My deepest sympathies.

...

The Clown understood that the loss of a teacher wasn't enough to totally shatter a man's soul. Sorrow could eventually fade.

But this?

The fate of Rowena was the final blow. A life of misery and a cruel death, hunted by her own people.

It didn't matter if the words on the sign were a lie. The moment Lokiviria saw those markers—the moment he inevitably unearthed them to see for himself—he would break beyond repair.

He would cast aside hope, love, and sanity.

Isolated, hunted, and consumed by hatred, Lokiviria would step onto the path the Clown had paved. The path of absolute destruction.

***