Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1386 The Order's Ultimatum

He had anticipated a grilling on the secrets of the Magic Association. He prepared himself for inquiries into mystical principles or schemes of power.

But Elara merely sought to verify the storyteller's tales.

"So," she urged, "those Snail-Dragons. They're actually real?"

"Indeed they are, Your Highness," Rhazuun answered, swiftly regaining his poise. "I once journeyed through that domain a few years back."

This wasn't the kind of probe he had desired, yet he assumed the demeanor of a worldly wanderer—modest but informed.

"And you're acquainted with Cloudsong?"

"Ah..." Rhazuun paused briefly. He sensed he was struggling to follow her unpredictable line of thinking. "Truth be told, yes. We're companions."

He confessed it curtly. In his profession, revealing ties could prove risky. Should he anger the Stoneheart Horde, he aimed to spare Cloudsong any fallout. Such was the unspoken rule among nomads.

"Hand over the coordinates to the Snail-Dragon realm," Elara commanded.

It came as an order, devoid of politeness or bargaining. Her gaze held the firm assurance that obedience was inevitable.

Seeking to win her goodwill, Rhazuun complied without protest. To his mind, it posed no threat—a pampered royal craving an odd creature from distant shores.

From within his garments, he drew forth a memory orb, a glassy sphere swirling with spatial data and a quick overview of the realm's conditions. He pushed it toward her across the surface.

"Thanks." Elara tucked the orb away, then nodded at the seat facing hers. "Take a seat. Now you can share whatever message brought you here."

Rhazuun blinked in surprise. In his haste to describe the dragons, he had stood up. The awareness didn't bruise his ego, though. Even as an Arch Lord, remaining upright in her presence seemed strangely fitting. He settled into the chair, observing her closely. Her commanding aura, he decided, stemmed purely from magnetic charm.

"Won't you have a drink?" Elara indicated his tankard. "It'll boost your mana reserves."

She gulped deeply from her own cup of Goblin Fizz, ending with a contented belch. A faint, greenish bubble emerged from her mouth. It rose gently, sparkling, until it burst with a quiet pop.

As it popped, Rhazuun detected it—a sharp, focused surge of pure magic sweeping across the table.

"That was..." Rhazuun began, his eyes growing wide.

Elara paid him no mind, contentedly sipping her beverage.

Intrigued, Rhazuun bent forward and sampled his mug cautiously. The taste erupted vividly, the surge of power hitting at once. He didn't limit himself to a taste. He emptied the tankard in a single, prolonged swallow.

He placed the vacant mug back, tilting it for any remnant drops. "Amazing."

"That's Goblin Fizz," Elara remarked with a grin, her gaze sparkling with a playful rivalry. "As scarce as a Snail-Dragon, and only available through the Stoneheart Horde."

"I appreciate the welcome, Your Highness," Rhazuun expressed. As a sorcerer, he recognized the worth of his intake. It transcended mere refreshment; it served as a top-grade mana elixir in liquid form. His admiration for her assets grew.

He leaned closer, his manner turning serious. "Your Highness, are you familiar with the Order of the Dandelion?"

Elara shook her head, displaying true interest.

That spark of interest provided all the opening Rhazuun required.

"We form an age-old society, led by a Demigod," he started, his tone adopting a worshipful rhythm. "Our purpose involves spreading the essence of magic throughout all discovered realms. We stand as champions of structure and kindness."

He highlighted the ethical side of their work, often the surest path to easing a prospective member's guard. Yet observing Elara, he noted no flicker of desire. No wonder.

"Your Highness, we officially extend an invitation for you to become part of the Order of the Dandelion," he pressed on, attempting to rescue his appeal. "Among us, you'd gain the purest arcane lore and behold marvels defying belief."

Elara showed no reaction. She appeared disinterested.

Rhazuun clenched his jaw. The incentive had failed, so he turned to intimidation. He loathed the approach, but desperation drove him to claim a talent like hers.

"Your Highness," he murmured lowly and solemnly. "The Cataclysm draws near. Realms beyond are starting to seep into this plane."

He halted dramatically. "Even your father, mighty though he may be, might only preserve himself when disaster strikes. Join us, however... and the Order shall shield the Stoneheart Horde. Our war-mages will come to your defense."

It blended coercion with assurance. Align with us, or confront the end in isolation.

He scrutinized her expression, awaiting terror. He anticipated her resolve breaking. To Rhazuun, she embodied a budding Demigod, the perfect sentinel for his group. He required her allegiance.

Elara burst into laughter.

It rang out confident and entertained, like one enjoying a fool's awkward antics.

To Rhazuun, it proved perplexing. Does she fail to grasp the worth of Demigod guidance? Does she doubt my sincerity?

Elara's chuckles faded gradually. She glanced aside, peering through the glass at the lively avenue underneath.

"Mage," she uttered gently, "do you spot any alarm out there?"

Rhazuun scowled. He shifted toward the pane, projecting his awareness beyond, covering the inn and the roadway.

The city's clamor enveloped him.

"Come on over! Prime Minotaur horns!" a seller roared. "Straight from the beast! Crush 'em for brews or hone 'em for blades! Snag 'em fresh, costs rise at dawn!"

"Feeling famished? Try our fried insect bites! Crispy, zesty, superior to romance! Load up on nourishment!"

A bit farther, some hired fighters chatted idly, their words cutting through the noise.

"Word on Obsidian City? Huge locust infestation. The horde eclipsed the light, devoured all the harvest."

"Aye, caught that," his partner answered casually. "Big deal? Pests take the wheat, we take the pests. Fry those critters—they're like fowl. Nothing lost."

Rhazuun paid close attention. He examined the vendors' visages, the walkers, the inebriates slumped nearby. With his Arch Lord prowess, he could sense moods in the atmosphere.

He detected avarice. He detected desire. He detected irritation.

Yet he detected no fright. Not even a hint of cosmic anxiety.

"Mage," Elara's words pulled him back inside. "You fail to comprehend the Titanion Realm. And you definitely don't grasp the Stoneheart Horde."

"More than ten years past, this land suffered the Dark Tides," she continued, her voice casual, like chatting about the climate. "Each cold season, ceaseless monster hordes flooded the terrain. To the frail, it meant doom. Whole clans and groups vanished from existence annually."