Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1398 The Molting King

Should an infestation erupt, the seasoned fighters and hired guns would crush it swiftly upon arrival.

Within the domain of the Stoneheart Horde, such pests amounted to mere snacks, roasted and dished out in the bustling inns of major settlements. Yet in this remote area, the situation shifted dramatically. Here lay the outskirts of Blood Elf lands—a wild, unregulated no-man's-land that neither faction fully commanded.

Rigid control in these frontier regions often sparked conflicts, and given the Stoneheart Horde's bold expansion lately, the Blood Elves had pulled away. They'd essentially surrendered oversight of their border fringes. This power gap provided the perfect breeding ground for the horde to multiply unchecked.

"Hold."

Rolan struck the handle of his trident against the Abyssal Dragon under him. The creature grasped the signal without delay. Upon stopping, its bone plating, merged with its skin, unfurled and climbed to envelop Rolan in a shielding layer. A veil of Abyssal force ascended to join it, draping him in a dark, ghostly mist.

ROAR!

The Abyssal Dragon unleashed a deep, rumbling snarl, sending a surge of raw menace sweeping across the nearby woods.

Rolan's pause signaled just one possibility: foes lurked nearby.

Oddly enough, right after they came to a stop, the Leafmaws in the vicinity quit bothering the lead group. They redirected their assault toward the Raptor Cavalry squad following Rolan.

"I'll offer you a single opportunity. Kneel before the Stoneheart Horde. Yield to the Horde for monitoring and modification."

Rolan's features stayed a stoic veil. He remained utterly still.

In reality, he couldn't pinpoint the location of the gazes fixed on him. He simply sensed the chill of peril at the back of his neck.

Attempting to enlist a Broodmother formed the usual protocol for the Stoneheart Horde's patrol squads. Returning one intact to the Tribe promised enormous renown. Though snagging a Legendary-tier Broodmother seemed unrealistic at present, Alpha-tiers had appeared in the past. The previous squad had missed out on theirs, yet Rolan had no plans to repeat that mistake.

Silence. The forest hung in eerie hush.

Except for the far-off clamor of the Raptor Cavalry battling the Leafmaws, everything had fallen into absolute quiet.

"Ten seconds. After that, I begin the slaughter."

No reply came. Rolan's look turned to frozen steel.

He slipped a hand into his jacket, fingertips grazing a flask of pheromone bait. This scarce commodity came from a deal with an extraterrestrial group—a substance that drove insect swarms wild. Once released, it would drive any non-Legendary bug into frenzy, revealing its hiding spot. Thwip!

The very second Rolan's arm vanished inside his coat, a dark streak burst from the base of a towering redwood, hurtling directly at his visage. "Amateur."

Rolan smirked. True, he was going for the bait, but he was also setting the snare.

His unoccupied left hand seized the trident. A rush of ancestral might exploded forth, flowing through his limb as he thrust forward to clash with the incoming strike.

CLANG!

The dark form collided with the trident, splattering vivid green fluid before getting hurled back through the atmosphere.

This was an insectoid, scarcely five feet in height yet constructed like a fortress. Its frame was pitch black, clad in chitin that shone like burnished metal atop bulging sinews. Its skull was sleek and bald, except for a pair of antennae quivering steadily.

Its left limb—a jagged scythe—lay shattered now, impaled by Rolan's trident.

Damn. Just a King.

Rolan exhaled, let down. It wasn't a Broodmother.

The gap between them was vast. Insect Kings served as living armaments, males forged via savage in-hive brawls. They excelled at devastation. Broodmothers, typically females, formed the hive's tactical heart. They spawned the masses and devised enhancements in their progeny. Kings seized lands; Broodmothers erected dominions.

To the Stoneheart Horde, a Broodmother held boundless worth.

"Food... mine... not leave!"

It might have just ascended; the Insect King's words came out rough and fractured.

"Food?" Rolan lifted his trident, gaze sharpening to thin lines. A dense, oppressive wave of murderous aura targeted the beast. "You ought to learn who's the meal here."

As the only apprentice to Giant King Orion, Rolan had conquered far beyond simple close-quarters fighting.

With a swift whoosh, the trident flew from his grasp like a thunderstrike. It crashed into the Insect King, nailing it fiercely to the tree behind.

Yet as Rolan advanced to check his prize, the entity's form started to spasm. The shell on its skull cracked apart with a moist rip, and a slimmer, more agile duplicate of the King emerged from the shell, unfurling wings right away

and blasting upward into the air.

"Molting escape?"

Rolan snorted. No true King lacked some evasion tricks.

After sampling Rolan's strength, the being created maximum height separation, soaring far beyond trident reach.

"You believe escape is possible?" Rolan craned his neck, observing the creature peer down at him.

He spotted the glee in the bug's compound eyes. It realized Rolan lacked flight. It figured it held the upper hand strategically.

"Impressive promise," Rolan remarked openly, grinning. "Rising to Alpha-level so quickly... I'm optimistic about this merging realm we're entering." The cosmos' laws had altered. Lowly scavengers were rising to top hunters.

"But you? You're not ready yet."

ROAR!

A draconic bellow ripped across the skies.

An Abyssal Demondrake pierced the clouds, plummeting like a shooting star.

The Insect King noticed the encroaching shadow, but reaction came too late. A blaze of infernal flames swallowed it whole. The air filled with the hiss of burning flesh as the bug wailed in panic, reduced to a charred husk before touching earth.

Distant, near the woodland's border.

The refugee caravan was occupied repelling the Leafmaws when the dragon's

plunge drew their notice.

"Mother, see! That's Rolan's Demondrake!"

The creature's arrival stirred unease through Ava and

the rest. They hadn't realized aerial aid was so near.

"I heard Father selected it himself," Kronos noted, eyeing the beast as it leveled off and veered toward the clouds. "A prize for Rolan subduing the

Abyssal Dragon alone."

Kronos rode his own steed, a basic dragon now wheeling through the fog overhead, poised for his cue. But gazing at the Demondrake, jealousy sparked in his stare. His mount was ordinary—a diluted lineage.

Still, as his fingers touched the Dragon Mark from Orion, that jealousy shifted to eager resolve. If opportunity arose, he'd upgrade. Bond with a superior dragon or enhance the blood of his current one.

But such matters could wait. That was a "return to Stoneheart Horde"

issue.

Within the wagon, Ava observed the Abyssal Demondrake's outline fade into the clouds, her thoughts spinning.

Since when could the Stoneheart Horde simply... tame

the dragon species?

A single dragon or two might pass as fortune. A coincidence. But if they appeared as routine riding beasts? That signaled the Horde didn't merely share space with dragons; they subdued them.

"Seems like it was an Insect King," Kronos interrupted her musings. "King slain, the swarm's collective will crumbles. They'll disperse."

He addressed his assistant. "Lambert, rally the team. I want all remains collected. Extract the flesh and the crystal cores. Prime protein source, and the cores greatly aid common folk's vitality."

Kronos had immersed in the Stoneheart Horde these past years; his grasp of alien life matched Rolan's. He understood that amid such a vast swarm, the top specimens yielded solidified essence.

"And inform the Soaring Bird City evacuees," Kronos continued, tone firm. "Assure them the bugs aren't horrors. They're merely provisions."

Kronos positioned himself on the carriage's platform, diminutive in build yet overseeing the chaos

like a battlefield chief inspecting his forces.

To Ava, in that moment, he shone brightly. He exuded magnetism.

Is that truly my lineage in him? Briefly, doubt tugged at her. He appeared overly skilled, overly

astute to be hers. As she fixed on his silhouette, the shade he projected stretched, twisting and honing into the clear form of

Orion.

At the convoy's tail end, salvage efforts had begun.

"Jackpot, boys! We've struck gold!"

"Screw the rewards, Stoneheart City's bars will shell out top dollar

for this grub!" Stoutgut the dwarf hefted his enormous warhammer, smashing a spasming Leafmaw's skull. Gore didn't faze him. He thrust a burly, roughened palm

into the cerebral goo and pulled free a luminous crystal roughly walnut-sized.

"Hey, Commander! Does this qualify as a crystal core?"

Disregarding the jealous glares from comrades, Stoutgut cleaned the ooze from the

stone with his tunic and crunched it between his teeth like hard candy.

CRUNCH!

"It's akin to a Dark Source Crystal in function," Godfrey clarified,

cleaning his sword. "Fresh form, identical power. It'll harden your skin."

Godfrey frequented the Silent Goblet in Stoneheart City. He'd absorbed plenty of odd facts there. The minstrels didn't spin pointless yarns; they embedded survival tips and cross-realm knowledge into their ballads.

Delilah's clever strategy. Amusement doubling as instruction. It wouldn't transform society instantly, but gradually, the Horde's overall smarts were climbing. "King's down, swarm's fracturing!" Godfrey bellowed, urging his squad. "Claim what you slay! Stuff your bags, men!"

He surged ahead, blade stabbing into a retreating Leafmaw's soft underside.

"Sturdy fiends, huh?" Bloodear gasped. The gnoll lingered near Stoutgut, breathless. "Their shells tougher than armor plating."

Bloodear ranked as the frailest in the 'Blood and Fire' Mercs. Without team support, he'd have been devoured ages back.

"If the Commander hadn't pinpointed the vulnerabilities, we'd be sunk," the gnoll conceded. Individually, Leafmaws posed no great danger, but their toughness irritated. In numbers, slow kills meant being swamped.

"Godfrey, notice that?"

Brundar the giant ignored the insects. His focus locked skyward. "Rolan's Abyssal Demondrake."

For giants, no emblem of rank beat a mount, and none surpassed a

purebred Demondrake.

"Rumor has it," Brundar murmured in a hushed growl, "the Horde's elite stores hold dragon eggs. Authentic ones."

"Rumor or truth, the road stays the same," Godfrey replied, sliding his sword home.

"As worlds collide, conflict follows. We guard our turf, we earn Merit."

Godfrey eyed the giant. "Pile enough Merit, the vault unlocks. Eggs, weapons, anything."

Godfrey had held Alpha-level prowess for ages. Delilah once courted him years prior, after Galahad's fall, but he'd resisted. Stayed freelance. Now? He fit right in. Time for future planning.

From his intel, dragon eggs weren't the pinnacle prizes in Stoneheart's vault. And they stocked more than a couple.

As a warrior, soaring's allure was timeless. Godfrey yearned to become a Dragon

Knight. To command the heavens.

"Spot on," Brundar agreed, rising tall. "Earn it through blood, not pleas."

Godfrey grinned. The giant lacked razor wit, but he'd sharpened up. Clear aims bred dedicated fighters.

"On luck," Brundar nodded backward. "That youth's fortunate

he hired us."

"Others would've fled. Those pair would be mulch."

He gestured at Tristan Greymount and Adelina. Tristan appeared spectral, ashen

and drenched in sweat. Adelina, his servant, clutched a knife twofold, shaking violently enough to blur. Her sole role in battle: not ditching her employer.

"Catastrophe... Tristan muttered, gaze flicking wildly. "Supply routes severed... shortages... costs will explode..."

"This moment... this chance... profits will soar... Godfrey and Brundar shared a glance. The boy had shaken off fear,

yet rather than praise fortune, he rambled on earnings.

"Brain addled?" Brundar scoffed, eyeing the aristocrat scornfully. Godfrey, though, regarded Tristan with fresh admiration.

"No," Godfrey whispered. "He's a chance-seizer. Ambition's no vice, Brundar. Not when it shifts supplies."

Godfrey recognized a true trader's worth to any group. Conflicts demanded supply chains, and chains thrived on folk like Tristan who spied riches amid carnage.

"Let him alone. He's paying. Our duty: sustain him till payment hits."

Godfrey blew a piercing whistle.

Several hundred paces off, a huge Flame-Tiger quit shredding a bug and leaped toward him.

"Time to tidy up," Godfrey ordered, mounting up. "Secure the area. This haul's ours."