Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1433 Iron Hand

The core issue dawned on Ava all at once: refugees from Soaring Bird City still didn't view themselves as true members of the Stoneheart Horde.

To them, they resembled mere slaves—drafted workers compelled into grueling toil. They figured they were erecting a city for some alien overlord, gaining zero benefits themselves.

With this insight gripping her, Ava's face grew stormy. The deeper she pondered it, the fiercer her fury bubbled.

"It's all about managing and equilibrating," Sylvana, the fox-girl overseer, remarked without glancing up from her documents. Her words carried a gentle edge, yet the underlying point pierced keenly. "You'd better rule with an iron fist."

For quite a while, Sylvana and Ava had acted as Lilith's trusted aides, one on each side. Bonds forged in endless sessions of joint rule had strengthened between them; this was Sylvana sharing a subtle tactic.

"Thanks for the heads-up," Ava replied, forcing a wry grin. "I'll ensure they get back on track with the timeline."

Lilith, positioned at the primary table, offered no remark.

At dawn the following day, Ava slipped into her formal knight armor and called together the leaders of the Rose Knight Regiment. Flanked by a unit of Giant sentinels, they left Stoneheart City, traveling southward to Rosethorn.

Within the opulent coach, Ava occupied the middle seat. Garrett and Lambert flanked her left; Drustan and Klythia her right.

The quartet of knights held themselves stiffly upright. Having heard Ava's update on Rosethorn's troubles, their faces had hardened into somber masks.

"Prior to reaching Rosethorn, I require an initial strategy outline," Ava announced. "Plus, we must define our position."

Honestly, Ava's decision was already set. She just wanted their views to hone her determination's edge.

"Lady, those stirring up the mess aren't the nobles or the ordinary folk, for sure," Lambert, the team's tactician, responded swiftly.

Ava stayed quiet, observing him, eager for what followed.

"For the rich nobles, relocating to Stoneheart City stands as the best option. Even without instant full citizenship, they've got resources for short-term stays. Their wealth lets them assign slaves to labor for them or employ hired fighters to meet building requirements at Rosethorn. They dodge physical work, sure, but they've got foresight for the long haul. In the beginning phases, they won't hold back on funds or sway."

The carriage's knights dipped their heads in accord. Like them, these nobles had poured all their assets into Rosethorn's prospects.

"Nor will the poorest commoners rebel," Lambert went on, "since options escape them. The Horde supplies their meals."

"The agitators," Lambert's gaze tightened in revulsion, "consist of the mercenaries, slave merchants, and the filthy vermin trailing the exodus."

Sewer rats.

Back in Soaring Bird City, the backstreets teemed with bullies, burglars, extortionists, and gang leaders. These leeches thrived by draining the life from everyday people. Laziness and greed marked them; they harvested rewards without effort, hauling decent souls into poverty and bondage.

In hidden corners, they ran unlawful betting houses and pleasure spots, deploying dirty schemes to lure in regular folk—targeting especially those with attractive spouses or girls—into trapping deals.

Folks like that could never enter Stoneheart City. The main hub enforced tough regulations, with the shadows firmly gripped by the Horde's ruthless guardians. These pests couldn't thrive there, forcing them outward to construct Rosethorn.

Yet villains accustomed to lazy days would never bow to sweaty work.

Following a short stint of feigned obedience, their real colors emerged. Groups were banding in the labor force, sparking walkouts, and wrecking advancements.

"Lady, we have to crush these vermin with total might," Lambert urged, his tone sinking to a menacing growl. "We need to demonstrate to the nobles and upright workers our determination. Let them witness that we're the beacon for Rosethorn's tomorrow."

Meeting Ava's stare, his look weighed with import. "To root ourselves in the Stoneheart Horde, Rosethorn's steadiness forms our base. Be it riches or Faith offerings, we can't fall short of rival settlements."

Being nobility himself, Lambert grasped the full layout. He believed Ava, from her regal lineage, perceived even broader vistas.

"Why not just come out and say 'slaughter them to end the disorder' and call it a day?"

Klythia, the hulking shield-bearer, broke in with that.

Lambert sighed in exasperation. He frequently puzzled over Klythia's knighthood. A true knight cloaked brutality in speeches of obligation and glory, neatly sidestepping their ethical oaths.

"Rosethorn belongs to Kronos's domain," Ava intoned, her words slicing the coach like icy gusts. "It's to be your home ahead. It's your destiny."

"No one, regardless of identity, gets to hinder Rosethorn's building."

"Whoever blocks that road," Ava proclaimed, "meets death without pity."

Humanity proved an odd breed. Facing outsiders, they could unite and perish for justice. Yet for personal gains, they'd hack down deities and sages without hesitation.

To the north, Blackstone City.

Having dispatched the initial group of his clansmen to the Divine Kingdom, Orion settled cross-legged in the portal square. Shutting his eyes, he delved his mind into the Survivor's Platform.

"Got any plague mimicking a zombie contagion? One forcing the afflicted to relentlessly assault every life form?"

Orion aimed his question at Tangere, the disease expert.

Since recruiting Tangere himself, Orion planned to include him in the Eldoria assault.

"Chief, tons of such pathogens exist," Tangere shot back right away. "Truth be told, though? They're next to worthless."

"Magic, energy, mind forces, higher powers, inherited talents... countless methods and hidden techniques fully counter them."

Tangere buzzed with excitement over Orion's direct approach. It guaranteed his spot in the elite operation. He aimed to assist maximally.

"Such bugs only hit average folks. And should everyday people catch it, solid fighters cut them down effortlessly. A broad fire blast or group cleansing ceremony halts the spread instantly."

Tangere figured he knew Orion's aim—crafting a germ attack to eliminate foe soldiers.

"I don't count on your blight felling the mighty," Orion explained, his inner tone frosty. "The goal is the civilians."

"Huh?"

Tangere froze in shock.

Orion sought to eradicate the ordinary masses? That caught him off guard.

Now at Legendary's summit, Tangere knew the ways of Archlords and Demigods. Typically, regular people counted as herds. They supplied the Faith fleece like obedient sheep.

Conquerors generally shielded such stock to cut down casualties. So why did the leader crave massacring the flock?