Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1440 Light blooms in the darkness

Aina observed the thieves disappearing into the shadows of the twisting alley and gave a small, helpless shrug.

Raveth stayed quiet. He was wise enough not to utter a word. The Saintess was in a temperamental state, buzzing with wild energy that thinned the atmosphere nearby. Stirring her at this moment would spell certain doom.

"Come on," Aina said, spinning around with a cheerful grin. "You

recommended this city. Show me around."

Raveth nodded rigidly. He stepped ahead, leading her to a familiar neighborhood.

Long ago, this place had been his residence. These roads had been under his

grandfather's control. These days, Raveth was merely an outlaw, a blasphemer pursued by the Holy Order. While passing the city entrance, his gaze had scanned the bulletin board. His portrait lingered there, drawn in charcoal, offering a reward for his capture.

"I know a tavern," Raveth mentioned once they had passed two blocks of looming structures. It marked his first initiative to speak since the theft. His tone was hoarse, laden with tangled reminiscence." The owner brews a secret recipe. It's... passable."

"Then we must taste it," Aina replied, trailing after him, her features concealed within her hood. "After tonight, no one will ever taste it again."

Raveth offered no response. He simply continued onward.

The Governor's Mansion.

The object called Crimson Fever had switched owners three times within the previous hour before settling on a plush pillow in the Governor's office.

Governor Hargrove, a plump figure whose strength lingered at the mid-Alpha rank, accepted the crystalline bottle from his aged attendant.

"My Lord," the attendant croaked. "The Rats from the slums seized this from a enigmatic lady. The evaluator claims the inscriptions on the vial form a sealing enchantment. Rough, yet functional."

"And they brought it to me?" Hargrove inquired, lifting the flask toward the hanging lamp.

"They believed an artifact of such arcane strength deserved a spot in your trove, not tossed in the streets"

Hargrove stayed mute. He traced a thick, sausage-like finger across the carved symbols, probing the seal's durability. Resistance met his touch, though faintly. A firm press would break it.

"What's inside, I wonder?"

He shook it lightly. The dark crimson vapor twisted slowly, mirroring his motion with a mesmerizing, nearly alive elegance. It was stunning. It throbbed with a deadly charm that pulled at his thoughts.

Curiosity is a flaw that dooms felines and monarchs equally. Overcome by it, Hargrove summoned his inner force and shattered the enchanted barrier.

Hiss.

The lid shot away. A strand of red mist escaped, carrying scents of sugary decay and metal.

The Governor and his attendant drew in deep breaths, their gazes dulling as the haze permeated the chamber. Then, like a specter, the vapor vanished, slipping via panes and openings, extending to cover all parts of Port Caelwyn.

The Blind Beggar Tavern.

Raveth had parted with a hefty sum from his dwindling coins to procure the aged brew he had vowed for Aina.

She sipped it, rotated the fluid in her chalice, and scrunched her face.

"To be honest," Aina remarked, placing the vessel aside, "your taste is terrible. This is swill. It's barely drinkable."

She avoided his eyes. Her stare locked on the vista beyond the glass, aimed at the elite quarter housing the Governor's residence. She had sensed the barrier give way. The chain reaction had started.

"I suspect," she went on, a mischievous grin curving her mouth, "that the tale tied to this wine outshines the beverage. I'm a good listener, Raveth. Don't you feel compelled to share?"

The cork was out of the bottle. The Crimson Fever was loose. The chaotic variable was now a constant.

She shifted her focus to Raveth. He had been the initial one to ingest the Cursed Fruit, and his power had surged from it. Yet allegiance forged in strength was fragile. Aina favored chaining her hounds through their pasts. Grasping a person's scars was the firmest grip on their chain.

She planned to shatter all four Divine Envoys thus, sequentially, prior to her "friends" from the Survivor's Platform showing up. She would brook no defiance once the true contest ignited.

"My full name is Raveth Eryndel," the burly fellow murmured softly, gazing into his mug. "Port Caelwyn was my grandfather's domain. As you can see... I was once

nobility."

"But..."

He faltered. It formed the typical downfall: a drop in influence, scheming politics, and an aggressive seizure by opposing clans. It lacked the intricacy Aina had pictured, or the intensity. Yet amid the night's blackness, awaiting the cries to erupt, it sufficed to fill the moments.

Midnight.

A bellow ripped apart the quiet in the Governor's Mansion. It didn't sound

human.

Governor Hargrove, lost in bliss alongside his preferred consort, abruptly halted. His eyes flipped upward, veins bursting red. With a feral, throaty growl, he ripped the female's neck open using his jaws.

Fifteen minutes passed before the lifeless consort jerked. Her mangled form bolted erect, her gaze aflame with identical red frenzy. She slithered from the

bed, ravenous.

This was ground zero.

But it wasn't contained. Throughout Port Caelwyn, in dim lanes, watchposts, and trader dwellings, identical events unfolded in unison. The Crimson Fever had ended its dormancy.

"Your story is finished," Aina declared, rising sharply. "And so is this city. Let's

go."

Raveth hoisted his enormous greatsword and trailed her into the roadway. The evening breeze was shifting already. The ocean's aroma yielded to the sharp bite of new-spilled blood.

"Light blooms in the darkness," Aina murmured, glancing at the East

District.

Suddenly, a column of Holy Light burst forth into the nocturnal heavens. It originated from the nearby basilica, the hub of the area's clergy.

"Look at that," Aina chuckled lightly. "The Holy Order is active. It tells us exactly

where to go."

The Crimson Fever was a biological weapon designed to sweep the board. It instantly turned anyone below the Alpha level into a mindless, infectious vector. Those at the Alpha level could resist it, but their bodies would be fighting a war on the inside, purging the virus over three to five days.

During that window, they would be weak.

And that was when Hellscream would feast.

"The signal is out," Raveth reported, his voice devoid of emotion. "Our hidden

operatives have begun constructing the sacrificial altars."

Aina didn't answer, she just began walking toward the pillar of Holy Light. Raveth hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at her back, before falling

into step behind her.

Namir Cathedral.

High Priest Deryn was in the private prayer chamber, "administering rites" to a

newly inducted nun.

He was close to climax when the young woman's eyes snapped open, glowing a feral red. She lunged up and sank her teeth into his chest.

Deryn screamed, shoving her away. He slapped her across the face with enough force to knock her unconscious, assuming it was some violent act of

rebellion.

He scrambled up, pulling his robes together, and stumbled toward the central

font of Holy Water. He frantically scooped the blessed liquid onto the bite

mark.

It sizzled, but the wound didn't close. Instead, he felt something wriggling beneath his skin.

"No..." Deryn gasped, his face draining of color. "This isn't a wound... it's... a

curse!"

He turned and ran toward the cloister at the rear of the cathedral. The Holy Water was useless. His only hope lay with the ascetics in the inner sanctum.

He was right to be afraid. The Crimson Fever wasn't a natural plague. It was cultivated from the Cursed Fruits. Even Tangere, the creator, might not recognize this strain. It had mutated, fusing with the bloodline curse to create

something entirely new.

Outside the cathedral, bathed in the faint, dying glow of the defensive wards,

Aina stopped.

"Light blooms in the darkness," she repeated, turning to look at Raveth with a beatific smile. "Here is the heart of the light. Do you yearn for it, Raveth?"

Raveth looked up at the magnificent cathedral, his eyes cold and hard. "There is no true light here," he said, gripping the hilt of his sword. "When the Holy Order burns... we will be the light."