Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1457 Bleeding Horizons

Regarding the Volunteer Corps, view them as the Horde's irregular forces—mercenaries, wanderers, and battle-hardened nomads who claimed the Stoneheart Horde as their haven.

These individuals bore excessive burdens or insufficient order to integrate into the standard legions, but they yearned to shed blood for the Horde nonetheless. It formed a bottom-up militia—unrefined in appearance, yet brutally potent in action.

Rallying them achieved dual benefits: it eased the strain on the primary forces and provided these unsettled wanderers an opportunity to claim a hefty reward in gold.

The North. The Northern Bastion of Menethis.

The dying sun painted the skyline in crimson hues, a vivid and fading glow. To Prince Theodore, perched upon the high walls, this sight evoked an ominous forewarning.

His outline against the scarlet heavens appeared skeletal. The Northern Bastion of Menethis had forfeited its past grandeur. Weeks of unyielding assault had eroded its splendor, reducing it to a stronghold steeped in ruin and rot.

The rock under his feet bore the marks of pits and slashes—wounds inflicted by jaws and corrosive spit. Weary troops slumped wherever they dropped, resting amid broken barriers and dulled swords. The entire rampart echoed the savagery of conflict.

They had barely fended off yet another assault from the Swarm. For the moment, the Bastion endured. It served as the "City of Hope" for the forsaken, humanity's final bastion following the Capital's disappearance.

Theodore shouldered the burden of that aspiration, and it was overwhelming him.

Deep down, he recognized the reality: both he and his city teetered on collapse. Several more assaults, and the defenses would crumble into a feast for the bug-like foes. The ordinary people sheltered within would become mere fodder.

Theodore's resolve wasn't lacking, nor were the fortifications frail. The issue lay in supplies. The surge of displaced persons had depleted the stockpiles King Harold bequeathed. Moreover, the Swarm infested the wilds, preventing any agriculture.

"Your Highness, the field of battle has been swept clean," a report came. "The consumable bug flesh has been transferred to the warehouse."

Bug flesh. That sustained them. Yet it proved a tainted gift.

Securing the flesh required slaying the creatures. Slaying the creatures demanded soldier casualties. Even worse, the flesh held slight poisons. Seasoned warriors and knights could process it—indeed, the minor venoms appeared to harden their forms, enhancing their prowess. But for the everyday masses? It was a risk. Mildly, it caused severe sickness; severely, it led to fatality.

This forged a harsh divide: the populace famished on the shrinking cereal supplies, as the military devoured the adversaries and grew tougher.

"General... the sun dips low," Theodore whispered.

The remark was ambiguous, yet General Oswin Calder grasped its implication.

Oswin exceeded a century in age, a survivor from a distant time. Among the scarce aristocrats with courage, he had armored himself to guide the discarded peasants to the Bastion amid the Capital's escape. Theodore held him in higher esteem than his father, appointing him as Vice-Castellan.

"Yes, Your Highness. It's descending," Oswin answered, his tone rough like grit.

Beyond the sun, it signified their fate. The settlement. The myriad souls in their care. The remaining emblem of human rule across the land.

"General, are the arrangements finished?"

" They are. Positioned at the plaza's heart. Draped in dark fabric, watched by stern sentries. None have glimpsed it."

Oswin paused, then voiced the doubt gnawing at him. "Your Highness... is this the right path? Perhaps we should dispatch a messenger to the Stoneheart Horde beforehand?"

Theodore denied it with a shake of his head. As the final ray of sunlight faded, he pivoted from the parapet.

"Unnecessary. A Demigod's might defies our reasoning. He will sense it."

Visions of the Giant King, Orion, filled his mind. It seemed dreamlike. How long ago was it? He recalled his journey to the Stoneheart Horde to fetch his sibling, Princess Ava. In those days, Orion held the rank of lord. Today, he ascended to demigod status.

"This evening marks the moment," Theodore declared, his tone firming. "The Swarm has pulled back. The troops and people crave a wonder. Haul every bug carcass to the plaza. For our tribute to hold weight, it demands true devotion."

Darkness enveloped the Northern Bastion.

News circulated among the displaced settlements and quarters: assemble at the main square. Emergency provisions would be handed out. Apart from the bedridden, the whole populace flooded the area.

Yet no cereals appeared. No distribution lines.

In their place, the throng encountered heaps of slain insects stacked tall, bordering an enormous, three-hundred-foot effigy veiled in thick ebony cloth. Flames blazed before it from improvised pyres, lighting an impromptu shrine.

Bewilderment swept the assembly. Then, Prince Theodore ascended the platform.

He unleashed the presence of a Lord, an oppressive force that quelled the buzzing chatter of the masses in an instant.

"People of the city. Rumors have reached your ears," Theodore's words thundered over the gathering. "I stand to verify them. They hold truth."

"The Capital has vanished. The elites have escaped to distant shores."

He offered no softening words. He exposed the treachery plainly.

"You see this as a refuge. A City of Hope. It fails to be."

A murmur swelled from the group—the collective hush of countless souls murmuring, inhaling sharply, and confronting their peril together.

Followed by the cries. The oaths.

"That wretched Emperor!"

"Spineless swine!"

"They abandoned us to perish!"

Theodore allowed their outburst. He required their release. He required their grasp of the utter despair they faced.

Solely upon acknowledging their demise could he extend a fresh existence.

A quarter-hour elapsed. The tumult of the crowd ebbed into a choking, dense quiet. None demanded calm. They merely exhausted their fury, baring only dread.

Countless stares locked on Theodore, anticipating the conclusion.

Prince Theodore sensed the load upon his frame—a tangible force, weightier than full mail. It stemmed from the unified scrutiny of a perishing metropolis.