Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1471 A Wager of Blood

Makareth selected his phrasing with meticulous care. By mentioning "you Archlords," he intentionally left himself out of the group.

He possessed far too many hidden aces to be grouped with the ordinary members. Now that his ascension had succeeded, Makareth was eager to push his fresh boundaries. He sought no equal; instead, he yearned to cross blades with a Demigod's projection.

"Should the foes dispatch more forces, I'll stand firm against a single Archlord."

The words sliced through the heavy atmosphere like a blade. Isabella rose proudly, dressed in sleek battle leathers that highlighted her deadly elegance. She embodied the essence of a Valkyrie completely.

Though she lingered at the pinnacle of the Legendary rank, she offered to delay an Archlord. This bold, self-sacrificing vow instantly commanded the admiration of everyone present.

The majority stayed quiet. From the moment she entered, Isabella had displayed a facade of frosty detachment, signaling others to stay distant.

"Sis, do you really think you can manage that?"

Makareth broke the silence as the outlier. They were seasoned veterans, allies who had shared bloodshed over countless years. Despite his recent promotion to Archlord, he continued calling her "Sis" with warm familiarity. It stemmed not from superiority but from true worry.

Isabella arched a brow. "What's the matter? Fancy a quick bout?"

"I defeated you before. I'll do it again."

That was accurate. During their initial encounter, Isabella had fallen to him.

"Never mind, I shouldn't have inquired," Makareth chuckled, dismissing it with a gesture. "But in all honesty, Sis. Why not join forces with me? United, we'd crush anything in our path."

His intent was to safeguard her. With his Archlord status, he could offer solid protection amid the chaos of war.

"No need," Isabella responded evenly. "I arrived to hone my skills, not to cower in your shadow."

"Makareth, are you underestimating me?"

Tension thickened in the chamber. Isabella meant every word.

"Not for a second," Makareth shot back, his grin shifting to something savage. "I merely wished to gauge your progress over these years. Care for a bet?"

"Once those reinforcements show up, let's compete to see who takes down the initial Archlord."

This dark contest had been their ritual across endless clashes in the Dragon fields of the Emerald Dream Realm. Both thrived on it.

"Deal."

Isabella agreed without hesitation. Decades of ruling expansive lands in the Emerald Dream Realm, bolstered by resource returns and Faith Energy, had positioned her on the verge of breakthrough.

Alexander dispatched her precisely for this purpose. She teetered at the barrier. Only the blaze of battle, the brink of survival, could propel her transformation.

These must be the remaining Survivors, Aina reflected, observing the interaction.

Bold. Overconfident. Untamed. Suspicious. Icy... and completely without fear.

Aina's view of the assembly evolved. She had viewed Orion as a unique war-maniac, unmatched in his fixation. Yet, witnessing Makareth and Isabella, she understood the reality: Orion wasn't the exception. The entire lot were mad.

Truly birds of the same flock.

"We ought to stay vigilant," Elara interjected sharply. "An organization dominating a whole world won't fall easily."

"Belittling the opponent paves the fastest route to doom."

As a vanguard leader, Elara deemed it her duty to curb the bravado filling the space.

"Quite right," Kaedros growled deeply. "We can't lower our defenses."

The Dragonblood fighter sided with Elara, forming a quiet offset to the daring assurance from Makareth and Isabella.

They formed a unit. For the mechanism to function smoothly, both acceleration and restraint were essential. Varied viewpoints alone could reveal the complete scenario and prevent stumbling into disaster.

Agaman Diocese. The Cathedral Great Hall.

Within the heart of the main cathedral, the atmosphere brimmed with fragrant smoke and looming fear.

The Council of the Holy Order convened.

Attending were Cardinal Maelric and the High Priests overseeing the six vital dioceses: Andor, Stellaris, Twilight Vale, Sena, Silvermoon, and Gulaba.

Beside them lounged the Inquisition. The Shadow Commander claimed a prestigious position, surrounded by his six deputies—enigmatic operatives tasked with upholding the Order's decrees in every sector.

Among the High Priests, five appeared merely as glowing, see-through images, linked over immense spans via the Order's hidden techniques. The sole physical attendee was the successor to Father Orel—the priest who never reached the Andor Diocese amid the outbreak of conflict.

"Gentlemen. Dolame Square faces encirclement. Huge swaths of the Andor Diocese's grazing lands have been seized. The adversaries are well-equipped."

Cardinal Maelric spoke steadily, his tone deep and free of alarm. The forfeiture of a diocese struck him as a trivial miscalculation.

"This alliance comprises the cursed. Undead, Dragon Beasts, betrayer humans, beast hordes, and Abyssal scum. They serve as the talons of shadow."

"Their aim isn't the fields or the flock. They seek total annihilation."

Maelric lifted his staff, directing it toward the enormous crystal fixture dangling from the arched roof.

The relic vibrated softly. A dense fog erupted from the crystal, coiling in the hall's midst before clarifying into a flawless reflective surface.

Maelric uttered a single word, igniting the scrying mirror into vivid display.

Atrocities unfolded with stark detail.

An Undead army ravaged a settlement like a toxic gale. Vitality vanished in moments, replaced by decay and stark skeletons.

A Dragon Beast vaulted onto a church outpost, crushing a howling sentinel between its jaws in one devastating chomp.

Then came the Plague Zombies. In their wake, the Order's soldiers crumpled, wracked by illness, ripe for slaughter like trapped livestock.

"Heretics!"

"Fiends from the Abyssal World! Demons!"

"The war's origins are irrelevant now," Maelric proclaimed, quelling the growing unrest. "Unity is key. We shall defend the Goddess's domain. We will eradicate these trespassers."

Any group torn by internal strife in the face of assault courts destruction. The Agaman Holy Order grasped this truth. Their rapid assembly of this council demonstrated their commitment to solidarity.

"Banishing the unbelievers!" one holographic priest spat, his tone quivering with bottled fury.

"Such pointless butchery," another pondered, scowling at the destruction. "Are they bent on obliterating everything?"

"Proclaim a Holy War!"

Several priests were already gearing up, their gazes alight with fanatic fervor.

Maelric hoisted his staff once more, enforcing quiet. He faced the figure lurking in the dimness next to him—the head of the Inquisition.

"At the founding of Dolame Square," the Shadow Commander grated, his voice resembling rustling withered foliage, "we interred six Templars under its base."

The chamber fell into profound hush.

"The Inquisition has transmitted the awakening command," the Commander pressed on. "As soon as the intruders cross Dolame Square's boundary, the Templars shall rise."

He scanned the assembly, his gaze icy and void.

"I suspect you're all as intrigued as myself to witness... precisely how formidable our foes really are."