Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1343 The Witch and the Vultures

A sneer distorted Kraken’s features, flawlessly replicating the arrogant contempt the Sea Race typically displayed toward outsiders. He was inhabiting the role with masterclass precision.

“Grand Marshal, let us dispense with the performances,” the Marilith Naga cooed. Her voice was saturated with sweetness, the type of tone that hinted at dark, promised delights. In the long course of Kraken’s life, that specific inflection was usually reserved for women who treated their sexuality as a lethal instrument.

Naturally, the art of seduction and true intimacy were entirely different matters.

Though the Marilith Naga spoke with a soft voice, her body remained stiff, exuding a frigid aura of dominance. She gazed at him not as a peer, but as a minor insect she had yet to decide whether to trample or imprison in a jar.

“I am well aware of why you have come,” Kraken remarked with a scoff, folding his arms over his chest.

“Then you understand that I am presenting a choice. And isn’t the ability to choose a true luxury?”

Kraken was no greenhorn. Having spent years reincarnated in the form of a colossal octopus, his personal tastes had… shifted. To his current perspective, this “breathtaking” Naga was far less attractive than a sleek, magnetic cephalopod covered in slime.

Silence lingered, heavy and uncomfortable, when Kraken failed to take the bait immediately.

He eventually shattered the quiet with a loud, intentional burst of laughter. “Hah! You haven't even graced me with a name, beautiful.”

“Does a name truly matter?” she replied smoothly.

“I suppose it doesn’t,” Kraken said with a shrug. “However, even if choices exist, one must examine the menu first. I take it the Cult of Four has organized a significant array of rewards to purchase our allegiance?”

Before the Marilith Naga could formulate a reply, Kraken moved to the side, gesturing toward the interior with an exaggerated flourish of welcome. “After you.”

The woman gave him a look that blended amusement with cold calculation before revealing a seductive smile. She slithered forward, her procession of Temple Knights following her into the center of Atlantis.

...

Hidden deep within the city behind sophisticated cloaking arrays, Leonidas and Orion observed the parade.

“Bro, stop second-guessing. That is the Witch. One hundred percent,” Leonidas muttered, his tone saturated with absolute conviction.

“Are you certain?” Orion asked, his expression skeptical. “Are you telling me this because you’ve shared a bed with her or something?”

Leonidas rolled his eyes with such force it seemed painful. “Give me a break. A person’s body can be altered and forms can be polymorphed, but the subconscious habits of a woman? Those are practically indelible.”

He squinted, a flash of sharp, predatory intelligence lighting up his eyes—a side of the usually boisterous warrior that Orion rarely witnessed. “The Witch isn’t even aware she’s doing it.”

“Doing what?”

“Observe the footwear. It’s a total giveaway.” Leonidas indicated with a gloved finger. “High heels. Combat stilettos, to be precise. Have you ever encountered a typical Naga wearing high heels? And look at that corset—she secures the sash with a double butterfly knot. Those are her tells. I’m not fooled. I happen to be one of the few individuals who recognizes her specific quirks.”

Orion blinked as the realization hit him. He had sensed something unusual when scanning the envoy earlier but couldn't identify the cause. The high heels had appeared to be armored greaves fused to her lower body, so he hadn't questioned it. Now that Leonidas had pointed it out, the silhouette was undeniable.

“Damn,” Orion whispered. “So, bro, if the Witch is here in person… do you think she’s brought us a gift?”

Infiltrating the inner sanctum of the Cult of Four had been their objective for some time. It was a strategy involving massive risk and massive reward. The simplest path was to feign submission, assist them in destroying the Sea Race coalition that protected the abyssal depths, and claim a seat of power.

However, that plan was in direct opposition to the core principles of Atlantis.

When Orion, Leonidas, and Kraken established this sanctuary, the intent was basic: pit the Cult of Four and the Sea Race against one another, carve out a third portion of the ocean’s influence, and harvest faith energy. They desired a three-way deadlock.

They had just barely managed to achieve it. Yet, their success had attracted the attention of the powerful—both dominant factions were now scrutinizing Atlantis. The conflict between the Cult and the Sea Race had reached a standstill, primarily because Atlantis had become too significant to overlook.

“A gift?” Leonidas snorted. “More like a ‘disaster.’ Hulk, mark my words: The Witch doesn’t deliver presents. She delivers plots.”

Leonidas was intimately familiar with the Witch’s methods. Her entire strategy revolved around leverage and venom—both literal and figurative.

“Forget it. Speaking of morons, the Sea Race is truly brain-dead,” Leonidas complained, his focus turning to the other side of the war. “I have no idea how those demigods managed to Cultivation their way up with such pathetic INT stats.”

In Leonidas’s view, the Sea Race leadership within the Silverwood Realm was hopelessly narrow-minded. They lacked any sense of grand vision.

“Think about it,” Leonidas pressed on, growing more animated. “The Champions Alliance on the Moonlight Continent already thrashed the Cult. If the Sea Race possessed even two brain cells, they would have gone to the surface, knelt, and established a legitimate partnership with the Alliance.”

“Right,” Orion agreed with a nod. “A pincer movement.”

“Exactly! They could have merged their elite combat strengths. They could have purged the Cult of Four from the Silverwood Realm entirely. Sure, the Sea Race would have to concede some territorial rights, but they would survive. Instead? A decade has passed, and they are still hiding in their shells, pretending the Champions Alliance doesn't exist.”

“If we can no longer delay things,” Leonidas said, his voice turning cold and ruthless, “I would honestly rather side with the Cult of Four than assist those stubborn fish-heads. Partnering with intelligent villains keeps you sharp. Partnering with idiots just ends in your death.”

It was a pragmatic, icy assessment. The Sea Race refused to align with the Moonlight Continent or The Demigod of the Moonwell because their greed prevented them from sharing the sea. That very greed was leading to their downfall. They were guarding a cake that was rapidly shrinking.

“Joining the Cult isn't the worst move,” Orion reflected. “But if we help them consolidate the ocean, aren't we just making the game harder for ourselves in the future?”

If the Cult of Four took control of the waters, the Moonlight Continent would turn into a lonely island, surrounded on all sides. It would be a slow strangulation.

Leonidas smirked, a wicked look that promised mayhem. “Heh. Hulk, why be so sincere? We don’t have to play the part of loyal subordinates.”

“You mean...”

“Why shouldn't we be the scavengers? Let them exhaust one another in the primary conflict. We will slack off, do the absolute minimum, and then summon the Deputy Commander to finish the job once everyone is spent.”

Orion laughed. Compared to Leonidas, he realized he still had much to learn regarding the art of deception.

Kraken and the Witch were continuing their talks. The situation had not yet crossed the point of no return. There was still space to maneuver.

Titanion Realm, Stoneheart City

Orion walked through the portal three days after he had added Seraphina to his group.

Seraphina, being a demigod of immense power, naturally did not accompany him to Stoneheart. The thought of her bowing to Lilith and “showing respect” to the primary wife was absurd. If Marina could not be broken, Seraphina certainly was not going to play the role of a quiet housewife.

Orion didn't even attempt to force the issue. Given Lilith’s power, asking her to oversee a harem of dominant alpha females was a recipe for disaster. The wisest course of action was the path of least resistance: allowing the powerful women to simply ignore one another.

Furthermore, he had more pressing matters to attend to.

The news of Orion’s arrival had struck Stoneheart like a bolt of lightning. The entire city was humming with a frantic, electric energy.

Standing on the high balcony of his fortress, Orion could feel it physically. Surges of fanatical faith energy were flowing toward him, heavy and persistent. This was more than mere respect; it was pure worship. The intensity of it was shocking, even to someone of his standing.