Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1365 The Weight of a Demigod

To Orion, comparing the Witch to the Clown was like weighing a flickering candle against a raging forest fire. While both were mere avatars, the raw power sustaining them belonged to entirely different levels of existence.

"If that is your assessment," Leonidas remarked, his gaze sharpening, "then it is highly probable the Clown has undergone ascension. He is a genuine Demigod."

He agitated the wine within his chalice, his features clouding over. "Alexander had similar suspicions during their previous encounter. If the Clown has truly stepped over that threshold and commands the total devotion of the Cult's followers... he will be a catastrophic opponent."

As a First Step Demigod himself, Leonidas knew that a direct confrontation with the Clown had become a high-stakes gamble with unfavorable odds.

"Hulk, what is your take on the Witch?" Leonidas inquired. The very nature of the question was a silent acknowledgment that Orion had become the benchmark they used to gauge strength.

"She is insignificant," Orion replied bluntly. "Her soul lacks the essential density and purity required of a true ascendant. She poses no real threat."

While this was a simple observation for the two giants, for Kraken, who sat nearby in silence, the words stung like a physical blow.

He had spent years locked in a bitter struggle against the Witch. She was his ultimate rival, the insurmountable barrier he had broken himself against time and again. Even her mere avatar had exerted a suffocating pressure on him only moments before.

Yet, Orion brushed her aside as if she were nothing more than a bothersome gnat.

She is nothing to him.

The subtext was painfully obvious: if the Witch was a non-entity, then Kraken—who struggled to even match her—was worth even less.

Kraken seized a wine pitcher and downed half of its contents in a single, aggressive gulp. He slammed the container onto the table, wiping his mouth with a rough hand.

"Fine," Kraken spat, a dangerous new fire igniting in his eyes. "If she isn't worth your time, then leave her to me. I will be the one to end her life."

He required a target to focus on. He needed a peak to conquer.

"That’s the way to talk, Squiddy!" Leonidas bellowed, throwing a heavy arm over Kraken’s shoulder and clinking their vessels together. "Ambition becomes you."

The combination of alcohol and brotherly bond helped dull the sharp edge of Kraken’s self-doubt. He took a deep breath, regaining his composure.

"After what just happened," Kraken asked, his voice becoming more stable, "do you honestly believe the Cult of Four will still attempt to bring us in?"

"Without a doubt," Leonidas answered immediately. "In fact, they’ll be even more desperate to move now."

"They are drawn to strength. By challenging the Clown, Orion proved we are far more than just petty local warlords. Unless the Pontiffs are utter fools, they’ll return with a significantly better proposal."

Leonidas offered a toast toward Orion.

"Think about it logically. If you were in the Clown's position, would you allow a faction capable of destroying your avatar to align with the Sea Race? Of course not. Furthermore, they haven't even encountered me yet. In their eyes, the 'First Grand Marshal' remains an intimidating enigma."

"They are waiting for us," Leonidas said with a smirk. "And they are terrified."

The Unknown Depths, Silverwood Realm

The surface of the ocean split apart.

A massive entity of impossible proportions emerged, its sheer size blotting out the moonlight. It was a whale spanning fifteen miles in length, resembling a drifting island covered in barnacles and ancient battle scars. With a thunderous impact, it crashed back into the waves, plunging toward the dark abyss.

Within the interior of the beast, the laws of gravity and physics functioned differently.

Deep inside the whale's colossal cavity sat a majestic palace crafted from bone and coral. This served as the mobile base for Valerius, the Pontiff of the Cult of Four overseeing maritime operations in Silverwood.

Valerius presided at the head of a stone table. Flanking him were the flickering spectral projections of two other Pontiffs: the Clown and Yriel.

A fourth silhouette, another Demigod phantom, occupied the guest seat in silence. The Witch, exhausted and wearing her humiliation, stood further back in the gloom.

"Atlantis has surpassed all our estimates," Valerius announced, his voice booming through the cavernous hall. "Our strategy of offering them a superficial recruitment deal is no longer viable. We must change our approach."

"The intelligence from High Priestess Nym’zarith was... overly optimistic." Valerius cast a brief look at the Witch before turning back to the table. "Their intent is clear. They are pragmatists who won't commit until they see real profit."

"Gentlemen, the real question is: are we prepared to offer them a genuine piece of the pie?"

The Clown reclined in his seat, looking disinterested. He showed no signs of resentment regarding his pulverized avatar. To him, the construct was merely a tool, and the divine energy required to manifest the phantom was drawn from the Cult's offerings rather than his own personal stores.

"Their Second Marshal is a confirmed Demigod," the Clown remarked, casually inspecting his nails. "Following the logic of their hierarchy, the hidden First Marshal must also be one. That makes two Demigods."

He looked up, his painted grin devoid of any real emotion. "Two Demigods are more than enough to shift the momentum of this entire conflict."

"Pontiff Valerius," the Clown added, "do not ignore them, or it will be at your own peril."

Valerius fell into a thoughtful silence.

The deadlock with the Sea Race had persisted because the Cult had failed to properly read the board. They had permitted a rogue element to capture Current’s Bend, unite the neutral sea tribes, and construct a bastion right under their noses.

"I have a suggestion," Yriel intervened.

Yriel had recently lost his territory on the Moonlight Continent to the Champions Alliance. He was currently assisting Valerius in hopes of establishing a new base for a retaliatory strike.

"If Atlantis truly commands two Demigods, why treat them as mere underlings? Why not integrate them into our ranks properly?"

Yriel leaned forward intently. "We should send a petition to the four Archbishops. Offer them a seat at the table."

The chamber became deathly quiet.

"We offer them the empty Pontiff position in exchange for their absolute allegiance. I am certain the Great Four Gods would welcome two Demigod practitioners into the faith."

Valerius and the Clown traded a meaningful look.

Granting one of the twelve Pontiff seats was a monumental decision. It was not something they could finalize without the Archbishops' consent.

The Clown’s gaze shifted momentarily to the Witch lurking in the shadows.

A vacancy had appeared years ago when a Pontiff perished during an interstellar invasion. The Clown had been pulling strings to install the Witch in that position, as his patronage was the only thing keeping her relevant.

However, Yriel and Valerius were focused on the grand strategy.

By turning Atlantis, they would immediately acquire two Demigods. By sponsoring Atlantis for the vacancy, they would secure powerful political partners within the Cult's inner circle.

The Witch was merely a Pseudo-Deity. Atlantis provided the genuine article.

The Clown was cornered. He could not dispute the tactical benefit without appearing small-minded.

"Pontiff Yriel," Valerius said slowly, "I believe your reasoning is sound. But before we grant them a crown, we must verify the nature of their souls."

"We must meet these Marshals in person. We need to witness their loyalty and their piety firsthand."

Valerius stood, his mind made up. He was intrigued.

"We shall present them with the test."