Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1381 Nobility's Price and the Blind Seer

"Roderic, the firstborn son of Grand Duke Richard, rides in that carriage," Godfrey murmured, his tone rough and hushed. "Along with Prince Theodore, fellows like him are the sole ones truly worthy of being called 'Noble' within this realm."

For Godfrey, genuine nobility had nothing to do with fancy attire or elite gatherings. Real nobles were those capable of securing the borders, safeguarding the nation, and imposing stability. Such men set the very benchmark for what honor meant.

In the whole of the Human Kingdom, only a select few Grand Dukes and their loyal retainers—tied by blood oaths and devotion—satisfied Godfrey's tough standards, excluding the Royal Family. These rare individuals genuinely grasped the destiny of the land.

"Marquess Roderic faced a rough journey before reaching Soaring Bird City," Godfrey went on, easing back into his saddle. "The Swarm ambushed them several times. And the Marquess? He didn't cower. He spearheaded the assault and slashed a gory route straight through the horde."

"The Kingdom's true nobles aren't merely powerful, Brundar. They're clever too."

Godfrey halted, hit by a sudden idea, and a wry grin crept across his mouth. "You won't credit what he pulled off the instant he arrived in Soaring Bird City. He headed right for the City Lord."

"Seems ordinary, doesn't it?" Godfrey queried, eyeing the hulking figure next to him. "Considering the City Lord is Princess Ava. Her rank surpasses his."

Brundar dipped his head without thinking. The logic appealed to his straightforward thoughts.

"Now comes the unusual twist," Godfrey added, lowering his voice to a secretive hush. "The Marquess surrendered a huge sum of wealth and a full load of precious supplies from his caravan to Princess Ava immediately. He forfeited all his possessions, solely for her vow to shield his carriage under her wing en route to Stoneheart."

Godfrey's face grew grim, a stark contrast to Brundar's stunned expression. The giant puzzled over the riches, but Godfrey brooded on the deeper meaning.

What sort of disaster would compel a mighty Marquess to sell off his holdings and plead for Princess Ava's safeguarding?

Godfrey puzzled over it endlessly. If the Swarm was the culprit, it failed to align. They had traversed the identical path, witnessing the remnants—innumerable bug remains smashed to mush beneath the cavalry's hooves. It had been a massacre, yet nothing out of the ordinary. The danger didn't justify Roderic's frantic plea.

"You're pondering why he skipped hiring us for his guard duty, huh?" Godfrey inquired.

Brundar inclined his head once more. His feelings showed plainly.

Godfrey skipped delving into the tangled web of high politics for the giant. "That's how nobility operates," he stated plainly. "They engage in a contest whose rules we can't even glimpse. The Greymount successor has the funds, no doubt, but he misses the genuine might needed to claim a seat there."

In the end, the Greymounts amounted to fortunate traders who surfed the boom from the Stoneheart Horde. They wanted the sharp edge that true command provided.

Godfrey chose to let the topic fade. Chatting too openly about Princess Ava and Marquess Roderic invited swift death. Offending the crown would leave the Mercenary Corps struggling for future contracts.

"Godfrey, I still don't get it!" Brundar grumbled, rubbing his scalp.

Godfrey exhaled deeply. Giants excelled at hauling burdens, less so at pondering deep matters.

"Let it go. We don't have to puzzle it out. We simply trail Princess Ava and the Prince, keeping vigilant for the Tribe's battles."

That concept clicked fully for Brundar. He thumped his enormous torso, the impact resounding like thunder.

"Don't worry, Godfrey! Should foes appear, I'll tear them to shreds!"

Stoneheart City.

The chamber served as a haven of oddities, brimming with uncommon relics and prophetic instruments that infused the atmosphere with hints of aged earth and electric tang. This realm belonged to Sylvana. Typically a spot for serene reflection, it now hosted a far more instinctive display.

Orion's broad palm gripped Sylvana's side, turning her around with casual might. He held back not a moment. His robust, weighty shaft pushed beyond her barriers, plunging into her snug, slick core with a ferocious shove.

"Ah—!"

Sylvana let out a brief, muffled gasp, clamping her lips to hush any further noise. As a sightless oracle, her realm of shadows amplified each feeling exponentially. She sensed the solid bulk of him penetrating her form—rigid, relentless, akin to a searing rod prying her apart.

Orion started his motions, the tempo brutal.

Every plunge landed firm and profound, the clamor of skin colliding with skin reverberating through the still space. Thud, thud, thud. It rang mechanical, primal, and crushing. Sylvana stretched backward, her fingertips brushing the sturdy base of him embedded within. It seemed bigger than her fantasies allowed. Sightless, she relied on the pull of her flesh and the touch her digits traced to grasp its scale.

Her reserved demeanor kept her from voicing her delight, so she pressed her face into her folded arms, permitting only faint, choked murmurs to slip free. Perspiration coated their frames, serving as slick aid that heightened the rub even further. Her fox tail whipped wildly in the breeze, its end coiling and jerking synced to Orion's unyielding, engine-like drive.

Orion's grip shifted upward from her midsection to secure her spine, forcing her flat, claiming her utterly.

Sylvana sensed herself brimming over, torn wide, and totally subdued. Her inner walls gripped in wild spasms from the surge of ecstasy, drawing him in, which prompted fiercer, more penetrating strokes.

The rhythm accelerated. The damp, pulsing smacks turned wild. Sylvana's feet clenched, clawing into the plush covers. Her frame stiffened amid the flood of bliss, her thoughts dissolving into nothingness—paler and barer than her eternal dark.

After an extended stretch, quiet reclaimed the chamber.

Sylvana sprawled across Orion's torso like a dozing vixen. Orion gazed at her—her allure seemed otherworldly, nearly divine. He absently caressed her flowing, smooth locks.

"You're not going to ask why I came to find you?" Orion questioned, his words vibrating through his frame. "I didn't come just to fuck."

It marked his initial utterance post-climax. His entrance had stayed wordless, abrupt, and overpowering. Sylvana hadn't resisted, nor desired to. Amid the hush, they had merely devoured one another.

"You always have your reasons," Sylvana breathed, her tone regaining calm.

"I want you to bear my child."

Orion fixed his gaze on her stunning, unseeing eyes, a playful impulse to jest rising within.

"I can't."

The reply emerged after moments of thick quiet. Orion caught the quiver in her words; the inner storm rang clear.

"The gap between our strength and our bloodlines is too vast," she breathed. "There is zero chance I could successfully carry your offspring. Even if we used some forbidden arcane technique, it would be torture for me and irresponsible for the child's future."

She proved her seer's gift true. Her reply stayed practical, profound, and reasoned. It caught Orion off guard. The Stoneheart Horde stood at its power's peak just now. Bearing Orion's heir would elevate her rank, matching Violet's own. Still, she turned away the gain for sound judgment.

"Your rationality is almost tragic," Orion observed.

He conceded her captivating pull. She blended the Fox Tribe's allure, a human aristocrat's grace, and the Beastfolk's fierce fire. She embodied the type of woman to ensnare any soul.

Orion trailed his palm along her spine, digits wandering down to provoke her sensitive spots. Sylvana nipped her lip, bearing the thrill mutely.

Orion experienced a rush of softness.

"I came here to give you the light."

Sylvana had started to shift once more, extending to hold him, but his declaration halted her cold. The mystical Kitsune turned rigid like stone.

"Didn't you know?" Orion murmured against her ear. "I have ascended. I am a Demigod now."

She hadn't known. Yet she had anticipated this moment—yearned for it—for ages untold.

"If you don't speak, I'll take it as a refusal," Orion warned, pretending to rise. "I'm leaving."

The gesture jolted Sylvana from her daze.

"No!"

It burst forth as a raw, gut-driven yell. She pounced, claws latching onto him, frantic to retain him, frantic for the wonder he dangled before her.