Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1386 The Order's Ultimatum

He had anticipated a grilling on the secrets of the Magic Association. He prepared himself for inquiries into mystical principles or schemes of power.

But Elara merely sought to verify the storyteller's claims.

"So," she urged, "those Snail-Dragons. They're actually real?"

"Indeed they are, Your Highness," Rhazuun answered, swiftly regaining his poise. "I once journeyed through that domain a few years back."

This wasn't the inquiry he had wished for, yet he assumed the demeanor of a worldly wanderer—modest but wise.

"And you're acquainted with Cloudsong?"

"Ah..." Rhazuun paused. He sensed he was struggling to follow her unpredictable line of thinking. "Truthfully, yes. We're companions."

He confessed it in short measure. In his profession, revealing ties could prove risky. Should he anger the Stoneheart Horde, he aimed to spare Cloudsong from any fallout. Such was the unwritten rule for nomads.

"Hand over the coordinates to the Snail-Dragon realm," Elara demanded.

This came as an order, not a plea. No politeness, no bargaining. Her gaze held the firm belief that obedience was inevitable.

And, eager to gain her goodwill, Rhazuun complied without protest. In his view, it posed no threat—a pampered royal desiring an odd creature from a distant place.

From within his garments, he drew forth a memory orb, a glassy orb swirling with the realm's location data and a quick overview of its surroundings. He pushed it toward her on the table.

"Thanks." Elara tucked the orb away, then nodded at the seat across from her. "Take a seat. Now you can share what brought you here."

Rhazuun blinked in surprise. He noticed that, in his haste to describe the dragons, he had stood up. Yet this awareness didn't bruise his ego. Even as an Arch Lord, remaining on his feet in her presence seemed fitting somehow. He settled into the chair, observing her closely. Her commanding aura, he decided, stemmed purely from magnetic charm.

"Won't you have a drink?" Elara indicated his tankard. "It'll boost your mana reserves."

She drew deeply from her mug of Goblin Fizz, ending with a contented belch. A tiny, light green bubble emerged from her mouth. It rose lazily, glowing faintly, until it burst with a gentle pop.

As soon as it popped, Rhazuun sensed it—a sharp, focused surge of pure magic spreading across the table.

"That was..." Rhazuun began, his eyes growing wide.

Elara paid him no mind, contentedly sipping her beverage.

His interest sparked, Rhazuun bent forward and sampled cautiously from his mug. The taste erupted vividly, the surge of power hitting at once. He went beyond a mere taste. He emptied the tankard in a single, prolonged gulp.

He placed the vacant mug on the surface, tilting it for the final droplet. "Incredible."

"That's Goblin Fizz," Elara remarked with a grin, her gaze sparkling with a rivalrous sense of accomplishment. "As scarce as a Snail-Dragon, and only available in the Stoneheart Horde."

"I appreciate the welcome, Your Highness," Rhazuun expressed. As a sorcerer, he recognized the worth of his intake. This went beyond mere refreshment; it served as a top-grade liquid mana elixir. His admiration for her supplies grew stronger.

He inclined closer, his manner turning serious. "Your Highness, are you familiar with the Order of the Dandelion?"

Elara shook her head, displaying real interest.

That spark of interest provided Rhazuun all the opening he required.

"We form an age-old group, led by a Demigod," he started, his tone adopting a tone of deep respect. "Our purpose involves spreading magical essence through all discovered planes. We stand as a power of harmony and kindness."

He highlighted the ethical side of his endeavor, often the surest method to ease a prospective member's guard. Yet observing Elara, he detected no flicker of desire. No wonderment.

"Your Highness, we officially extend an invitation for you to become part of the Order of the Dandelion," he pressed on, attempting to rescue his appeal. "Joining us grants entry to the purest arcane lore and visions of marvels surpassing dreams."

Elara showed no reaction. She appeared uninterested.

Rhazuun clenched his jaw. The incentive had failed, so he turned to intimidation. He loathed this approach, but desperation drove him to claim a talent like hers.

"Your Highness," he murmured in a somber hush. "The Cataclysm draws near. Realms beyond are starting to seep into ours."

He halted dramatically. "Even your father, mighty though he be, might only preserve himself when chaos descends. Yet should you align with us... the Order shall offer its safeguard to the Stoneheart Horde. Our war-mages will arrive to support you."

This blended warning with assurance. Align with us, or confront the end times solo.

He studied her expression, awaiting terror. He anticipated her resolve breaking. To Rhazuun, she represented a budding Demigod, the perfect sentinel for his Order. He required her allegiance.

Elara burst into laughter.

This wasn't a shaky chuckle. It rang out clear and entertained, like one viewing a fool's awkward stunt.

To Rhazuun, it proved perplexing. Did she fail to grasp a Demigod mentor's importance? Did she suspect deception on his part?

Elara's chuckles faded gradually. She glanced aside, peering through the window at the lively road underneath.

"Mage," she murmured gently, "is there any alarm visible outside?"

Rhazuun scowled. He shifted toward the glass, projecting his awareness beyond, covering the inn and the avenue.

The city's noises enveloped him.

"Come on over! New Minotaur horns!" a seller roared. "Straight from the beast! Powder them for brews or hone them for blades! Snag them now, costs rise come morning!"

"Feeling peckish? Try our fried insect bites! Crispy, zesty, superior to romance! Load up on nutrients!"

A bit farther, some hired fighters chatted idly, their words rising above the clamor.

"Word on Obsidian City? Huge locust infestation. The horde eclipsed the sky, devoured all the harvest."

"Aye, caught that," his partner answered casually. "Big deal? Pests take the harvest, we take the pests. Fry up those critters—they're like fowl. Nothing lost."

Rhazuun paid close attention. He examined the vendors' looks, the walkers, the inebriates by the curb. Being an Arch Lord allowed him to discern feelings in the atmosphere.

He detected avarice. He detected desire. He detected irritation.

Yet he detected no fright. Not an ounce of cosmic anxiety.

"Mage," Elara's words pulled him back inside. "You fail to comprehend the Titanion Realm. And you absolutely fail to comprehend the Stoneheart Horde."

"More than ten years past, this land suffered the Dark Tides," she continued, her voice casual, like chatting about the climate. "Each winter, ceaseless monster surges flooded the terrain. To the frail, it meant doom. Whole clans and groups vanished from existence annually."