Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1387 The Hunger of Wolves

For Elara, the history lesson carried the weight of her own family's legends.

Bedtime tales from the Stoneheart Horde's elders—warriors who trekked down from the icy north—skipped the whimsical fairies. Instead, they shared grim accounts of endless winters. They warned the young ones about the gnawing hunger, the biting chill, and the shadowy predators that lurked in the night.

These tales had shaped Elara and Pallas from the start. They were forged to thrive amid catastrophe.

In her younger years, just hearing the stories fell short for Elara. She would badger Orion without mercy, scrambling over him until the Giant King relented and recounted the legends in his own words.

Ah, those were the shining times. Pallas, who often whimpered after rough scuffles in their games, would wipe away his sobs and become a shameless flatterer, praising Elara as "pretty and powerful" all to join her and soak in their father's resonant voice.

Elara's eyes shifted back to Rhazuun, her face tightening with resolve.

"You view it as an apocalypse, Mage. Yet for a Bloodline Warrior fueled by true drive? The Dark Beast Tides weren't calamity. They marked a prime hunting era. They offered the quickest, fiercest method to hone your edge and show you outshone the warrior beside you."

She twirled the remnants of her Goblin Fizz. "Over ten years back, that route to strength got severed. The hunting territories ran barren."

Real sorrow tinged her words. Elara understood the Dark Creatures hailed from the Emerald Dream Realm, and the Dusk Continent brimmed with them still, yet she'd skipped the Stoneheart Horde's golden ascent. She'd bypassed the time when her father forged his rule from turmoil. It seemed she'd shown up to the feast right when the revelry ended.

"A fresh gateway swings wide now," Elara declared, her gaze alight with fervor. "A warzone broad enough for all to claim their share. Say, Rhazuun, would a wolf pack starved for a decade shy from minor peril? Or would they drool in anticipation?"

She pressed on without pausing for his reply.

"Fear doesn't grip them. Excitement does. Pure joy surges through. It's more than personal might; it's forging a lasting heritage. It's locking in dominance for their kin across ages."

With a sweep of her arm toward the window, she took in the sprawling city beneath.

"Stoneheart City hasn't pulsed in your veins long enough for you to grasp its rhythm. The raw need in these arrivals escapes you. Hiding isn't their sole aim. They're primed to spill blood. Battle honors drive them. They seek to rewrite their destinies—and those of their sorry clans—by stacking corpses amid your so-called 'apocalypse'."

Elara's insight cut like a blade. Where most spotted fugitives, she spotted opportunists eager to mine fortunes from mayhem.

"And spare me from the Horde's rising youth," she went on, a sly grin curling her mouth. "The venom fed to their minds runs deep—tales of their sires' triumphs, the conflicts that raised this bastion. They see themselves as the heroes in this saga. War doesn't daunt them; it beckons. They require it to escape living as mere echoes of their elders."

Her brothers came to mind. Kronos and Pallas played the roles of calm, logical heirs most days, but Elara saw through it. Arm them, and they turned into utter berserkers.

Pallas at the Youth Camp lingered in her memory. To claim 'King of the Children,' he'd methodically crushed every youth in the group until they yielded. Only when the chasm between him and Elara proved too vast did he halt his fury. That alone kept him from challenging her—a sharp, self-preserving cunning.

"This shift spells doom for rival groups," Elara stated, reclining with unshakeable poise. "To the Stoneheart Horde? Merely fresh territory to claim."

Rhazuun fixed his stare on her. The recruit he'd eyed turned out to be the Horde's fiercest heir apparent. To Elara, the falling realm posed no menace; it was her private arena.

If a Demigod appears? Orion deals with it. The rest? I smash them flat.

Silence gripped Rhazuun as thoughts whirled in his head.

Her words rang true.

The voracious drive extended beyond the Stoneheart Horde. Talented exiles from all races and groups poured into the city. Sure, safety drew some, craving the Giant King's protection. The bold, though? They arrived thanks to Orion being the continent's sole openly known Demigod. His presence turned Stoneheart City into the prime secure hub for striking out into the altered realm.

This bet screamed ultimate peril for ultimate gain.

"I... missed that angle," Rhazuun conceded quietly. "The Giant King's role as the continent's soul anchor escaped me. While he endures, resolve holds firm."

The epiphany stunned the Arch Lord. Normally, such a "spiritual guide" emerges after conquest and unity. The land remained splintered, but Orion gripped the strings without a single official grab. All simply... awaited his command.

Rhazuun regarded Elara anew. His full assessment of the Stoneheart Horde demanded a total overhaul.

"The fog in your mind lifts," Elara observed, her voice laced with mockery. "Though fresh doubts brew in your stare."

"Your Highness, in that case—"

"Halt." Elara lifted her palm, silencing him. "I'll spare you the words. Point one: Me enlisting in your Order to train beneath your Demigod? Out of the question."

A faint grimace crossed Rhazuun's features. This went beyond refusal; it belittled his god's worth.

"Don't glare so. I'm not scorning your Demigod," Elara replied, drumming a finger on the table. "But consider my position. An Arch Lord at my years. Do you truly believe this strength fell into my lap by chance? Think I lack a mentor already?"

Rhazuun halted, the truth slamming into him like a hammer strike. Naturally. Her prodigious gifts didn't sprout alone. She boasted support—support rivaling the Order of the Dandelion in dread.

He inclined his head gradually, easing from persuader into attentive hearer.