Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1398 The Molting King

Should any infestation erupt, the veteran troops and hired swordsmen would charge in and squash it before it could spread.

Back in the Stoneheart Horde's domain, these pests counted for little beyond tasty morsels, barbecued and dished out in the bustling inns of mighty urban hubs. Yet in this spot, the reality shifted. They lingered on the outskirts of Blood Elf lands—a wild, unregulated no-man's-land that slipped from the firm grasp of either faction.

Tight control in these frontier areas often sparked conflicts, and given the Stoneheart Horde's bold expansion right now, the Blood Elves had pulled away. They'd basically handed over power on the borders of their realm. That empty space allowed the horde precisely the space to multiply unchecked.

"Hold."

Rolan struck the handle of his trident against the Abyssal Dragon under him. The creature grasped the signal right away. Upon stopping, the bone plating merged with its skin stretched out, climbing to wrap Rolan in a shielding layer. A veil of Abyssal power surged upward to join it, enveloping him in a dark, ghostly mist.

ROAR!

The Abyssal Dragon unleashed a deep, rumbling snarl, sending a blast of sheer menace across the nearby woods.

Rolan's pause signaled just one possibility: foes lurked nearby.

Oddly enough, right after they came to a stop, the close-by Leafmaws quit bothering the front guards. Rather, they rushed at the Raptor Cavalry squad following behind Rolan.

"I'll offer you a single opportunity. Kneel before the Stoneheart Horde. Yield to the Horde for inspection and modification."

Rolan's features stayed a blank slate. He didn't twitch an inch.

In all honesty, he couldn't pinpoint exactly where the gazes spying on him hid. He simply sensed the chill of threat at the back of his neck.

Attempting to enlist a Broodmother formed routine protocol for the Stoneheart Horde's patrol groups. Hauling one alive to the Tribe promised huge renown. Though snagging a Legendary-grade Broodmother seemed impossible at present, Alpha-grades had shown up in the past. The previous squad had botched their capture, yet that wouldn't stop Rolan from succeeding.

Quiet reigned. The forest hung in eerie hush.

Aside from the far-off clamor of the Raptor Cavalry battling the Leafmaws, everything had fallen utterly silent.

"Ten seconds. After that, I begin the slaughter."

No reply came. Rolan's look turned to frozen steel.

He slipped a hand into his jacket, fingertips grazing a flask of pheromone bait. This scarce commodity came from a trade with an alien group—the Tribe's prized tool that drew insect swarms irresistibly. Once uncorked, any creature under Legendary rank would go berserk from the aroma and reveal itself. Thwip!

The second Rolan's palm vanished inside his coat, a dark streak burst from the base of a towering redwood, hurtling directly at his visage. "Amateur."

Rolan smirked. Sure, he was going for the bait, but he also set the snare.

His spare left arm seized the trident. A rush of ancestral force exploded forth, flowing into his limb as he lashed out to clash with the assault directly.

CLANG!

The dark form crashed against the trident, splattering vivid green fluid before flying back through the breeze.

It proved an insect warrior, scarcely five feet in height yet armored like a fortress. Its frame shone pitch black, covered in glossy chitin that sparkled like burnished metal atop bulging sinews. Its skull gleamed bald and sleek, except for a pair of feelers waving in steady rhythm.

Its left limb—a jagged blade arm—lay shattered now, impaled by Rolan's trident.

Damn. Just a King.

Rolan let out a weary breath, let down. It wasn't a Broodmother.

The gap between them stretched vast. Insect Kings served as living arms, males forged via savage inner duels. They excelled at destruction. Broodmothers, typically females, formed the hive's cunning heart. They spawned the masses and crafted genetic enhancements for their young. Kings seized ground; Broodmothers raised realms.

To the Stoneheart Horde, a Broodmother held boundless worth.

"Food... mine... not leave!"

Maybe it had just advanced; the Insect King's words came out rough and fractured.

"Food?" Rolan lifted his trident, gaze sharpening to thin lines. A thick, choking wave of murderous vibe fixed on the beast. "You ought to learn who's the meal here."

As the only pupil of Giant King Orion, Rolan commanded skills beyond mere close-quarters brawling.

With a swift whoosh, the trident flew from his grasp like a thunder strike. It crashed into the Insect King, nailing it hard to the bark behind.

Yet as Rolan stepped forward to check his prize, the entity's form started to spasm. The shell on its crown cracked with a slick rip, and a slimmer, lighter copy of the King crawled free from the shell, unfurling wings at once

and blasting upward into the air.

"Molting escape?"

Rolan snorted. No true King lacked some evasion tricks.

After sampling Rolan's might, the thing created maximum height separation, soaring far beyond trident reach.

"You believe you can flee?" Rolan craned his neck, eyeing the creature peering back at him.

He spotted the glee in the bug's compound stare. It realized Rolan lacked flight. It figured it held the upper hand now.

"Impressive growth," Rolan remarked openly, grinning. "To reach Alpha-rank so quickly... I hold great expectations for this merging realm we're entering." The cosmic laws had changed. Lowly scavengers turned into top hunters.

"But you? You're not ready yet."

ROAR!

A draconic bellow ripped across the skies.

An Abyssal Demondrake pierced the clouds, plummeting like a shooting star.

The Insect King caught the darkening shape above, but too slowly. A blaze of infernal flames swallowed it whole. The crackle of burning flesh echoed as the bug wailed in panic, reduced to a charred heap before touching earth.

Distant, near the woodland's border.

The traveling group wrestled the Leafmaws when the dragon's

plunge drew their eyes.

"Mother, see! That's Rolan's Demondrake!"

The creature's arrival stirred unease through Ava and

the rest. They hadn't realized aerial backup hovered so near.

"I heard Father chose it himself," Kronos noted, observing the beast level out from its drop and wheel toward the vapors. "A prize for Rolan subduing the

Abyssal Dragon alone."

Kronos rode his own beast, a basic dragon now wheeling through the fog overhead, poised for his cue. Yet eyeing the Demondrake, jealousy sparked in his stare. His mount was ordinary—a blended lineage.

Still, as his palm touched the Dragon Mark from Orion, that jealousy shifted to fierce eagerness. If possible, he'd upgrade. Bond with a superior dragon or enhance the blood of his current one.

But that issue waited. It was a "return to Stoneheart Horde"

concern.

Within the wagon, Ava tracked the Abyssal Demondrake's outline fade into the clouds, her thoughts spinning.

Since when could the Stoneheart Horde simply... tame

the dragon kin?

If they owned a couple of dragons, one might dismiss it as fortune. A quirk. But if they emerged like routine riding beasts? That showed the Horde didn't merely share space with dragons; they ruled over them.

"Seems like it was an Insect King," Kronos commented, snapping her focus. "King gone, the horde's shared will crumbles. They'll disperse."

He faced his assistant. "Lambert, rally the team. Have them collect every body. Gather the flesh and the energy crystals. It's top-quality sustenance, and the crystals greatly improve common folk's vitality."

Kronos had lived among the Stoneheart Horde for recent years; his grasp of alien life matched Rolan's. He understood that in swarms this size, the leaders yielded solid energy crystals.

"And inform the folks fleeing Soaring Bird City," Kronos continued, tone firm. "Assure them the pests aren't horrors. They're merely meals."

Kronos perched on the wagon's platform, compact in build yet overseeing the action

like a field marshal inspecting his forces.

To Ava, viewing him then, he shone brightly. He exuded charm.

Is that truly my lineage flowing in him? Briefly, doubt bit at her. He appeared overly skilled, overly sharp to belong to her. As she fixed on his form from behind, the shade he threw grew longer, twisting and honing until it mirrored Orion's clear outline.

At the convoy's tail, the tidying had begun.

"Jackpot, boys! We've struck gold!"

"Skip the rewards, the pubs in Stoneheart City will shell out top coin

for this flesh!" Stoutgut the dwarf heaved his enormous warhammer, smashing a spasming Leafmaw's skull. Gore didn't faze him. He thrust a burly, roughened fist

into the pulp and yanked out a shining crystal roughly walnut-sized.

"Hey, Commander! Does this qualify as a crystal core?"

Brushing off the jealous glares from the crew, Stoutgut cleaned the goo from the

stone with his tunic and crunched it between his teeth like candy.

CRUNCH!

"It works on the same idea as a Dark Source Crystal," Godfrey clarified,

cleaning his edge. "Fresh wrapper, identical power. It'll harden your skin."

Godfrey frequented the Silent Goblet in Stoneheart City these days. He'd absorbed plenty of facts there. The minstrels didn't spin empty yarns; they threaded survival tips and cross-realm knowledge into their stories.

Delilah's clever strategy. Fun doubled as learning. It wouldn't transform everything instantly, but steadily, the Horde's overall smarts climbed. "King's down, horde's fracturing!" Godfrey bellowed, urging his squad. "Claim what you slay! Stuff your bags, men!"

He charged ahead, blade stabbing into a bolting Leafmaw's soft underside.

"Sturdy fiends, huh?" Bloodear huffed. The gnoll stood near Stoutgut, breathing hard. "Their shells beat out chain armor."

Bloodear ranked as the frailest in the 'Blood and Fire' Mercs. Without the group's shield, he'd have ended as insect chow ages back.

"If the Commander hadn't pointed out the soft spots, we'd be sunk," the gnoll conceded. Single Leafmaws posed no great danger, but their armor irritated. In numbers, slow kills meant getting swamped.

"Godfrey, did you catch that?"

Brundar the giant ignored the insects. His focus locked skyward. "That was Rolan's Abyssal Demondrake."

For giants, few honors beat a steed, and none outshone a

pureblood Demondrake.

"I caught wind of a tale," Brundar murmured, voice low and secretive. "Word is, the Horde's elite storage holds dragon eggs. Genuine articles."

"Buddy, tale or truth, the road stays the same," Godfrey replied, sliding his sword home.

"As the fresh realm fuses, conflict follows. We guard our turf, we earn Merit."

Godfrey eyed the giant. "Pile enough Merit, the storage unlocks. Eggs, weapons, anything goes."

Godfrey had held Alpha-rank for ages. Delilah once courted him to join years prior, after Galahad's fall, but he'd held off. Stayed solo. Now? He fit right in. Time to plan ahead.

From his info, dragon eggs didn't top the Stoneheart vault's prizes. And they stocked more than a handful.

As a cavalier, soaring dreams united them all. Godfrey yearned to become a Dragon

Knight. He craved sky dominion.

"You're spot on," Brundar agreed, rising tall. "Earn it through sweat, not pleas."

Godfrey grinned. The giant lacked cunning edges, but he'd sharpened up. Clear aims forged driven fighters.

"On the topic of fortune," Brundar nodded backward. "That youth's fortunate

he brought us on."

"Others would've bolted. Those pair would feed the soil."

He gestured at Tristan Greymount and Adelina. Tristan appeared spectral, ashen

and drenched in sweat. Adelina, his servant, clutched a knife twofold, shaking so fiercely she might shake apart. Her sole role in the fray was sticking by her employer.

"Calamity... Tristan muttered, gaze flicking wildly. "Supply routes severed... shortages... costs will explode..."

"This is the moment... this opens the gap... profits will soar... Godfrey and Brundar shared a glance. The boy had shaken off his fear,

yet rather than praise fate, he droned on about earnings.

"Is he addled?" Brundar scoffed, eyeing the aristocrat with scorn.

Godfrey, though, regarded Tristan with fresh admiration.

"No," Godfrey whispered. "He's a chance-taker. Ambition's no vice, Brundar. Not when it shifts supplies."

Godfrey recognized a true trader's worth to any group. Battles demanded supply chains, and chains required folk like Tristan who spied riches amid carnage.

"Let him alone. He's paying us. Our duty's to keep him alive till the coin arrives."

Godfrey blew a piercing whistle.

Several hundred paces off, a huge Flame-Tiger quit shredding a bug and leaped toward him.

"Fine, scavenging hour," Godfrey ordered, mounting up. "We'll sweep the area. All these spoils are ours."