Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1404 A Royal Gambit

The disaster unleashed by the otherworld's arrival carried such overwhelming force that even the formidable Human Kingdom couldn't endure its impact.

The Giant King's ominous shadow had now enveloped the whole continent, inch by inch.

For the Blood Elves, this signaled the end of any further debate. They faced a stark decision: escape or submission.

Once the humans departed, the Blood Elves would stand as the sole surface group able to oppose the Stoneheart Horde. To the Horde's extremists, though, this didn't position them as equals; it marked them as prey. Like a protruding nail begging to be driven flat for complete dominance.

Their decision needed to come swiftly, before the final human vessel sailed from the port.

"I did not foresee this," the Guardian Tree's voice boomed, profound and echoing like the grind of massive earth layers. "The shift in the world's fundamental rules has sparked a massive upheaval in global politics. An Archlord... no longer possesses the authority to shape the destiny of realms."

Though it required moments to absorb, the ancient being had grasped the concealed reality. Age brought insight, and the Tree stood as the most venerable among them.

"Guardian," King Rommath uttered, his tone filled with bewilderment. "What path lies ahead for us?"

As the current Elven King, Rommath sensed the very earth giving way under him. In typical times, history would hail him as a sagacious and open-hearted leader. Yet the era accelerated beyond control. His foresight, his diplomatic skills—they were fading into irrelevance.

The revelation of the Giant King's rise to Demigod rank had draped a cloak of dread over every ruler across the land.

"Your Majesty," the Tree inquired, employing the respectful title that underscored the moment's weight. "Do we harbor a deep-seated blood grudge against the Stoneheart Horde?"

"No," Rommath replied without delay.

Flashes of recollection surged in his thoughts—the shame of the Horde's advance to the City of Blessings' entrance amid the Civil War; the sting of dispatching Lycanor as a bride for peace. Yet he shook his head, banishing the memories. Such wounds were matters of state, not irreconcilable loathing. Paths to resolution remained open.

"Will the Stoneheart Horde reduce us to slaves?" the Tree pressed.

"No," Rommath conceded once more. The Horde proved savage, yet they sought conquest, not chains.

"Then, Your Majesty, the matter boils down to this: do you wish serenity for your kin? Or do you cling to the throne and personal honor, even at the cost of most lives to uphold it?"

The query struck like a dagger to the soul.

Rommath paused, fully comprehending the Guardian Tree's underlying message. It boiled down to yielding or standing alone.

"Guardian... is there really no alternative?"

He yearned to resist. A King's nature rebelled against kneeling.

"There is," the Tree responded coolly. "We forsake the masses. We gather the gifted elites, those of exceptional promise, and retreat into my shard realm. We endure. Until I evolve into an Archlord, until the world transforms once more, until the Blood Elves can rise anew—only then do we step forth."

The branches groaned. "Yet that moment might arrive in thousands of years. Or tens of thousands. Or perhaps not at all."

The 'Ark' path. Life for a select few, doom for the rest, confined in self-imposed exile.

Grand Elder Lireesa had stayed quiet, her gaze fixed on her King with eagle-like sharpness. She recognized the slights Rommath had endured in his rule, but this trial would forge his essence. True leadership shone brightest on the precipice of oblivion.

Time lost its edges. Perhaps mere hours passed, or days of contemplation beneath the limbs.

When King Rommath lifted his eyes at last, weariness had yielded to a deep, empty resolve.

"Guardian. Grand Elder. We shall yield."

He released a prolonged, trembling sigh. "From how the Stoneheart Horde handles integrated peoples, our folk won't face excessive hardship."

As the declaration escaped him, Rommath appeared to shrink. He seemed diminished, more vulnerable. The crown on his head tilted off-center, shedding its regal command.

In reality, capitulation offered the optimal route for ordinary Blood Elves. Beneath the Horde's flag, they'd probably secure stronger safeguards and supplies. The real casualties were the elite—Rommath and Lireesa. Sovereignty would slip away, their total control reduced to bureaucratic roles in a grander system, vying for mere tokens of approval.

"Royal authority cuts both ways, like a double-edged sword," the Guardian Tree intoned softly, its words resonating within their thoughts. "One face brings the splendor of victory; the other delivers the devastation of loss."

The Tree observed impartially, untouched by human drives.

"Authority flows like water. One day it's a serene reflection; the next, it might cascade from heights into a furious cascade."

This served as solace. No dominion endured eternally, not even the Stoneheart Horde. The Tree assured Rommath that while the Blood Elf lineage persisted, revival's spark would one day ignite.

"A chance exists, Your Majesty," Lireesa declared, her tone regaining its edge, eyes on tomorrow. "Prince Elyndar and Princess Ariselle ought to have reached Stoneheart City already."

"Should your choice stand firm, now is the hour. By pledging loyalty at this juncture, the Stoneheart Horde would struggle to deny a union through marriage."

This tactic sprang from Lireesa's time-honed cunning in affairs of state.

It posed no menace; rather, a 'double blessing.' Capitulation disguised as a bridal offering.

Lireesa viewed the landscape with clarity. Orion's spouse, Seraphina, held Demigod stature. Her standing proved impregnable, yet she'd seek backers for her offspring. The Blood Elves could fill that role.

Had Lycanor, embedded in the Horde, borne a child, the Elves' leverage would strengthen. But no such heir existed.

Thus, they must commit fully. Surrender, and petition for a regal bond to bind the agreement.

"Grand Elder," Rommath questioned, his voice breaking, "does Ariselle understand? Will she resist this?"

He could endure the disgrace of forfeiting his realm for his subjects' sake. But as parent, bartering his daughter's joy twisted like a blade inside.

Will she despise me? he pondered. I've forfeited my domain, and now I trade my offspring. He deemed himself the basest failure in his ancestry.

"Your Majesty, I doubt Her Highness would deny it," Lireesa stated matter-of-factly. "The Giant Prince... he springs from Demigod lineage."

She halted, allowing the truth to settle. "Their innate gifts eclipse all in our annals. In ordinary times, one like Ariselle could merely admire such a figure from afar."

Lireesa meant no slight to her Princess, but reality stood firm. A Demigod's progeny entered existence laced with stellar might. Even the frailest would ascend to Archlord heights with ease—a pinnacle untouched by Blood Elves for ages.

"Your Majesty," Lireesa went on, "do you know of the Ogre Province in the Stoneheart Horde?"

Rommath raised his gaze.

"If this union prevails, we might bargain for comparable standing. The Blood Elf people could endure not merely as vassals, but as a self-governing entity."

It dangled as a thread of possibility.

Lireesa grasped it tightly. And now, Rommath did too.