Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1408 Cetus Giants

Silverwood Realm, The Sunless Depths.

For Orion, this vast, mysterious ocean stretched out as nothing more than the "Sunless Depths"—a domain overwhelmed by immense pressure and endless dusk.

As thousands of battle units gathered in this place, plunging toward the lowest abysses, the sight proved utterly awe-inspiring. Within the total blackness of the watery realm, a massive conflict between races was quietly taking shape on an epic scale.

The sole light sources were glowing plants and creatures. Without deliberately stretching out one's senses, the bare eyes would spot only quick shadows slipping past in the darkness.

"Bro, are we really not gonna tell the Deputy Commander?"

Aboard a Sea-Devouring Warship's deck, the vibe felt shockingly laid-back. Orion, Leonidas, and Kraken were chilling out like they were on a leisurely voyage. Before them sat an array of beer, grilled meats, and thin-cut raw fish slices.

"Chill out, brother. No need to hurry," Orion answered, nibbling on a stick of food. "We'll hold off until the Cult of Four and the Sea Race are locked in fierce combat. That's when we pass the message. Plus, if both sides hold back their secret weapons, do you honestly want our troops to lead the charge into that slaughter?"

Leonidas understood that Orion wasn't truly planning to ditch their partners, yet the Spartan always voiced his blunt opinions, particularly among his close comrades.

"Boss, gotta say... the Sea Race seems off," Kraken remarked. He slipped a piece of uncooked fish between his lips and casually spun a silver utensil between his fingers, showing off a skill that resembled a show.

"Got something on your mind? Say it now," Leonidas grumbled, grabbing a bottle of his personal brew. "Before the battle kicks off and it's too late."

He downed a deep, gulping pull. That "beer" was a strong, tangy concoction that matched the fatty grilled food with brutal intensity, slamming into the skull like a massive hammer.

"I'm part of the Sea Race, even though these aren't my home waters," Kraken started, his gaze sharpening. "I get how my people operate. This overconfidence—brushing off the foe, turning down partnerships—it's not normal. The elite Sea Race have brains that match top human tacticians or experts."

Kraken brought his unique view to the underwater schemes. In his eyes, the actions of the Silverwood locals resembled less like bold assurance and more like a trap.

"Three issues nag at me," Kraken went on, ticking them off with his digits. "One, their 'Esteemed Patrons' haven't tried reaching out to us, much less building ties. For a smart race staring down doom, that's pure folly."

"Two, we haven't heard of any Sea Race hitting first with attacks or ambushes on the Cult of Four. It seems they're just sitting back, waiting for us to barge right in."

Kraken placed his fork aside, his face growing serious.

"Three... the waters stay too still. Down in the profound sea, total quiet signals disaster ahead—tidal waves, blasts, tremors. Boss, we gotta stay alert. Can't just rush ahead blindly."

Their assignment was basically to back the Cult of Four in assaulting the Sea Race's main stronghold. Right now, they headed straight for the conflict zone.

"Kraken's got a point, brother," Leonidas concurred, brushing suds from his facial hair. "The Cult of Four still owes us big time. We hold back our troops until they settle the debt. Least we can do is snag some gains before spilling blood."

This fit perfectly with Orion's approach. He refused to act as the Cult's faithful servant. The idea was to allow both groups to wear themselves down in brutal fights, then strike as the top hunter to grab the rewards. The moment mattered most.

"Stick to the plan," Orion concluded. "Once we hit the war zone, we surround them but stay out of the fray. We'll wait for those Cult fools to plead for help. The more frantic they get, the stranger this whole setup feels."

Far off in the profound shadows, the Cult of Four's forward forces smashed into the guardians.

The Sea Race defended an old submerged city: Azurehold.

These weren't crude barbarians. They boasted a sophisticated magical society and robust bodies. As bloodline fighters, they wielded the ocean's water-based powers directly.

At the forefront of the guard stood the immense Cetus Giants.

These behemoths had two separate shapes. In humanoid mode, adults towered more than five hundred feet high, skilled in intricate fighting techniques. When shifting to their wild state—the Leviathan State—they became enormous, whale-shaped monsters, dwarfing real whales, covered in scaly armor like dragons that rendered them almost immune to regular attacks.

Beside the giants lurked a horde of terrors: Merfolk, Serpentfolk, Crab-men, Sea-Drakes, and Shark-kin. They created a breathing barrier around their lands, keeping the attackers away.

"The foes have broken through the outer line!"

"The Sea of the Dead will soon break free. Stop them at Azurehold's entrances no matter what!"

Azurehold served as the core of their strength. A powerful roar echoed from the metropolis, carrying through the currents and shaking the hearing of every Sea Race fighter across vast distances.

Conflict operated like a mechanism, and now somebody had thrown the switch to maximum speed.

Titanion Realm, Stoneheart City.

Protected by a Demigod, this urban hub buzzed endlessly with clamor and trade. The primary entrances and paths overflowed with visitors.

But for Ariselle, the Blood Elf Princess, the throngs came second. What stunned her was the atmosphere. The mana concentration felt oppressively dense—way thicker than anything from her past.

"Aunt Delphine, do you sense it?" Ariselle murmured, her gaze expansive. "It's an Elemental Tide!"

She shut her eyes, breathing in deeply. The arcane power flowing along the avenues was at minimum tenfold stronger than in her hometown, the City of Blessings.

"Word has it the Lord's spouse has sown endless exotic magical plants in the palace grounds," High Princess Delphine answered softly, eyeing the masses. "Folks claim she nurtures Aetherial Elves there, and one tale even mentions spotting a plump Fae dozing on a devilish bloom."

"There's chatter about a Saintess from the Verdant Tribe in the Giant King's wives," Delphine added. "Apparently, she cares for the soil each day, turning the Stoneheart Horde's domain more fertile and livable with every dawn."

All this gossip floated freely. At the fest for Orion's rise to Archlord, plenty of officials had toured the fortress, and tales had spilled out uncontrollably.

"Amazing," Ariselle sighed. "Aunt Delphine... to be real? This spot seems like it belongs to us. Elves would thrive here."

Her words carried no spite, just a pure, envious musing.

At once, High Princess Delphine's palm sealed Ariselle's lips. Her sight flicked across the opulent coach, inspecting the panes.

Luckily, the din from the road below masked the young one's disloyal remark. In Stoneheart City, fancy vehicles hauling "esteemed patrons" were so routine that nobody spared them a glance.

After a fraught pause, Delphine eased her hold, bending close to deliver a harsh caution in a hush.