Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1440 Light blooms in the darkness

Aina observed the thieves disappearing into the shadows of the twisting alley and gave a small, helpless shrug.

Raveth stayed quiet. He was smart enough not to say anything. The Saintess's temper was unstable, humming with wild fervor that made the air nearby seem sparse. Stirring her up right now would spell doom.

"Come on," Aina said, spinning around with a cheerful grin. "You

suggested this place. Give me a tour."

Raveth nodded rigidly. He stepped ahead, leading her to a familiar neighborhood.

Long ago, this place had been his turf. These roads once fell under his

grandfather's control. These days, Raveth was merely an outlaw, a blasphemer pursued by the Holy Order. While crossing the city entrance, his gaze had skimmed the bulletin board. His portrait lingered there, drawn in charcoal, with a reward offered for his capture.

"I know of a tavern," Raveth mentioned once they wove through a couple of blocks lined with looming structures. This marked his initial unprompted comment since the theft. His tone came out rough, heavy with tangled reminiscence. "The proprietor makes a hidden brew. It's... tolerable."

"Then we have to sample it," Aina replied, trailing after him, her features shrouded inside her hood. "After this evening, nobody will savor it ever again."

Raveth offered no response. He simply pressed on.

The Governor's Mansion.

The object called Crimson Fever switched owners thrice within the previous hour before settling on a plush pillow in the Governor's office.

Governor Hargrove, a plump fellow whose own strength lingered at the mid-Alpha stage, accepted the crystalline bottle from his aged attendant.

"My Lord," the attendant croaked. "The Rats from the slums seized this from a strange lady. The evaluator claims the etchings on the glass form a binding incantation. Rough, yet functional."

"And they delivered it to me?" Hargrove inquired, lifting the vial toward the hanging lamp.

"They figured an artifact with such arcane strength fit your trove, not the streets"

Hargrove said nothing. He dragged a thick, sausage-like thumb across the carved symbols, probing the seal's durability. He sensed the pushback, but it felt frail. A firm press would break it.

"I wonder what's within?"

He shook it lightly. The dark-crimson vapor twisted slowly, mirroring his motion with a mesmerizing, almost alive elegance. It was stunning. It throbbed with a deadly charm that pulled at the edges of his thoughts.

Curiosity slays felines and rulers in equal measure. Unable to hold back, Hargrove summoned his inner power and shattered the enchanted barrier.

Hiss.

The lid shot away. A strand of red mist escaped, carrying scents of sugary decay and metal.

The Governor and his attendant both breathed it in deeply, their gazes turning vacant as the haze spread through the chamber. Then, like a specter, the vapor vanished, slipping out windows and openings, reaching to envelop all parts of Port Caelwyn.

The Blind Beggar Tavern.

Raveth had shelled out a chunk of his leftover coin to get Aina the aged vintage he mentioned.

She sipped it, swished the fluid in her chalice, and scrunched her face.

"Truthfully," Aina remarked, placing the goblet aside, "your palate stinks. This is rotgut. It's hardly worth swallowing."

She avoided his eyes. Her stare locked on the pane, aimed at the upscale area housing the Governor's residence. She had sensed the barrier give way. The chain reaction had started.

"I bet," she went on, a mischievous grin playing on her mouth, "the tale tied to this brew outshines the swill in the glass. I'm all ears, Raveth. Don't you feel like spilling?"

The stopper was removed from the flask. The Crimson Fever roamed free. The unpredictable element had turned predictable.

She shifted her focus to Raveth. He was the initial one to eat the Cursed Fruit, and his might had swelled from it. Yet allegiance forged in strength proved fragile. Aina favored chaining her hounds through their pasts. Grasping a person's scars offered the firmest grip on their chain.

Her plan was to shatter each of the four Divine Envoys like this, step by step, prior to her "allies" from the Survivor's Platform showing up. She would brook no defiance once the true contest ignited.

"My complete name is Raveth Eryndel," the burly figure murmured softly, gazing into his mug. "Port Caelwyn served as my grandfather's domain. As evident... I used to be

of noble blood."

"But..."

He paused. It followed the typical downfall: a drop in influence, scheming politics, and a forceful seizure by competing clans. It lacked the intricacy or flair Aina had pictured. Still, in the night's shadows, as they awaited the cries to erupt, it sufficed to fill the moments.

Midnight.

A bellow ripped apart the quiet at the Governor's Mansion. It rang inhuman.

Governor Hargrove, lost in bliss with his preferred consort, halted abruptly. His eyes flipped upward, veins bursting with red. With a brutal, throaty growl, he ripped the woman's neck open using his jaws.

Quarter of an hour passed before the slain consort jerked. Her mangled form bolted vertical, her gaze aflame with identical scarlet frenzy. She slithered from the mattress, ravenous.

This marked the epicenter.

Yet isolation didn't apply. Throughout Port Caelwyn, in dim lanes, watch posts, and trader dwellings, identical events unfolded in unison. The Crimson Fever's brewing phase had ended.

"Your tale wraps up," Aina declared, rising suddenly. "This town does too. Time to move."

Raveth hoisted his enormous greatsword onto his shoulder and trailed her into the road. The evening breeze shifted already. The ocean's scent yielded to the sharp bite of new-spilled blood.

"Light blooms in the darkness," Aina murmured, eyeing the East

District.

All at once, a column of Holy Light burst skyward into the dark. It rose from the nearby basilica, the hub of the area's clergy.

"See that," Aina chuckled lightly. "The Holy Order stirs. It points us straight

to our target."

The Crimson Fever served as a bio-weapon meant to clear the field. It swiftly transformed all under Alpha level into brainless, spreading carriers. Individuals at Alpha could fend it off, though their forms waged internal battles, cleansing the pathogen across three to five days.

In that span, vulnerability struck.

And that's when Hellscream would devour.

"The beacon is lit," Raveth noted, his words flat and neutral. "Our secret agents are setting up the ritual platforms."

Aina gave no reply, merely starting her stride toward the Holy Light shaft. Raveth lingered a brief instant, staring at her silhouette, then matched her pace from behind.

Namir Cathedral.

High Priest Deryn occupied the secluded meditation room, "performing ceremonies" on a fresh initiate sister.

He neared release when the girl's eyes flew wide, shining with savage crimson. She sprang forward and clamped her fangs into his torso.

Deryn shrieked, hurling her off. He struck her cheek with power enough to render her senseless, thinking it a fierce revolt.

He lurched to his feet, fastening his garments, and staggered to the main

Holy Water basin. In panic, he splashed the sacred fluid over the bite spot.

It bubbled, yet the gash refused to heal. Rather, he detected something squirming under his flesh.

"No..." Deryn wheezed, his complexion paling. "This isn't an injury... it's... a

hex!"

He whirled and dashed to the monastery behind the cathedral. The Holy Water failed. His sole chance rested with the hermits in the core shrine.

His fear proved justified. The Crimson Fever wasn't an ordinary scourge. It stemmed from the Cursed Fruits' nurture. Even Tangere, its maker, might not identify this variant. It had evolved, blending with the lineage malediction to birth

an utterly novel horror.

Beyond the cathedral, under the dim, fading shimmer of the protective spells,

Aina halted.

"Light blooms in the darkness," she echoed, facing Raveth with a serene, radiant smile. "This is the core of the light. Do you crave it, Raveth?"

Raveth gazed at the grand cathedral, his stare icy and unyielding. "No real light exists here," he stated, clutching his sword's handle. "When the Holy Order crumbles... we shall become the light."