Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1466 God of the Grave

"Maelric, make sure you understand. You dwell in the light. Cleansing the impurities is your responsibility."

"I linger in the darkness. My role is to record the shadows, not warn you about them."

From the hidden corners, the Commander issued a chilly huff. The Holy Order maintained a balanced structure in each diocese: the Priesthood countered by the Inquisition. This setup prevented any Bishop from dominating the believers or seizing control of the followers.

"The Inquisition isn't meant to clean up your messes."

The tone was icy, lacking any compassion. This served as a clear declaration of boundaries, not a justification. Moreover, the Commander had always harbored disdain for Maelric. Seeing the Cardinal stumble over his duties provided him with a perverse amusement.

"Naturally, after you issue your judgment and submit the required forms, we'll adhere to the rules. We'll carry out the purge of the scum and the unbelievers without bias."

"Maelric, under the law's constraints, we're merely the weapon you wield."

"When has the executioner ever sought advice from his tool?"

"Hahaha..."

Chuckles reverberated from the shadowy spot as Cardinal Maelric slumped into his seat, utterly beaten.

A executioner's tool. That was the analogy Maelric had employed to belittle the Inquisition before. Now, the Commander flipped it around, employing Maelric's own hubris to excuse his own inaction.

"Alert the High Priests from the remaining four Great Dioceses," Maelric murmured following a prolonged quiet. "Activate the Hall of Echoes procedure. I'll assemble the Council to rouse the Goddess and request a prophecy."

In periods of conflict, the Inquisition bore the duty to enable messages throughout the land.

"As you command."

The darkness faded away, emptying the chamber. Still, the burden on Maelric's soul intensified.

"The guardians couldn't curb their avarice," he grumbled, fingers shaking. "They killed the sheep covertly, devoured their portions, and assured the owner that the herd remained secure."

"The herd is secure... heh... heh..."

"Curse this corruption... I'll wipe it clean!"

Maelric's torso rose and fell rapidly, his pulse pounding fiercely within his chest. He had reached his choice, yet the bedrock of his beliefs had fractured.

"Oh, Goddess... does a shadow truly exist that the Radiance cannot dispel?"

For the initial occasion, Maelric questioned the unyielding essence of his devotion. He had forever trusted that beneath the Sacred Light's glow lay verity, splendor, and virtue. Yet now, he perceived that amid the dazzling brilliance, beasts were consuming meat and gulping blood.

As the caretaker of this diocese, Maelric experienced deep disorientation.

The Divine Kingdom, Stoneheart Temple.

The road to elevation proved merciless.

In contrast to the three core lineages of the Giant Race—Stoneheart, Ironbone, and Starveil—the lesser races in the horde endured a grueling ordeal. The Obsidian Golems, the Gnolls, the Buffalofolk... for these, traversing the Stoneheart Temple amounted to a torment of the spirit.

The Titan lineage served as the origin of giants; it privileged its kin. Adapting to Orion's heritage came effortlessly to a giant, but for a beast-man, it defied natural order.

Nevertheless, amid the torment, certain individuals hauled their damaged forms onward.

Dirtclaw, the Hell-Drake Hound, led this wave of torment.

Upon his initial entry into the Stoneheart Temple, progress had been straightforward. Orion governed the principles of this domain, preventing the space from repelling outsiders. Dirtclaw had advanced proudly.

Yet, as he ventured further into the Sea of Blood, the inherent might of the Stoneheart Titan started infiltrating his being, striving to alter his core structure.

Suffering dominated his existence.

Dirtclaw felt drained. His awareness wavered like a flame on the verge of extinction.

He had begun in his Gnoll shape. When the torment grew intolerable, he transformed into his Hell-Drake Hound guise for brief respite. But relief proved fleeting.

With the divine blood's density rising, cracks spread through Dirtclaw's psyche. At times, he viewed himself as a infernal hound; at others, a grand dragon. His form, bound by his unstable resolve, altered wildly.

Fur yielded to scales, muzzle to maw, then reversed. Each change ripped sinew and realigned skeleton, amplifying his misery twofold.

"His psyche is slipping. Has he reached the end of his capabilities?"

High above in the Divine Kingdom's expanse, Orion observed.

As the architect of the Stoneheart Horde, he held strong concern for his followers. He scrutinized the trials unfolding below with keen attention, especially toward Dirtclaw.

Elevating from an ordinary Gnoll to this stage already marked a wonder. Orion desired for Dirtclaw to claim further from this test, to expand his well of strength. Should he capture the essence of a Demigod, he would solidify as a pillar in Orion's army.

Orion had long preferred the "Mad Dog."

"Dirtclaw. One final peak lies before you. Surmount it, and you gain the privilege to vie for Demigod status."

Right as Dirtclaw's awareness plunged toward the void of slumber, Orion's words boomed across his inner realm, chiming like a heavenly gong.

"I... am I dreaming?"

"I caught the Master's voice..."

"I... what place is this?"

"Yes. The Stoneheart Temple. I entered to gain strength."

Dirtclaw jolted alert, his shattered thoughts rallying around the sound.

"One final peak... I must overcome it... attain Demigod!"

"One final peak... overcome it... Demigod!"

"..."

Sharp focus surged back, igniting a fierce, unyielding fixation. He repeated the words endlessly, a chant to fend off the anguish.

A Demigod. An idea beyond his wildest aspirations.

Yet, Orion had granted the prospect personally. How could he surrender? How could he allow such a rare fortune, occurring once in millennia, to escape?

"I will surmount it... I will surmount it!"

Dirtclaw advanced. He started sprinting, his pace quickening with each frantic step.

Still, overhead in the heavens, Orion's face changed from support to astonishment.

Through Orion's sight, the entity racing ahead wasn't Dirtclaw's form. It was his essence—his spirit.

The instant his soul ignited, Dirtclaw's corporeal shell crumbled, plummeting into the Sea of Blood's abyss. The tissue melted away at once, its vital force consumed by the crimson waves.

Orion had witnessed nothing like it previously.

He swiftly projected his godly perception, intertwining with the Kingdom's weave to comprehend the event.

"Divine Calling?"

"The God of the Grave?"

"Holy hell."

Orion stood frozen in disbelief. His Divine Kingdom had spawned a god.

"No, not a full sovereign deity," Orion amended as insights poured into his awareness.

"A Divine Attendant. A subordinate god grasping a defined domain drawn from the Abyss's core idea. He is crafting a Divine Portfolio around 'Burial' and 'Death'."

"Put simply, Dirtclaw is integrating into my Pantheon."

Orion swiftly understood the process. Dirtclaw's determination had aligned flawlessly with an open niche in the Divine Kingdom's framework. Since Orion had framed the laws to welcome these foreign peoples, the Kingdom now cultivated Dirtclaw, lifting him from mere mortal devotee to an integral aspect of Orion's godhood.

"The God of the Grave..."

"Well, that proved surprising."