Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1488 Dividing the Spoils

Orion entrusted Dirtclaw, Gustalon, and Kaelen with the mission of eradicating the Insectoids from the Titan Realm.

Departing Blackstone City, Kaelen moved along the ancient trade paths of collapsed human empires, pushing south toward the coastal borders near the dragon territories.

The strategy was sound; for centuries, human kingdoms had suppressed insect populations, ensuring the infestation remained minimal there. Furthermore, the southern coastline dwelled beneath the dominion of the Dragon Race. The sheer dread evoked by the dragons rendered the vicinity inhospitable for any hive attempting to take root.

For Kaelen, the march served as a straightforward cleansing task.

"This marks our inaugural mission since attaining the status of Archlord," Dirtclaw rumbled, perched upon the ramparts with his gaze fixed toward the south. His tone carried a heavy weight of anticipation. "We must ensure we leave a mark."

"The winds whisper secrets," Gustalon murmured. His eyes remained shut, while tiny vortexes spiraled rhythmically around his fingertips.

Since his advancement, Gustalon’s connection to the winds had transcended, delving into a realm of abstract mastery. To him, wiping out the insects was a triviality. He possessed the power to summon a tempest capable of tearing apart the very ground, leaving the creatures nowhere to hide.

However, total destruction was not the objective—not for him, nor for Orion. A hurricane of that intensity would do more than just kill insects; it would obliterate habitations and fundamentally alter the geography.

"We set out at daybreak," Gustalon announced, opening his eyes. He was impatient to push the boundaries of his newly attained form.

Dirtclaw watched as Gustalon dissolved into a gentle breeze, a smirk widening across his features.

Archlord.

The deities understood how fiercely they had coveted this elevation in power. It was staggering to realize that a singular journey to My Lord’s Divine Kingdom had spanned a chasm of centuries.

"Everyone claims this is the golden era for the new blood," Dirtclaw remarked to the empty air. "They fail to realize... this era belongs to us as well."

World of Eldoria, Agaman Temple.

With the followers of the Goddess Agaman sacrificed for the Rite, a morose stillness blanketed the diocese. Yet, for the Coalition, this silence served as the prologue to their triumph.

"Excessive luxury," Leonidas muttered, surveying the cathedral. "I tell you, Brother, in any age, a church is merely a playground for the elite and a stockade for the commoners."

He reclined against a wooden pew in the center of the nave. "It seems magnificent—solemn, holy, and refined. Yet, beneath the gold gilding, it is decayed. Corruption, transgression, slaughter, and avarice... they pilfer righteousness, frame innocent dissenters, and crush anyone who impedes their wealth."

Muted, stained-glass light shimmered through the rose window, forming a halo over a portion of Leonidas’s face. In that moment, the butcher appeared almost saintly.

Orion watched him, amused by the sudden shift toward philosophical musing.

Regardless, the original architects were masters of their craft. The interior lighting had been engineered to evoke a feeling of serenity and sanctuary. Simply sitting there, one could almost imagine they were being absolved.

"Seven dioceses in total," Orion stated, moving to the core matter. "I shall claim three. You will take two. We shall leave the remaining two—Stellaris and Twilight Vale—to our subordinates. They can divide them based on their merits."

The continental war had merely paused, not concluded. The spoils were ready, and Orion understood the value of acting while the momentum remained. Waiting too long would allow doubts to creep in, and the victory would lose its luster.

"Agreed," Leonidas replied. "You performed the heavy labor this time. Everyone else is simply riding your momentum on this conquest."

This distribution had been planned long ago; tonight was merely the finalizing of the pact. Within the Coalition, only Orion and Leonidas possessed the authority to wield such power.

"Brother," Leonidas asked, leaning in close, "I witnessed your avatar being vaporized by the Holy Light. Through what method did you reconstitute it so rapidly?"

The question had been haunting him. The assault from the Son of Agaman had been utterly savage.

"Because of this."

Orion held out his hand. Hovering above his palm rested a translucent, double-sided shard of a mirror.

The Mirror of Theras.

"Having mastered its utility, I am now capable of projecting a magical field," Orion explained, the pride audible in his voice. "Within this domain, I can manifest an Undying Projection and invoke the Silent Interdict."

Leonidas gazed at the artifact fragment, his expression one of profound envy.

"Wait," Leonidas pressed. "Are you saying the combatant battling that Saint... that was merely a projection the entire time?"

"Precisely," Orion smiled, observing the relic. "And the most significant benefit? Every drop of combat experience and every epiphany attained by the projection is fully integrated back into my main body."

This was the devastating utility of a Demigod Artifact remnant. Because of this, Orion’s former collection of gear was rendered nearly obsolete, which was why he had felt comfortable passing his old equipment to his kin.

"That... is completely imbalanced," Leonidas muttered.

The fact that Orion possessed a fragment of Lord Theras’s power held significant weight. Agaman recognized that Theras was an entity of her own caliber—perhaps even superior. Witnessing his mark on Orion was a primary catalyst for her choice to retreat.

The Coalition armies halted to rest and partition their bounties, though within the inner circle, the tension remained palpable. The vast oceans were not yet conquered.

Orion transitioned back to his Divine Kingdom located within the Abyssal World.

He still had remnants to address, specifically the severed arms of the Son of Agaman, along with the armaments they gripped—the Guardian Shield and the Holy Sword.

The limbs were discarded without effort; Orion broke them down, transmuting the raw flesh and vitality into pure faith energy to bolster his realm.

However, the Shield and the Sword demanded a different approach.

They were not authentic relics but energy constructs generated by a Demigod’s avatar—expendable tools that merely emulated the might of originals. Once their inherent divine reserve was drained, they would vanish.

Orion formulated a simple strategy: hijack them. He would repurpose these temporary batteries into tools for his own Undying Projection. Even if they shattered in the heat of battle, he would feel no regret.

Orion shifted into his formidable Stoneheart Titan form. His massive left palm grasped the Guardian Shield, while his right seized the Holy Sword.

Simultaneously, the Mirror of Theras drifted from his brow to cast the Silent Interdict.

Orion pushed his own divine essence outward, flushing a deluge of faith energy into the waning weapons.

Suddenly, the dormant consciousnesses within the armaments flickered into awareness. These were the lingering wills of the Holy Guardian Knights who had initially forged these archetypes.

They were awakening once more.