Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1493 Ascension from the Abyss

The Abyssal World, Sixth Layer.

While Earthshaker exerted force to shatter his bonds, seismic shifts rippled through the shadowed dimensions.

Tucked deep within a cultivation chamber in the Tetra-Tower, a peculiar light flickered. It was the volatile threshold where quantity shifts into quality.

Delilah remained motionless, her eyes sealed shut, while the God-touched sigil upon her brow burned with the intensity of a white-hot brand. Having consumed a vast quantity of Banshee Crystals, the internal Qi had reached its critical tipping point.

Expanding outward, the mark radiated with the brilliance of a full moon, drenching the sanctum in a suffocating yet exquisite luminescence.Bathed in this glow, Delilah appeared almost supernatural.

A flickering shadow danced amidst the lunar halo.

Light, darkness, and the flow of time melded together.

Finally, the silhouette solidified, drawing every stray ray of light back into its form. The moon waned, and the figure emerged from the void.

It was Delilah. Or, strictly speaking, the body of faith she inhabited.

She had achieved ascension. She was now an Archlord.

"At long last," she murmured, her voice vibrating with victory. "The arduous wait has concluded."

After enduring years of stagnant Cultivation, she had clawed her way back to the inner circle of the Stoneheart Horde. Delilah tossed her head back in laughter; the sound, reminiscent of crystalline chimes carried on a frigid gale, resounded throughout the Foundry Citadel.

"The Master's favorite has finally caught up, has she?"

At the apex of the Tetra-Tower, Xalathar cracked open a single, lethargic eye. Clad in his human guise, he was sprawled out for a slumber. He grumbled the remark before sinking back into a deep rest.

Xalathar understood Delilah clearly. Once fully awake, she would immediately demand absolute administrative authority over the Horde’s domains in the Abyssal World. The woman was truly addicted to dominion.

Fortunately, individuals like Xalathar, Vex, Phorzak, Eparus, Holrivus, and Thronlis cared nothing for bureaucratic management. They were solely obsessed with Cultivation. If Delilah wanted to play monarch and oversee the logistics, they were more than happy to permit it.

This was particularly true for the Scourge Wardens. As long as she refrained from disturbing their slumber—their essential method for increasing power—she was free to act as she pleased.

"I need to secure a path back to the Horde immediately," Delilah whispered to herself, her gaze narrowing. "If I remain unseen, my younger sister will surely be trampled."

For Delilah, any woman orbiting Orion who possessed more strength than Lilith was a significant danger. It was a threat to her sister, as well as a direct challenge to Delilah's status as the First Wife. Within the Stoneheart Horde, the role of Orion’s preferred companion belonged to the Succubus Race. She intended to ensure it stayed that way.

World of Eldoria. The Twilight Vale Diocese.

The Twilight Vale was massive—a domain sprawling enough to support at least three Archlords.

Tangere, Caesar, Scarecrow, and Aurora remained in the cathedral at the heart of the diocese, staring at one another in stunned silence.

"Tangere..." Aurora began, her breathing ragged. "Are you certain? He gifted the entire diocese to just the four of us?"

She trembled, fighting to suppress her disbelief. When Orion first mentioned the Twilight Vale, they were surprised, but standing now amidst the vast cities, the pristine infrastructure, and the immense scope of the land, it felt like a fever dream.

It felt entirely unearned.

They had overlooked one crucial detail: while the Goddess Agaman had harvested the souls of her followers, she had left behind their homes, their vaults, and the untapped resources of the realm. The remaining wealth was astronomical.

They expected a small plot; they had not expected a kingdom’s treasury.

"Tangere," Scarecrow whispered, surveying the room as if the masonry held ears. "Did the Big Boss... neglect to loot this location?"

He was not distracted by the gold. His past had conditioned him to be suspicious of unexpected windfalls.

"He must have," Caesar stated with conviction. "The war concluded, and we marched at once. He simply lacked the time."

"It was no oversight," Tangere said, his tone steadying the others. "He simply lacks any concern for it."

The team stared at him.

"To the Big Boss," Tangere continued, "the icing on the cake is merely trivial decoration."

Though equally shaken, Tangere perceived the truth. With this territory, he possessed every requirement necessary to reach the Archlord stage. He only needed to govern the region, allow the populace to rebound, and harvest the faith energy. Time was the only remaining obstacle.

"A man holding wealth he cannot justify invites his own ruin," Tangere noted, his eyes turning cold. "We have been given an excess. I propose we gather all mobile assets—gold, gems, and artifacts—and remit them to the Big Boss."

He turned to his three companions. "We possess the land, the cities, and the mines. It is a fully functional operation. We do not require the cash for expansion. It is surplus, and keeping it is unwise."

The Holy Order had not merely been harvesting souls; they had hoarded immense riches for centuries. Hidden vaults within the diocese contained a king’s ransom in grain and gold—possessions the Goddess could not transport into the beyond.

"I am in agreement," Caesar replied promptly.

"Seconded," Scarecrow nodded.

"No objections from me," Aurora added.

It was simple human nature. When the weak receive an oversized gift, gratitude often festers into paranoia. Tangere and his team felt the immense pressure of their new status, and offering tribute was the only rational path to alleviate the stress.

Agaman Diocese. The Sanctum.

The coalition forces were dispersing from the central hub to occupy their newly allotted fiefs. For the coming months, the commanders would be consumed by the logistics of occupation.

This did not concern Orion, Leonidas, or Kraken. As leaders of the coalition, their focus was already fixed on the next threat: the sea.

The trio relaxed in the ruined cathedral, sprawled in high-backed chairs, gazing up through the aperture in the dome where the Goddess’s statue had obliterated the ceiling.

"A God War creates significant reverberations," Kraken commented, breaking the silence. "The Demigods of the Sea Folk surely sensed it. Hell, they were likely observing from the depths the entire time."

"They never appeared. They offered no reinforcement," Leonidas grunted. "That provides us with a clear answer."

Kraken nodded. In his vast experience, the Sea Folk were typically the dominant species in any world if only for geographical reasons—oceans vastly outsize the continents.

"Even when Agaman manifested personally, the Sea Folk remained within their depths," Kraken pursued. "It confirms they are not our allies. They are more likely our enemies."

"Ancient enemies," Orion agreed. "Perhaps the Goddess suppressed them several millennia ago."

Leonidas shifted his gaze from the heavens. "So, brother, what is the agenda?"

He regarded Orion, a perilous glimmer in his eyes. "Extermination, or eviction?"

The 'Spartan King' was longing for combat. He felt his contribution to the battle against the Goddess had been lacking. He needed to spill blood to justify the territory Orion had bestowed upon him; it felt far too heavy in his grasp otherwise.

"Eviction," Orion decided. "Those Sea Folk Demigods likely maintain a primary stronghold in another realm."

He paused, his expression analytical. "I lack the capability to permanently slay a Demigod at this stage. Expelling them is the more prudent course of action."