Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1517 Perception is Truth

This realm was forged from illusions and smoke.

Existence sprang from the mind's command; when thoughts slipped into nothingness, all faded away. Orion instinctively understood this truth. I think, therefore I am. Reality hinged on perception; the acts of moving, feeling, yearning served as the pillars of existence. Hence, this plunge into boundless, oppressive blackness, this endless tumble through the abyss, felt as tangible as the earth underfoot.

"Welcome to the Dreamlands, the realm of Nightmares."

Orion's eyes snapped open, his senses briefly thrown into confusion.

To be precise, the Death-Soul Touch vessel flung open its eyes, gazing vacantly at the towering figure ahead. A swordsman loomed like a fortress of steel, a huge shield strapped across his back, hands planted on the hilt of a colossal greatsword plunged into the ground. Towering close to twenty-five feet, he appeared hewn from the planet's very stone.

Orion perceived the immense solidity of the entity. No rage-fueled swelling technique had shaped him; this was a pure, irrefutable giant.

"Kin of the Touch, welcome."

"I am Minsar, Warden of the Dreamlands."

With no instant reply from Orion, the steel colossus rumbled once more. An odd feeling washed over him. The giant neither bent down nor glanced below, but Orion sensed a piercing stare locking onto him directly.

"Greetings. I am Stoneheart."

The Death-Soul Touch vessel of Orion had lacked a name until now. It bore one at last.

"Stoneheart. Here, dreams are pursued. Do you remember your purpose in coming?"

Orion gave a nod. His goal was to elevate this vessel to Demigod rank.

"Cross into the domain beyond me, and your path unfolds. Are you prepared?"

Only then did Orion notice he and Minsar perched on the edge of a gigantic bubble floating amid the void. Within that orb churned a riot of strange hues and morphing terrains.

Orion couldn't resist glancing around the edges.

Nothingness. Total, smothering dark.

Besides the bubble, faint stars dotted the emptiness, like rice specks flung over endless black silk.

"Does it seem impossibly distant?"

"Yes."

As though expecting Orion's response, the Warden's voice softened, akin to a longtime companion sharing wisdom.

"Follow your heart, and the farthest edge lies just one stride ahead. My kin, appearances deceive—not all you behold is real."

The Warden's counsel landed on Orion like an enigmatic puzzle veiled in guidance. He pivoted back, eyes fixed on the vortex of realms inside the bubble past the giant. Doubt gripped him about that initial stride.

"If prepared, proceed inside."

The Warden's tone stayed serene. He had witnessed such wavering—resolve tangled with dread—endless times.

"I understand. Thank you."

He had arrived already; retreat was impossible. Vessel's ruin or not, he embraced the peril. Steeled, Orion inclined his head to the Warden, strode beyond the enormous blade, and crossed the bubble's threshold.

Once Orion's form dissolved from sight, the monolithic figure pivoted gradually, murmuring to the churning realm in his wake.

"The kin sent by Kaidric... whispered to be a companion of the Dawnblade."

"What talents will he stir awake in this place?"

The Dreamlands: The First Stratum

The vista changed in a flash. Orion stood amid the gritty plaza of a bastion—a den of outlaws.

"Bwahahaha! Behold this! Yet another puny whelp. Another little pest itching to defy Rhydan!"

The bellow came from a bald, rugged hulk sprawled lazily across a warlord's seat atop the plaza. One leg dangled over the arm, his gaze blending scorn with mockery toward Orion. At his feet rested twin enormous war axes, each rivaling his own bulk, pulsing with feral menace.

The First Stratum? Battling the Bandit King? Rhydan?

This fell far from Orion's visions of the Death-Soul Race's taboo domain.

He'd envisioned infernal flames and sulfur, or vaults brimming with relics of old, or havens of forgotten mystic tomes. Yet this... this spot pulsed with uncanny enigma.

Orion struggled to pinpoint the source of the unease. The enigma's core eluded him.

"Young dreamer, lost in slumber?" the bald brute jeered. "If you're dozing, crash on my drill yard. Awaken, and we'll spill blood proper."

Orion examined the self-proclaimed Rhydan. Flesh and blood he was, brimming with raw feelings and sharp wits. No soulless puppet. Still, the surroundings—the bastion and the ghostly white fog coiling outside its barriers—reeked of artifice.

"Quit staring. Past the walls stretches only emptiness," Rhydan growled lowly. "What? My stronghold displease you?"

Detecting Orion's doubt, Rhydan's jovial front crumbled. Eyes slitted, voice turned venomous. The emotional flip was stark, raw, lethally authentic.

"Friend, what manner of place is this?" Orion inquired.

"You question what this is?"

"Yes. Is that amiss?"

Rhydan eyed Orion like a simpleton. Orion held the steady look of a genuine seeker, his honesty rendering him even more absurd in the bandit lord's view.

"Did the Warden not greet you? Did he skip naming this the Dreamlands? Or has he dozed off duty?"

Rhydan brushed Orion aside, grumbling to himself while shaking his head at the absurdity.

"The Warden named it the Dreamlands," Orion replied evenly. He knew the title; he sought its essence, the laws governing it.

"Are you taunting me?"

Rhydan snapped upright from his throne, snarling savagely at Orion. His fists seized the axe grips.

"Friend, I—"

Orion's words cut short. Rhydan surged forth, hauling the gigantic axes in his rush.

"To scorn Rhydan is to belittle Rhydan! To belittle Rhydan's bastion! Scorners are foes. And foes," he thundered, "have heads hewn clean!"

Orion had unwittingly strummed a raw nerve in Rhydan's soul, igniting berserk fury. Parley was futile.

Rhydan closed in fast.

The axes carved a deadly sweep. On reflex, Orion whipped his scythe to block.

CLANG.

Orion skidded back across the dirt.

"What the hell?"

He gaped at his gripped weapon. It resembled his Relic War Scythe outwardly, yet its essence rang false. Weight and heft had crumbled bizarrely. Clashing with Rhydan's axe, the scythe wailed, quivering near breakage.

To Orion, this defied belief.

"Enemies get smashed to pieces!" Rhydan roared, lunging anew. "I'll etch the lesson into your bones!"