Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1572 Stoneheart Against the Swarm

Titanion Realm. City of Stoneheart.

The transition of seasons, which normally would have been signaled by the biting north winds turning south, had been thrown into disarray by the violent merging of the two realms. The bitter grip of winter had been catastrophically delayed.

"This cursed weather. By this time last year, your boy Arlo was already swaddled in a lizard-skin cloak!"

"And now look at me. I'm practically swimming in sweat, and it's leaking out from the very seams of my bone armor."

As the Gnoll, Arlo, uttered these words, he lifted his right arm. A solitary bead of dark, crimson sweat detached itself from his armored exoskeleton. This viscous mixture of perspiration and blood caught the sunlight, creating a grimly beautiful, sanguine gleam.

Smack! A colossal hand deflected Arlo's arm.

"You incorrigible wastrel. While the bone armor crafted by the Deathbone Race possesses self-repairing capabilities, it certainly wasn't designed to withstand your careless abuse."

"The Horde's treasuries are already depleted of bone armor, and the marrow pearls essential for rapid mending are even more scarce. Endure two more engagements like the last, and you'll be facing the slaughter unprotected."

The speaker delivering this harsh reprimand was the Giant, Kordun. He and the Gnoll were comrades forged in the crucible of war, battle-hardened veterans who had emerged from hell together. His concern wasn't merely for the precious armor; he held genuine apprehension for his friend's survival in the upcoming meat grinder.

"He's a damned disgrace, that one!"

"The manner in which he treats that armor is as foul and putrid as his own common name."

Positioned on Arlo's other flank, another Gnoll was slumped against the inner ramparts. He clutched a trident in one limb while ferociously gnawing on a strip of unidentifiable dried meat with his teeth.

"You are a fool, Arlo. You dishonor the very protection that preserves your life!"

Confronted by his younger cousin's fervent admonishment, Arlo merely chuckled, utterly unperturbed. He recognized the underlying truth: it stemmed from pure, unadulterated envy.

Within the Gnoll society, one's standing was determined by two primary factors: the purity of one's bloodline and the significance of one's name. According to Gnoll nomenclature conventions, 'Arlo' was exceedingly common, a designation shared by thousands. His cousin, Naxx, lacked a legendary epithet as well, but his name possessed a more cutting edge compared to 'Arlo.'

In Arlo's estimation, this trivial obsession with name superiority was the sole vestige of pride his cousin retained after consistently falling short in their encounters. To truly escape the self-destructive cycle of internal comparison endemic to the Gnoll Race, one had to emulate the legendary hero Dirtclaw—shattering the confines of their original bloodline and transcending their Gnoll heritage altogether. Such an act was not considered betrayal; rather, it was universally recognized as a path to glory.

"My companion, you must comprehend. The singular function of armor is to absorb the onslaught of the enemy, thus shielding its wearer," Arlo explained. "Even if it disintegrates completely, it will have perished having fulfilled its ultimate purpose!"

Arlo raised his arm and bestowed a profoundly reverent kiss upon the bone plating. This armor had been his unwavering ally through innumerable life-or-death struggles. In a sense, he cherished the armor as much as he valued the Giant, Kordun.

"I cannot fault that logic," Kordun conceded with a nod, genuinely concurring with the sentiment. "However, certain damages are entirely avoidable. The mending of bone armor is an arduous task. Show it at least a modicum of respect."

Reflecting on past campaigns, Kordun recalled how, while fighting shoulder to shoulder in the trenches, Arlo had liquidated every single one of his military commendations to acquire the necessary resources for advancing to the Alpha level, along with obtaining this very suit of bone armor. It had represented his greatest triumph.

At times, Kordun found himself regretting his own decisions. Instead of bone armor, he had exchanged his merits for a drake egg. Yet, contrary to expectations, the egg yielded not a magnificent dragon, but a somewhat glorified, oversized lizard. This profound disappointment had shadowed Kordun for months. To compound his misery, during a recent skirmish, his lizard companion had met its end. A scavenging horde had stripped its carcass bare, leaving not even a solitary bone fragment.

"Hey, brother. Are you dwelling on that gluttonous little Scamp once more?" Arlo nudged him gently. "Let it fade. It was merely a lizard! Besides, Scamp deserves his eternal rest."

"Once this infernal war finally concludes, you will be inundated with merits. When that day arrives, I shall accompany you directly into the Horde's vaults, and together we will exchange them for a drake egg boasting a vastly superior bloodline. Heck, if fortune favors us, you might even hatch a pureblood high-dragon, akin to those belonging to the Princes."

As his oldest companion, Arlo possessed an intimate understanding of the Giant's psyche. The demise of Scamp in battle had undeniably devastated him.

"Doesn't the City of Stoneheart feel altered recently?" Arlo inquired, shifting the conversational current, keen to steer his friend away from the somber recollections.

"It's quieter now," Naxx commented, his chewing a loud interruption. "Even with My Lord and Lady Lilith managing the city, the rookies making their first foray into this meat grinder are bound to slip up. And out here, one mistake is all it takes to become actual dead meat."

Naxx lifted his gaze, his eyes sweeping over the battlements to fix upon the City of Stoneheart—the absolute jewel and pinnacle of the Horde's might.

The city's thoroughfares remained active, yet the energetic pulse of peacetime had vanished. The densest movement of people was concentrated around the Mercenary Alliance Headquarters, the Horde Barracks, and the cluster of taverns, including The Silent Goblet.

"Those wretched bugs. If that Lord Warden hadn't stormed through our territory and relieved the pressure, we wouldn't even have had a moment to eat, let alone catch our breath."

Kordun's expression hardened as he surveyed the desolate expanse beyond. The insectoid swarm in their immediate vicinity had retreated, granting them a brief, precious interval of reprieve.

"Speaking of which, who was that Warden anyway? Did either of you recognize him?" Naxx asked, his attention returning from the inner city, the question surfacing belatedly.

Arlo and Kordun exchanged a look and indicated their lack of recognition with headshakes.

"Ever since the war began, the Horde has enlisted a great number of temporary Outlander Wardens," Kordun stated. "They're all drawn by the promise of spoils. The Horde flung open the vault doors for this conflict, and all those rare artifacts have the outsiders practically salivating."

Merely contemplating the Outlander Wardens stirred an irritation within the Giant. It felt akin to witnessing an intruder enter one's home and make off with treasured family heirlooms.

"Arlo, the Lord's Stone we've been aiming for is on that requisition list. What if those scoundrels seize them all before we have a chance?"

Both Arlo and Kordun had successfully ascended to the Alpha level and had been honing their skills at that tier for an extended period. A potent ambition burned within them both: to achieve the Lord rank. Arlo aspired to emulate the renowned ascent of Dirtclaw, while Kordun sought to carve out a new legend of Giant heroism. Kordun felt particularly assured; having successfully undergone his bloodline transformation, he was now a true Stoneheart Titan.

"Rest easy, brother. Compared to those external forces, we possess the advantage of home turf. We are granted priority in requisitions." Arlo produced a flask fashioned from a carved horn, took two substantial draughts, and then passed it to Kordun.

The Giant accepted the flask and, without a moment's hesitation, tilted his head back and drank deeply.

"Cuz, save me a drop! At least leave me a sip!" Witnessing the liquor ignited an immediate craving in Naxx.

Oooooooom! At that precise moment, a profound, somber blast from a war horn reverberated across the battlements. It served as the ultimate alarm. The swarm had returned.

Kordun concluded his satisfying, deep draught. Disregarding whether any liquid remained, he hurled the flask towards Naxx and moved to stand alongside Arlo. Both warriors fixed their gazes upon the distant horizon, where an overwhelming tide of insectoids was already advancing.

The sharp, unified cries of the approaching swarm rapidly closed the distance. In response, a deadly chorus erupted along the wall—the heavy impact of interlocked shields, the resonant twang of taut bowstrings, and the sharp clang of drawn blades.

"For My Lord!"

"For our homeland behind us! For our parents, for our offspring! Annihilate them all! Annihilate! ANNIHILATE!"