Titan King: Ascension of the Giant Chapter 1711 Mercy of the Strong
"My guess is they're waiting on Her Highness to take pity on them—pity the world, soften her heart. They mean to call up her compassion." Aednor's mouth curved, a trace of mockery under it.
"Pass the order. Leave none alive." Elara raised the trident in her hand, and the command kindled with the Flame of Will along its prongs and went racing out.
Half a day later, blood soaked the ground, and the last of the sun sank, hanging by a thread.
Elara rode her Snail-Dragon at the head of her seven demigods and entered the village at a slow pace. Against the morning's quiet, it had changed past recognition. Black scorched earth everywhere, rolling smoke and ash hanging over it, crows wheeling and circling between the branches and the corpses—an ill omen, a different kind of quiet.
"From the old days down to now, in every world, the ones who suffer most in war are always the common folk. My daddy told me once: when the realm thrives, the people suffer; when it falls, the people suffer still." Elara swung down off the Snail-Dragon and walked straight for an out-of-the-way corner of the village, as though something there drew her.
"The Titan King sees it clearly. In the eyes of the strong, never mind commoners—even nobles are a kind of resource." Aednor agreed with Elara, and felt it keenly, for he'd clawed his way up from the very bottom himself. He knew exactly what the lowly looked like to those above. Goods. Slaves. Renewable resource to be developed.
"Of course, in a sense, we're a kind of resource ourselves. What matters is whether we've got the strength to master ourselves and others." Aednor gave an easy laugh and stepped after Elara. He was no bottom-rung commoner now; he was an ancient dragon turned out of a commoner.
"That's not the sort of talk I'd expect from your Order of the Dandelion, Lord Aednor. Your history makes me curious." Elara looked back, her smile in full bloom, her big eyes brimming with an innocent, sunny brightness.
"Your Highness, the commoners on a dragon's land tend to live happier than the commoners in lands of chaos. Compared with other dragons, we ask for little." Aednor lifted his head and squared his chest, speaking it plain and open, without a shadow on it. Long ago he'd come to understand a thing: redemption demands sacrifice first; every patch of fertile ground ran with rivers of blood once, far back.
"That does seem to track. Mm—Elara asks for little too." Elara quickened her step and came to the mouth of a deep well, working the rope herself, slowly hauling up the bamboo basket slung at its end.
"A lucky little thing." She reached in and lifted the infant lying quiet in the basket into her arms. "Lucky little ones all carry great fortune." Teasing the baby, she signaled to One-Horn and Three-Horn a little way off to go find the little one something to eat. "You'll come with me from now on. When you grow up, you'll be one of the Stoneheart Horde's bravest blood-warriors." Elara bit her finger and let a drop of golden Stoneheart titan blood fall on the infant's brow; she meant to turn the child's bloodline over.
Elara was no Orion. She couldn't pass her own bloodline perfectly; her way of handing it down fell far short of the bloodline conversion done at the Stoneheart Temple. That wasn't the point. What Elara meant to do was open the little one's bloodline. Whether it could be made purer down the line was the infant's own affair. The hope, Elara had already given.
"Your Highness, aren't you afraid the little thing won't take to raising—that it'll grow up and bite the hand, pay kindness with spite?" Aednor looked at the infant in Elara's arms, an odd light in his eyes, neither glad nor sorry.
"The farmer and the snake, you mean?" Heh. "I'm not afraid. Someone who can't tell sense from nonsense, can't tell a debt from a grudge—a person like that never climbs to a high place at all." Elara held the baby like she'd found a novel new toy. "Lord Aednor, if a single ant that can do nothing but roar at you bears you a grudge, would you care?" She lifted away the transparent leaf that had sealed the infant's mouth and turned to put the question to Aednor, her small face full of swagger and pride.
"No. I wouldn't even need to. My kin and my friends would crush it underfoot without mercy—nothing left of it." Aednor shook his head, careless.
"Hahaha—"
"Hahaha—"
Both of them laughed, light and untroubled, the laugh of two minds that ran together.
—
The Mirage Void. Blackstone City.
When Leonidas and Alexander came to the Wishing Tree together, Orion stepped out of it, and Commander and Kaidric opened their eyes.
"Looks like the enemy doesn't mean to give us a moment's rest." Commander looked off into the distance—another swarm of Enigmas, no edge to be seen, came sweeping in. The defense of Blackstone City was about to open again.
"Commander, brother, our satellite settlement with the Saint Gran Council is on track now. We can build and fight at the same time." The good news Leonidas brought left the group in fine spirits. At the least, their hearts had come together, and their strength could be put to one place.
"With all four satellite settlements set, isn't it time to let the outsiders in?" Commander looked to Orion. Hold off on bringing in outside help any longer and there was nothing in it for them—only a steady drain on their depth.
"Three days from now, I'll open the dream-gate all the way, and pull in those outsiders' cities for them too." It was part of the plan, set before Orion's own strength rose. Earlier the thinking had been that with Commander watching over them, anyone could come and still be kept in line. Now there was no need for Commander to lift a hand—Orion could pin it all down himself. And bringing in outside help was the great trend besides, a thing that had to be done.
"There's more. Mondusath, the Great Dragon King of Light, is willing to deal. He's agreed to help us fold in the Emerald Dream Realm sooner, and to win a place in the Mirage Void he'll even hand over Wyntyr." After Orion showed his own strength and stood Mondusath a round of drinks, everything that had looked impossible before fell into his hands. That was strength making itself plain.