Titan King: Ascension of the Giant-Chapter 1477: Straight for the Throat

"Father and Leonidas have sent down the command. We are to sacrifice the entire Andor Diocese to fuel the ritual, then drive a spearhead straight into the Agaman District—the heart of the Holy Order."

Elara’s voice was steady, her explanation clarifying why Orion hadn’t distracted the others with a direct transmission during their duel.

"Father wants a quick end to this campaign. By threatening Agaman, we force the Holy Order to strip their other dioceses of defenses and rush them to the center. It is a siege trap."

"Straight for the throat, is it?"

Makareth crossed his arms, rubbing his chin thoughtfully as his consciousness dove into the Survivor’s Platform. He pinged Leonidas and Orion.

"No deep strategic reason," Leonidas’s mental voice drawled, dripping with mock seriousness. "You took on six enemies at once, kid. Orion got jealous. He thinks you’re stealing his thunder. You have to remember, Makareth, Orion is the protagonist here. He wants the glory."

Makareth ignored the trash talk. He wasn’t a child; he knew a Demigod wouldn’t envy a mere Archlord.

"Cut the crap," Makareth projected back. "Why the rush? We’re winning the attrition war."

After Makareth offered a few obligatory compliments on Leonidas’s ’brilliant insight,’ the Demigod finally gave the real answer.

"The sooner we end this war, the sooner you get your territory outside the Abyss," Leonidas replied, his tone shifting to a subtle goad. "Or have you lost your appetite for land?"

The intent was obvious: Leonidas was winding him up. He wanted Makareth to rampage. The harder Makareth fought, the less pressure there would be on the other allies. Makareth understood perfectly—the two bosses thought the invasion was moving too slowly. They wanted a blitzkrieg.

"Understood. We’ll adjust our tactics."

Makareth severed the mental link and looked up at Elara, his expression hardening.

"Isabella, Kaedros, listen up. Once the sacrifice ritual concludes, the three of us take point. We clear the path for the Undead Legion, exterminating the larger ants. If we encounter an Archlord, we swarm them together."

If the strategy was a decisive strike, they could no longer afford to hold back. They had to descend from their pedestals and slaughter the rank-and-file to draw out the enemy’s heavy hitters.

"Sister," Makareth said, turning to Elara. "When the moment comes, we’ll need that artillery support of yours. Open the board for us." 𝘧𝑟𝑒𝑒𝘸𝘦𝘣𝑛𝑜𝘷𝑒𝓁.𝘤𝘰𝓂

To Makareth, Elara was the perfect anchor—a mage who could control the battlefield from a distance.

"Rest assured," Elara said, her voice calm. "I guarantee your safety."

Makareth, Isabella, and Kaedros fell silent.

It wasn’t arrogance; it was absolute certainty. They suddenly realized that the devastating spell she had just unleashed was likely far from her limit.

"Then let’s begin."

Makareth’s voice turned cold and malevolent. Demonic wings burst from his back, tearing through the air as he launched himself toward the thickest cluster of enemies. He was a Demon; concepts like rules, honor, or hesitation did not exist in his blood.

Isabella and Kaedros exchanged a brief look, shrugged, and charged after him.

"A true Demon," Aina murmured, watching Makareth’s silhouette tear through the sky. "To a Demon, rules are just obstacles to be broken."

"Sister Aina," Elara said softly, stepping up beside her. "Demons are agents of chaos. They are the natural predators of Order. If you wish to overturn the existing structure of this world, Makareth is the sharpest tool you could ask for."

War, at its core, was simple. On a small scale, it was a conflict of interests. On a large scale, it was the eternal cycle of destruction and rebirth.

"You’re right," Aina nodded, a sincere smile touching her lips. "I suppose I should thank him."

Wasn’t this exactly what she had wanted?

"Just remember," Elara continued, her gaze fixed on the burning horizon. "Once change begins, it cannot be stopped. Our duty is not just to start the fire, but to guide where it burns. Otherwise, a Seeker of Change becomes nothing more than a harbinger of ruin."

Aina fell into deep thought. To seek change required a vision for what came after the ashes.

Forward Battlefield.

"Good lad. You’ve got your father’s grit."

Ursa loomed over Anubis. The Gnoll commander was in bad shape. He had been ambushed by three Holy Order Templars. He had killed them all, but the victory had cost him an arm, and a horrific gash across his abdomen exposed his internal organs.

"My father is a legend," Anubis wheezed, coughing up blood. "I’m nowhere near him. I haven’t earned my place in the Horde’s history yet."

"Heh... hehehe."

Ursa laughed, a guttural, warm sound. Looking at Anubis, she couldn’t help but think of her own son, Steelblade. She was certain that on some other front, her boy was proving he was no softer than Dirtclaw’s pup.

"You’re right about one thing. Your daddy isn’t just tough to kill; he’s built like diamond."

Ursa knelt, pulling a small, ornate box from her armor. She took out a single alchemical pill and shoved it into Anubis’s mouth.

"Swallow. It’s going to itch and burn. Deal with it."

Without waiting for a response, Ursa grabbed Anubis’s severed arm, pressed it against the stump, and bound it tight with a medicated cloth. She then tore open a packet of shimmering powder and dumped it directly into the open abdominal wound.

The powder hissed as it hit the blood, foaming instantly before hardening into a biological seal that locked the wound shut.

"You’re eating pure gold, kid. I bought that from the Coalition Treasury with my own merit points. Regrowing limbs is just a side effect; it toughens your constitution permanently." Ursa patted his shoulder heavily. "When this war is over, I’m finding Dirtclaw and making him pay me back. With interest."

Ursa and Dirtclaw shared a deep bond. Her boasting was just her way of comforting the younger generation. Strictly speaking, they were peers, but Dirtclaw had ascended the ranks with terrifying speed, becoming a bridge between the Horde’s founding elders and the new blood.

"I feel like a joke," Anubis grunted, trying to stand. He was young, an Alpha-tier warrior with the Hell-Drake Hound bloodline. He was used to dominating, not bleeding out in the mud.

"A joke?" Ursa’s eyes narrowed. "No. This is glory."

She pointed to the sealing wound on his gut.

"Scars and merits are the only currency a warrior needs. That right there? That’s something to brag about. When you get back to the Horde and show that scar to the fresh recruits, you won’t see laughter. You’ll see envy. That mark proves you stood in the fire and didn’t burn."