Titan King: Ascension of the Giant-Chapter 420: I’ll defeat every one I face

Suddenly, an imposing aura burst forth from Dace. He fixed Brakkar with a cold, piercing gaze.

"Chieftain Brakkar, since you refuse, then have one of your tribe’s younglings step forward to accept the challenge!"

After saying this, Dace turned around and returned to Orion’s side. Brakkar stood there, puzzled and unsure why Dace had spoken so abruptly.

Just then, from the group of younglings behind Orion, a giant youth carrying a trident stepped out.

"I am Rolan of the giant tribe, and I want to challenge the strongest youngling in your tribe."

Rolan’s childlike voice rang in everyone’s ears. Both giants and Orcs alike froze in shock. Especially the group of giant younglings behind Grulbane—staring at Rolan’s back with utter disbelief in their eyes.

Rolan and Steelblade’s plan for these challenges was something Grulbane already knew. Glancing at his own disciples, Grulbane explained quietly:

"For the rest of our travels, whenever we encounter a tribe, Rolan will challenge one of its younglings. If any of you want to risk your life, I can ask our lord to grant you the opportunity."

At his words, the eyes of the giant younglings lit with eagerness. Yet in the end, none of them stepped forward to volunteer.

Grulbane nodded. In the first lesson he ever taught them, he explained the way of a shaman’s battle. For now, at least on the surface, they were showing restraint. Of course, perhaps they were simply afraid.

Unlike Orion’s philosophy, Grulbane believed that whether they were being rational or simply cowardly, at least they had survived—and survival was what a shaman prized most.

A hush fell over the gathering. At last, Brakkar understood what Dace had meant. Meanwhile, the Orcs behind Brakkar were all whispering among themselves. Gradually, everyone’s gaze fell on Rolan.

Under the scrutiny of both Orcs and giants, Rolan stood perfectly straight. His upturned eyes shone with fierce determination, and the fighting spirit in his heart had grown strong enough to burst free.

"If one of your tribe’s younglings can defeat him," Orion announced, "I’ll waive three years of tribute."

His words were like a weight dropping into the crowd’s ears—and onto Rolan’s shoulders as well. Hearing them, Rolan’s posture wavered for an instant, but he quickly steadied himself.

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He did not look back, yet he knew his mentor was watching, counting on him. Waiving the Warhammer tribe’s tribute for three years was a clear sign of these high expectations.

"I definitely won’t let my mentor down. I’ll defeat every one I face!"

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"Mentor, your disciple won’t disappoint you!"

In that moment, Rolan’s battle fervor—after a brief daze—became sharper than ever.

Standing before him, Brakkar of the Warhammer tribe stared in wide-eyed disbelief. If Dace had said those words, Brakkar might not have trusted them. But they came from Orion, King of Giants, which meant Brakkar had every reason to believe.

"Honorable King of Giants, your radiance shines upon the Orcs—upon this entire territory!"

Once again, Brakkar knelt, bowing in deference.

"You have ten minutes," Orion continued calmly. "Think carefully and send forth the bravest, strongest youngling of your tribe to challenge Rolan. Life or death—it makes no difference. If he defeats Rolan, you’ll be free of tribute for three years."

Orion’s words rang out again, carrying through to each Orc. This time, everyone understood clearly. It was genuine—no jest.

Brakkar got to his feet and returned to his people.

"Chieftain, send my son. He’s the strongest fighter of our tribe."

"Chieftain, my boy can do it. He’s only ten, but he can already hunt alone in the forest!"

"My kid’s also not bad!"

…

Brakkar surveyed his tribespeople, all longing for Orion’s promised reward. As for life and death or what might happen if they lost—those weren’t their primary concerns. In this world, it’s survival of the fittest. A youngling unable to grow stronger would only waste the tribe’s resources by staying alive. And to defeat this giant youth would be a great honor for any Orc.

Ten minutes later, a young orc wielding two battleaxes stepped forth from the Warhammer tribe. He was shorter than Rolan but powerfully built, all muscle, with small, sharp tusks protruding from his lower jaw.

"I’m Rolan of the giant tribe," Rolan said, pulling out the trident from his back. "What’s your name?"

"My name is Mogash, the future mightiest male of the Warhammer tribe."

Rolan’s voice was firm and decisive: "I will defeat you!"

Not to be outdone, Orc Mogash raised his axes and clanged them together, producing a metallic ring. Buoyed by the sound, his fighting spirit surged.

"Are you ready?" Rolan asked.

"Bring it on!" Mogash roared in response.

No sooner had the words left their mouths than both young warriors charged at each other, and the battle began.

The moment the fight broke out, all eyes focused on Rolan and Mogash. With a sharp clang, Rolan’s trident struck out first. Mogash raised his axes to block.

Boom!

Mogash was knocked off his feet, his axes clattering to the ground. One blow from Rolan had already overwhelmed him. Someone among the Warhammer tribe’s bloodline warriors rushed in to catch Mogash, preventing further injury. Even so, his hands were torn and bleeding.

"Rolan is victorious!"

"Rolan just won the fight!"

"Well done, Rolan!"

…

Behind Grulbane, the group of giant younglings fell silent for a moment, then burst into cheers, their voices loud with passion.

For his part, Rolan was a bit taken aback. He hadn’t expected the young Orc to be so fragile.

"Rolan is the winner! You’ve lost your chance to avoid three years of tribute!"

"Let’s be on our way!"

Orion’s voice overrode the cheering of the giant younglings, carrying to the ears of every Orc in the Warhammer tribe. A flicker of frustration passed through Brakkar’s gaze, but all he could do was resign himself.

"We offer our respects and bid farewell to the mighty Lord!"

"We offer our respects and bid farewell to the mighty Lord!"

…

Brakkar took the lead, and every Orc of the Warhammer tribe prostrated themselves, sending Orion off.

...

In the summertime woods, when there’s no breeze, the air can feel stifling. Yet the heaviness in Rolan’s heart far exceeded that of the surrounding heat.

"What’s wrong? You won, didn’t you? Isn’t that something to be happy about?"

Orion’s voice reached Rolan’s ears. Ever since leaving the Warhammer tribe, Rolan had been trailing behind the abyssal dragon, looking rather dejected.