Titan King: Ascension of the Giant-Chapter 789: Can It Be Trusted?

But just as Ava and Tarn could do nothing but stare in helpless frustration, the air shimmered with the energy of the void, and the regal form of King Harold appeared in the bedroom.

Ava was his beloved sister and Kronos his nephew; moreover, the boy was the linchpin in the critical relationship between the human kingdom and the Stoneheart Horde. It was no surprise that the king had come. He kept his own informants within Rose Manor. Receiving the news, he had come at once, bringing one of the most senior Royal Physicians with him.

But as the King’s gaze fell upon Kronos, he froze, his own vast knowledge doing little to prepare him for the sight.

Ava, however, seeing the aged physician at her brother’s side, felt a surge of hope. "Master Elian, quickly, you must see to Kronos!" she cried, pulling the old man by the sleeve toward the great bed, her face a mask of desperate expectation.

Master Elian nodded, his attention fixing on the boy. He reached out a hand, intending to sense the nature of the energy pulsing from the cocoon.

"Don’t!" Harold’s warning came an instant too late.

The physician’s fingers brushed the crimson shell. As if sensing a foreign presence, the blood-flames roared to life, leaping onto the old man’s hand.

"Aaaargh!"

A terrible scream echoed through the chamber as the flames shot up the physician’s arm. In a flash, King Harold was at his side. A blade of pure, transcendent power flashed from the king’s hand, and the physician’s arm was severed cleanly at the shoulder. With a second gesture, Harold’s power sealed the wound, staunching the flow of blood.

"Your Majesty, why...?" the physician gasped, white with shock and pain.

Harold shook his head and simply pointed to the floor. The severed arm had already been reduced to a pile of fine grey ash.

"By the gods..." Master Elian breathed, a cold sweat breaking out on his brow. He understood now. If the king had not acted, it would have been his entire body, not just his arm, that lay in that pile of ash.

"Kronos is well, Ava," Harold said, placing a reassuring hand on his sister’s shoulder. His voice trembled almost imperceptibly. "This is a sympathetic bloodline evolution. It is a good thing."

Ava trusted her brother implicitly. Since they were children, he had never lied to her, never let her down. "Truly, brother?" The doubt in her voice lasted only for the space of that single question. "Oh, thank the gods!"

"Yes, it is a good thing," Harold affirmed. "After this evolution, Kronos’s future will be brighter than we could have ever imagined."

If Prince Theodore had been there, he would have recognized the strain in his father’s voice. He would have noticed that the king’s gesture—a simple pat on the shoulder—was a break from his usual, impeccable regal decorum. But Ava, lost in her worry for her son, noticed nothing.

"Now that I know Kronos is safe, I must return. The empire has many matters that require my attention," Harold said. "And a bloodline awakening of this magnitude will require... resources. As my nephew, he shall have the full rights and allocations of a prince of the blood."

He stepped forward and gave Ava a brief, formal hug—the customary gesture of comfort between them. "The first of his monthly stipends will be delivered."

"A prince’s due? Truly?" Ava’s eyes filled with tears of gratitude. "Oh, thank you, brother! Thank you!"

Harold nodded, patting her back gently. "He cannot draw upon the kingdom’s treasury, of course. But the private resources of our royal line... he has a right to them. Raise him well, Ava."

He stepped back, and taking the injured physician by his good arm, vanished from Rose Manor in another shimmer of teleportation magic.

With the king gone, Ava finally let out a long, shuddering breath. The great stone of worry that had been crushing her heart had finally been lifted. In her mind, her brother Harold was infinitely more reliable than even the great Orion. It was the absolute, unshakeable trust of family.

The Imperial Capital, the Royal Palace, the Secret Chamber.

Compared to the gilded opulence of the palace, the chamber was stark. It contained nothing but a single wooden bed. King Harold entered and bowed his head respectfully to the white-haired old man who sat meditating upon it. It was the Ancestor Saint, and Harold approached him with the reverence of a supplicant.

"Ancestor, I have something to report."

The Saint did not move, did not open his eyes. Nearly fifteen minutes passed in absolute silence before he finally stirred.

"Given your temperament, Harold, you would not come here unless the matter was of the utmost gravity," the Saint’s voice was like the whisper of ages. "Let me guess. Have the Naga sent an Archlord’s avatar to meddle in our affairs?"

Harold shook his head.

"The old dragon’s avatar is restless again?"

Harold shook his head a second time. Seeing the Saint’s brow furrow, he finally spoke.

"Ancestor... Orion, the King of the Giants, has ascended to the rank of Archlord."

The silence that followed was heavy and absolute. After a long moment, the Saint’s eyes snapped open, and an immense pressure, held carefully in check, filled the room.

"Harold. How do you know this? What is your source? Can it be trusted?"

The Saint’s tone was severe, incredulous. He knew it to be impossible. If a new Archlord were to rise on the continent, their very presence would be sensed and they would be pulled inexorably toward the two-realm battlefield, the cosmic front line where the champions of their world fought the greatest threats of the Emerald Dream Realm.

The Saint’s true form was on that battlefield. The Giant King was not. Therefore, Harold’s news had to be false.

"Ancestor," Harold began, his voice steady. "I have a nephew. He is the son of the Giant King. His name is Kronos, and he resides at Rose Manor."

He explained everything. He told the story of his sister, Ava, of her misfortunes and her return, and of the bizarre events that had transpired that very day with Kronos.

"It is a sympathetic bloodline evolution, Ancestor," Harold concluded, his words now laden with conviction. "It is much the same as what happened to your own descendants, when you yourself ascended."

Ava and Tarn had been blind to the truth, but Harold, as king of a line that had its own Archlord Saint, knew the histories.

The royal archives recorded such phenomena. From the first moment he had laid eyes on Kronos, encased in that blood cocoon, he had understood exactly what it meant.

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