Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

These were the rules, and they had to be followed.

In James's mind, the moment Kronos set foot in Stoneheart, he should have been free to do as he pleased. But years spent by the prince's side in the human kingdoms had taught him a great deal. He had come to believe that the protocol Princess Ava had laid out was correct. As a prince of the Stoneheart Horde, it was time Kronos learned the proper way of things.

"Let's go."

Forgoing his privilege, Kronos queued with James and entered the city on foot. Amidst the SQUEAK of turning wheels, they were hit by the thick, vibrant wave of life that was Stoneheart.

Sunlight spilled across the solid stone slab roads, and the tense, urgent feeling in Kronos's chest suddenly eased. He looked up toward the castle. In his eyes, it was a brilliant, blazing sun, and he could feel the resonance of his own bloodline humming in response to his father's.

Kronos watched the endless stream of people around him. Some walked, others were bent under heavy loads, some drove carts, and others rode powerful beast-blood mounts. In the distance, the clear, bright laughter of children echoed through the streets.

A quiet realization settled over him.

"This is my home, too," he murmured.

The city gate wasn't the only busy place in Stoneheart.

"Damn it all, what are the blood elves freaking out about now? On what grounds are they seizing the Colosseum's slaves?"

Early in the morning, in an office with a floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the entire arena, Fatty Nico was grumbling over his morning tea.

"The blood elves banned the slave trade, didn't they?" Kadir didn't even look up from the ledgers he was organizing. He shot a sideways glance at Nico, whose fingers were as plump as the rest of him. "Were you getting creative with acquisitions again?"

"You fat bastard, you need to lose some weight," Kadir added, a smile playing on his lips despite the jab. "I hear fat men don't live long."

The jab was friendly. Nico's expanding waistline was proof of one thing: life was good. Stoneheart and the Colosseum had a way of nourishing a man, and the fat bastard before him was thriving.

"Not live long?" Nico scoffed, downing the rest of his tea in one gulp. He stood, slapped his rear, and walked to the window, gazing down at the roaring crowds of the Colosseum. "Please. I'm an Alpha-level powerhouse. Barring any accidents, I've got another two hundred years left in me."

He spread his arms wide. "This old dog has had a good run. I'm not one of those Elders of Combat from the Horde, and I don't have delusions of hitting the Legendary level. Just scraping together the resources to break through to Alpha nearly put me in the ground."

Nico was genuinely content. He ran the Colosseum, and on top of his official cut, he had numerous side hustles that brought in a steady stream of extra income. The very slaves from the blood elf territory he was just complaining about were a prime example. Officially, the Colosseum didn't accept slaves from their lands. But there were always desperate humans and other races willing to risk it for a payday. When those slaves passed through his hands, Nico always managed to skim a little off the top, to accept a little grease for the wheels. Over time, his personal fortune had skyrocketed.

Furthermore, the slaves weren't immediately sold off or sent to the pits. If a high-ranking official from another faction came looking for someone, the Colosseum had its ways of discreetly returning the "lost property." Every such incident expanded Fatty Nico's network and put another favor in his pocket.

"Eighteen times," Kadir said with a slow, deliberate smile that was dripping with mockery. "That's a new record for the Stoneheart Horde."

"Laugh it up." Nico shot back without heat. "Compared to all the poor bastards who died trying, what I've achieved is the stuff of their dreams. And hey, if all those guys who used to worship Dirtclaw start worshipping me instead, where's the harm in that? Hmph."

Eighteen times. Nico had attempted the breakthrough to Alpha-level eighteen times, burning through eighteen sets of priceless resources.

In the early days of the Stoneheart Horde, that kind of waste would have gotten him executed by Orion, the elders, or Onyx personally. But times had changed. The horde was now flush with Alpha-level resources. What they lacked were true prodigies, talents with the potential to reach the ranks of lord and Archlord.

"You're right," Kadir conceded, his tone softening. "Compared to those who failed and died on the battlefield, we're the lucky ones."

Nico's resilience was something Kadir genuinely admired.

"But you're different," Nico said, turning back to him. "You were human kingdom nobility. You have a real shot at the Legendary level. You have to keep pushing, my friend. If not for yourself, then for my descendants."

He gave Kadir a look of profound, earnest expectation.

"Hmm?" The comment left Kadir momentarily confused. Shouldn't that be for MY descendants?

"Think about it!" Nico explained. "If all my kids turn out to be useless layabouts, after I kick the bucket, they'll need their 'Ancestor Warden' to look after them. Otherwise, the entire fortune I worked so hard to build will be pissed away in a generation! You wouldn't just stand by and watch the family I built collapse, would you, my friend?"

Kadir rolled his eyes and gathered the files he'd been working on, preparing to deliver them to the castle.

"You're thinking way too far ahead."

He stood and walked to the door, ignoring Fatty Nico, who was already lost in his grand dynastic fantasies. At the threshold, Kadir paused and looked back.

"You need to get a move on. On the day of my lord's wedding, we'll be crawling with esteemed patrons. The castle and the Colosseum are the main venues, and we can't afford a single mistake. And the entertainment for the guests—make sure it's ready. We need to be prepared for any surprises or last-minute changes."

It was both a reminder and an order.

Fatty Nico waved a dismissive hand, indicating he understood.

Meanwhile, in the subterranean levels of the Colosseum, amongst a new batch of slaves, a figure stood cloaked in darkness, silently observing its surroundings.

The most dangerous place is always the safest, a voice echoed in its mind. Elf Queen Isilra… that would be the Moon Elf from Staghelm City. A political marriage? Heh… Moon Elves… Orion has good taste, I'll give him that.

It seems I'll need to put on a strong performance. A victory in the Colosseum games might be the perfect way to get a measure of Orion's true power.

The avatar was at the peak of the hero rank—unremarkable on its own, but perfectly suited for the arena. And if that wasn't enough, the clown could always push its power to the Alpha-level.

I have to be careful. Utterly seamless. No traces. Stoneheart City has a Seeker presence, which means Alexander's Blade Hall has a branch here. The noses on those hounds are far too sensitive. That's not good.

In the castle, Orion slept on, blissfully unaware that the clown had already arrived at his doorstep.