Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

Sometimes, no matter how heartfelt, a tearful speech can't change the mind of a lost greenhorn.

Before the sun rose, the Wood Elf Freyla left the temporary camp. She left The Stillness. The idea that the Forest of Nature could be renamed was something she, and likely many others, could never accept.

Aerin stood at the edge of the camp, a solitary figure staring into the dark woods. She had been the one to see Freyla off. Her eyes were dull, her spirit at its lowest ebb. She was now truly, completely alone.

"You're not going to comfort her?" Tangere's voice was a low murmur from behind Orion. "A woman is most vulnerable when she's feeling down. A shoulder to lean on goes a long way."

And a vulnerable woman is the easiest to conquer, was the part he didn't say. He didn't need to. He was sure Orion understood the implication.

"Do you want a weak ally," Orion asked without turning, "or a strong one?"

The simple counter-question left Tangere with no reply. It wasn't a choice. Any fool would want a strong, powerful ally. Only an alliance between equals had strategic value. To occupy the Forest of Nature, they had to deal with the Wood Elves. Aerin was their key—the bridge to her people. Therefore, Orion needed an Aerin who was strong, principled, and, ultimately, loyal.

She could have her moments of weakness, but she couldn't be weak.

"She needs to get through this on her own," Orion continued, his voice deep, layered with a wisdom that seemed at odds with his powerful physique. "She needs to hit rock bottom and rebuild a new Wood Elf Tribe from scratch. An effective, useful ally—that's what we want. We have no use for some bleeding-heart idealist screaming about peace while the world burns."

Tangere remained silent. He could hear the gravity in Orion's words. "Tangere," Orion said, his tone serious, "don't you want an ally you can understand, someone you can actually work with?"

The word "ally" felt foreign to Tangere. He was a plague lord. His path to power was paved with death and decay. He had always been a lone wolf. In his experience, attachments were weaknesses, and weaknesses got you killed. But now, for the first time, he wondered if he had stumbled into a pack.

After a long pause, he finally spoke. "Is she worth trusting?"

It was a question with two meanings. On the surface, it was about Aerin. But the real question was directed at Orion. Are YOU worth trusting?

"For me, absolute trust doesn't exist," Orion stated flatly. "Sometimes, you can't even trust yourself. What I do is evaluate people. I assess their potential, their value. I determine if they're a worthy investment, if they can handle responsibility." He finally turned his head slightly, his gaze locking on Tangere. "In my eyes, you are someone who can handle responsibility."

Trust was a heavy word. It wasn't something you could pay lip service to. It had to be proven through action.

Although Orion came from another world, he had grown up here, and he carried warm memories of the parents who had raised him. But then, without warning, they were gone.

Orion refused to believe they had simply died—there had to be a reason. They hadn't told anyone a thing, not even their children. Perhaps it wasn't trust that had kept them silent; perhaps their only wish had been for Orion and Clymene to survive.

The succubus sisters, Lilith and Delilah, had never mentioned it either. Their relationship began as a political marriage—an alliance of mutual interest. Especially Delilah, who had offered herself to him in the succubus vault.

There was no trust there, only ambition. But as long as they, and the entire succubus race, remained useful to him and he to them, their fates would be intertwined. It was on that foundation of mutual utility that real affection—for his women, his children, his people—could begin to grow.

Recognizing reality is brutal. Accepting that brutality is the only way to survive it.

This principle was perfectly illustrated by his bros in the Champions Alliance. His deep bond with Arthas wasn't built on declarations of trust. It was built on a series of calculated investments.

Arthas gambled on Orion's potential, his character, his growth. He gave him the elite Bone War Trident, the Ghostbone Armor, the Lord's Stone, the sacrificial ritual for Clymene's transformation. Every gift was a calculated risk, a move in a long game. Their alliance was forged piece by piece through actions that benefited them both.

Now, Orion intended to build that same kind of relationship with Aerin, Caesar, and Tangere.

The weight of the conversation left both men in a contemplative silence. It was broken only when Clymene strode into the hall.

"My lord," she said, her voice crisp and formal. "The undead armies are prepared. The ten thousand newly summoned Skeletal Knights are ready for deployment."

In the presence of outsiders, Clymene always addressed him with his title. Orion didn't mind; professionalism had its place. He nodded, then glanced at Tangere.

The plague lord was in a state of shock. Since his arrival, he hadn't sensed another Legendary-level presence in the camp.

Now, emerging from a massive necropolis he hadn't noticed before, stood a mid-tier Legendary Being whose power was a palpable threat.

Clymene's casual mention of "undead armies"—plural—made his eyebrows shoot up. The skeletal sentries posted around the camp weren't just a token force. They were the tip of the iceberg.

"Before you arrived," Orion said to Tangere, "you mentioned you'd be bringing a force of one hundred thousand. Care to show them to me?"

In truth, Orion had only brought three thousand elite undead as a probing force. It wasn't that he couldn't bring more; it was a deliberate choice. If he had dropped into this realm with a million-strong army of cannon fodder, he would have immediately drawn the attention of the faction behind the demonic monsters. They might have responded with overwhelming force, sparking an all-out war before he was ready. That wasn't his goal.

This initial deployment—three thousand of his elite Skeletal Knights, Caesar's five thousand Shield Warriors, and Tangere's hundred thousand disposable troops—was the perfect size for a standard lord-level faction.

It was strong enough to be taken seriously but not so large as to attract the attention of any arch lords. It was the ideal setup to quietly explore the world, consolidate power, and make a fortune while staying under the radar.

Orion had already decided. Unless the allied forces ran into an arch lord, he would not personally step onto the battlefield.

This avatar, his projection in this world, would remain hidden in the camp—the secret weapon, the nuclear option, directing the war from the shadows.