Titan King: Ascension of the Giant-Chapter 1476: Dimensional Severance

Orion had no shortage of contingency plans. The Stoneheart Horde was merely the most visible weapon in his arsenal, but it was far from the only ace up his sleeve.

Even against a fellow Demigod, Orion could call upon the brotherhood of the Champions Alliance. If pushed, he could even drag Seraphina into the fray. And if he were willing to carve up a larger slice of the spoils, there was a non-zero chance he could coax the Demigods of the Titanion Realm onto his warship.

"Brother," Leonidas rumbled, his voice low and vibrating with intensity, "if that’s the case, why not gamble on a single, decisive stroke?"

He was proposing a blitzkrieg—one battle to settle the war.

A feverish heat burned in Leonidas’s eyes. "You and I take the center. We march straight into the main battlefield. Anything that stands before us gets swept aside. We give the enemy no time to breathe, no chance to beg for reinforcements."

Orion fell silent, weighing the sheer audacity of the proposal against the risk. To sweep the field required more than just confidence; it required overwhelming, terrifying power.

Did Orion possess that kind of foundation?

Yes.

The answer crystallized in his mind. Orion snapped his head up, locking eyes with Leonidas.

"If that is the play, then we hold nothing back." Orion turned to the massive silhouette beside them. "Squiddy, put the Westreach Trench operation on ice. Have our forces there go dark. I want you with us on the main front."

Orion wasn’t asking the Kraken to duel a Demigod. He needed the ancient beast to anchor the line, a bulwark to offset the enemy’s numerical advantage in Archlords.

"Big Boss..." the Kraken rumbled, his voice sounding like grinding tectonic plates. "Are we playing for keeps? You don’t want to sleep on it?"

The Kraken wasn’t refusing, nor was he doubting Orion’s authority. He was simply being the prudent veteran—reminding his commander that careful sailing kept the ship afloat for ten thousand years.

Leonidas smiled but said nothing. The Kraken’s hesitation stemmed from ignorance; he simply didn’t grasp the true depth of Orion’s power. In Leonidas’s view, a being capable of repelling a Third-Stage Demigod had no business creeping around the edges. Invading the World of Eldoria demanded a spectacle. It demanded a conquest.

It saved time. It saved effort.

Andor Diocese, Dolame Square.

Elara, seated at the heart of the command formation, paused. A telepathic transmission from Father Orion had just pierced her mind.

When her eyes cleared, the momentary daze vanished, replaced by a gaze sharper than a falcon’s and more predatory than a dragon’s.

"Abandon the slow advance," she murmured, her voice dropping an octave. "We push directly for the Agaman Holy Order’s core. Maximum speed."

Elara raised her trident. Mana surged through her veins, torrential and reckless.

"Forbidden Art: Dimensional Severance."

High above the firmament, Makareth, Isabella, and Kaedros—locked in combat with the Templars—felt the atmospheric shift instantly.

Terrifying void energy erupted nearby. Invisible blades of distorted space tore through the sky, landing squarely on the Templars they were fighting. The knights stood no chance. The spatial rifts shredded their defenses, bypassing armor and flesh alike to tear them into ribbons. The faith energy that had wreathed them in protective light collapsed, scattering like dust in the wind.

The battle ended the moment Elara intervened.

"All enemy Archlords have been executed," Elara’s voice, cold and majestic, boomed across the entire coalition army. "Soldiers of the alliance, heed my command. Leave no survivors in the Andor Diocese. We use Dolame Square as the altar. The Undead Summoning Circle opens in half a day."

It was the signal for total war.

"For His Highness!"

"For the Horde!"

"For the King!"

The roar of the First Legion shook the earth. Led by Anubis the Gnoll, they were the first to respond, launching a frenzied charge that turned the streets into a slaughterhouse.

Rear Battlefield, Second Defense Line.

Inside a cavernous cathedral, Tangere, Caesar, Scarecrow, and Aurora stood over the broken bodies of a Priest and an Ascetic. It had taken the four of them combining their strength to bring down the two Legendary-level enemies.

Tangere had deployed his Death’s Threshold domain to control the space, Caesar had taken the brunt of the frontal assault, Aurora’s summons had harried the flanks, and Scarecrow had struck from the shadows, ensuring the enemy could never find their rhythm.

The fight had been short. Tangere’s crowd control was oppressive, and with three heavy hitters focusing fire, killing two mid-tier lords was almost routine.

"The Ascetic had nothing but rags," Aurora grumbled, rifling through the corpse’s pockets with an obsessive, almost feverish excitement. "But this Priest..."

Before she could finish assessing the loot, Elara’s projection echoed in their ears.

"The Archlords are dead?" Caesar blinked.

"Already?" Scarecrow wheezed.

They exchanged glances. Archlord battles were supposed to be cataclysmic events lasting three days and three nights, shattering the sky and rendering the earth barren.

"Stop staring!" Tangere barked, his calm demeanor snapping back into focus. "Aurora, control your beast before it eats the evidence. Drag the bodies to the square. We need proof for the war tally."

Tangere expanded his senses, scanning the nearby sectors. The coalition’s assault was moving with terrifying speed. It was a rout. The Stoneheart Horde’s First Legion, with their Cave Spiders and Raptor Cavalry, was leaving nothing but silence in its wake.

"Move. This is the golden hour to farm merits," Tangere said, his mind racing. "Change of plans. Forget scavenging for artifacts. We prioritize kills. Full speed ahead."

Tangere knew how to adapt. On a battlefield this volatile, fluidity was survival. It was the first lesson he had drilled into Caesar, Scarecrow, and Aurora.

"Caesar, take the Brawnbull Knights and act as the vanguard. Pierce their lines," Tangere ordered. "Plague Zombies and the Scarecrow Legion, follow close behind. With their Archlords dead, there’s nothing out there that can stop this combination."

Tangere’s eyes narrowed, a ruthless glint replacing his usual caution. "Kill them all. We claim the glory."

For a man who usually operated from the shadows, the moment he decided he was safe, he became the most dangerous thing on the field.

"Done."

"Aye."

"Let’s go."

Caesar, Scarecrow, and Aurora acknowledged the order. After a brief, knowing look, the squad surged forward to execute the hunt.

Rear Command Center.

Makareth, Isabella, and Kaedros returned to the staging area. Isabella looked the worst for wear, her armor shattered in multiple places, exposing bruised skin. Yet, her spirit was a honed blade. She hadn’t struck the killing blow, but she had seen the gap between herself and an Archlord.

She wasn’t their equal yet, but the distance was closing.

"My, my," Makareth laughed, looking at the commanding figure of Elara. "Sister, it’s been a few years, but you’ve truly made your brother’s jaw drop."

He shook his head, feigning shock. "Are you really the same little tyke I used to know?"

Curiosity, astonishment, disbelief—Makareth wore his emotions openly. He had suspected Elara was strong, but not this strong.

Elara offered a rare, faint smile. "And you, Brother, charging headlong into multiple enemies... that is true bravery."

Makareth grinned, flashing his teeth. He knew his own limits. He was strong, yes, but he knew exactly how much external leverage he had needed to survive that fight.