Titan King: Ascension of the Giant-Chapter 336 I won’t back down

In the Utessar Kingdom, in a territory located in the kingdom's northern reaches, a magnificent castle stood tall.

Inside that castle, in a richly furnished study, a father and son were deep in discussion.

"Father, what do we do now? The king's conscription order arrived in our territory this afternoon."

The speaker was Torin Ashvale, son of Earldom Falkor Ashvale.

"What else can we do?" Falkor replied. "We must obey. We'll rally our knights and militia as best we can. Our territory is on the far outskirts of the human kingdom. Under normal circumstances, we do well trading with other races, and the big nobles see us as a juicy target. But now that war's upon us, look how fast they all run off."

Earldom Falkor Ashvale stood by the study window, gazing at the city he'd long called his own. His tone carried both complaint and worry. He couldn't help but ache inside, knowing his land would soon be engulfed by a conflict sweeping across the entire continent.

His family had spent four generations, from their first ennoblement to the present, pouring heart and soul into building all this. And now, with war imminent, its prosperity was already fading. Even the people were trickling away.

"Daddy," Torin said, "a large-scale conflict is unavoidable. We should plan for our family's future… have a backup plan."

He fixed his eyes on his father, concern evident in his gaze. Torin knew full well the blood and sweat his father and grandfather had invested in this hard-won territory. Now, not only was it being pressed into military service—it was set to become a frontline. After the war, everything here could be reduced to rubble.

Yet Torin Ashvale's ambitions ran even deeper than his father's. He wanted to become a Grand Duke… maybe even the king. Because he, too, was a survivor.

"Daddy, what if we just—"

"Are you out of your mind?" Falkor cut him off with a furious roar before Torin could finish. "Have you forgotten your oath when they granted you your barony? Or how you swore your knightly vows?"

Torin stayed silent; he had no wish to butt heads with his father in a moment of rage—at least, not yet.

As for the baronial ceremony, who really cared about some dusty old pledge? Torin knew that many of the lords who'd elevated him were bloated aristocrats who spent their days feasting and whoring. What right did they have to be called nobles?

"Go on, leave me be," Falkor grumbled. "Our family worked far too hard to get where we are. We can't take the wrong path now. Follow the king's order, and we won't go astray."

He shooed his son away and remained in the study, lost in gloomy thoughts. The Ashvale earldom wasn't strictly hereditary; each time a title needed passing down, an inspection team would come, and they were a pack of hungry wolves you couldn't easily satiate. Find adventures on novelbuddy

Now, after much maneuvering, he'd at least gotten his son ennobled, and a brighter future had seemed within reach—until war arrived and threatened to send the territory hurtling back to square one.

Outside the study, Torin Ashvale departed with a serious expression. Of course, if their family's land could ride out this storm, that would be ideal—it would remain the cornerstone of his future rise to power. But current events suggested that, before long, this place would be demolished. Sticking around for that would be disastrous.

"Still, I won't back down," he muttered. "Let this tidal wave wash away those old factions one by one. Meanwhile, I'll rise from the chaos."

People with grand ambitions are never afraid of turbulent times. And Torin Ashvale's much-awaited time of chaos was nearly at hand.

…

Far to the north, in the ogre territory, Orion received a request from Lord Jorik's messenger to come to a temporary command center.

By the time he arrived, Gareth, Ironhoof, and the two-headed ogre Bluehide were already there.

Lord Jorik looked both solemn and excited, and he kept silent until Orion was seated. Orion could tell that Jorik was forcing himself to remain composed.

"My ancestor has sent me important news of the war," Jorik began. "Right now, the north-south conflict on this continent is split into three fronts: the eastern region, the central region, and the western region. We're in the western region."

He took a measured breath. "My ancestor's subordinates are handling the eastern region, while a draconic warrior, Zephyros, also serving my ancestor, oversees the central region. As for the western region, that's under my watch."

Lord Jorik's voice trembled slightly, a sign of his excitement.

"Lord Jorik," spoke the two-headed ogre, who looked simple-minded at first glance, "this so-called supervision—can we really command those who march south?"

"My ancestor has sized up the current situation. Those uncooperative lords are only interested in looting food and resources. There's no need to fuss over them. If we successfully invade the southern territories, that bunch will be green with envy. Then they'll lend their own strength and be our cannon fodder, scouting the path for us."

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Silence fell over the command center as each lord weighed Jorik's words, waiting for him to continue.

"Based on my ancestor's reports, the faction blocking us in the west is the Blood Elves. They're on friendly terms with the humans and have carved up the lush southern lands together. Our main objective is to tie down the Blood Elves so they can't spare any reinforcements for the central or eastern fronts."

Orion frowned. That final bit implied the true main battlefields might lie in the central or eastern regions, not here. But on second thought, that might be a good thing—this area could be less hazardous.

Just then, the smaller of Bluehide's two heads spoke again. "Honorable Lord Jorik, I think our war may be starting sooner than we expected. I've just gotten word from our people down south: Lokiviria's insectoids are in a fierce battle with the boarfolk. And by my reckoning, the insectoids are likely to lose."

Bluehide shrugged. "The boarfolk are formidable, and they breed like crazy, so they've got the numbers to mount a powerful counterattack."

The gathered lords felt a twinge of surprise; the two-headed ogre, who initially seemed dimwitted, was actually far from dumb.

Then again, Orion noticed a telling detail: it was the smaller head doing the talking. Each head had its own distinct tone and demeanor. Possibly one was dull, but the other was quite sharp.

Either way, the war was moving swiftly, and one thing remained certain: nothing about these battles would be simple.