Titan King: Ascension of the Giant

In the human kingdom, at Soaring Bird City.

Early one morning, Torin, along with his subordinates Mike and Wyatt, made his way to the Soaring Bird City branch of the Golden Apple Chamber of Commerce. A month prior, Torin had placed an order for a batch of equipment and beast-blood mounts. It was only natural that the City Lord himself would come to inspect the delivery upon its arrival.

"Lord Torin, the items you requested arrived two days ago. Please, come inside."

Torin nodded with a smile, greeting the acquaintances he met along the way.

"The City Lord has become so much more mature, and so much more amiable!"

"Isn't that the truth? After all he's been through, anyone would grow."

"I heard that back then…"

The murmurs of the citizens followed him as Torin, flanked by Mike and Wyatt, entered the Chamber's VIP room.

Within the human kingdom, in the Aisenna Forest.

The Aisenna Forest was located far from Soaring Bird City, well outside the bounds of Baron Torin's territory. Situated on the kingdom's frontier and having been ravaged by past wars, the region was desolate and uninhabited.

The trade road was riddled with cracks, and the old post station was a ruin of collapsed walls, missing bricks, and a caved-in roof. Old, ragged dolls lay scattered in the overgrown grass along the road, lending the decay a bleak, eerie, and sinister quality.

The sound of hooves echoed as a caravan approached, the wind kicking up fallen leaves and clouds of dust.

"Boss, we've reached the old Orio's Cabin," the head of a mercenary corps said, approaching the caravan leader to ask for his decision. "Dusk is falling. I'm afraid we'll have to make camp here for the night."

The leader was Henrik, the former head of the Holy Sword Mercenary Corps in Soaring Bird City. He was the one who had instructed the city guards to extort an entry fee from Torin all that time ago.

"Orio's Cabin? It still hasn't been repaired?" Henrik looked up, his face souring at the sight of the dilapidated structure. It was in even worse shape now than it had been when they last passed through on their way to Soaring Bird City.

"Hmph. The pig-like, useless nobles of the empire," he spat. "They only know how to demand gold from us, but never think to repair the roads and post stations for the convenience of those who actually do the work. I don't know what His Majesty the King is thinking, tolerating those fat pigs as they embezzle every coin he allocates."

Though Henrik was a mercenary, he was backed by one of the empire's truly powerful nobles. The great nobles, while greedy, at least accomplished things. The empire had gained enormous wealth from Soaring Bird City, and every year the King, in conjunction with two Grand Dukes, would issue funds to maintain the trade routes and their waystations.

But after passing through layers of corrupt officials, the gold would vanish, with everyone shirking their duties until the matter was forgotten.

"The cabin is a ruin, and it hasn't been maintained for years. There are bound to be beasts about," Henrik sighed. Looking at the sun sinking below the horizon, he reluctantly gave the order. "Set the patrols. We'll make do here for one night."

The night grew dark. Campfires, roasted meat, dry bread, and rum—the favorites of any mercenary—were brought out.

"Been out here for years. When I get back this time, I'm gonna screw Lisa so hard she won't be able to get out of bed for three months, let alone see any other clients."

"Hahaha… you idiot, still thinking about a piece of trash like Lisa? You have no taste."

"What do you know? Only a woman who's been broken in by countless men knows how to truly serve a man."

"…"

The lives of mercenaries were crude, their ambitions simple. Besides eating, drinking, and relieving themselves, their world revolved around wine and women.

Henrik was leading this caravan to escort a shipment of valuable goods back to the capital. For the mercenaries who had set out with him, it was a chance to go home, and everyone was in high spirits. Filled with joy, they drank, sang, and boasted, their voices loud and boisterous.

And as they celebrated, the ragged dolls, tossed aside by the road and against the ruined walls, began to stir.

They climbed to their feet, their stitched mouths twisting into silent, cold sneers directed at the mercenaries around the fire. Some of the dolls merged, assembling themselves with unnatural speed. From the dark corners, three wooden puppets emerged.

The puppets flexed their limbs with eerie flexibility, striking various warm-up poses. Their bodies were soft, their necks twisted at impossible angles. They turned to face the mercenaries, and on their cold, stiff faces, a sneer could somehow be discerned.

Yet, all of this strangeness was masked by the mercenaries' loud boasting and the crackling of the campfire.

In the middle of the night, crickets chirped and owls hooted.

The three puppets blurred into motion. Their sickles rose and fell, again and again, and the sleeping mercenaries never woke.

Inside his tent, Henrik was taking out the pent-up frustration and impatience from the long journey on a blood elf woman he had purchased from Torin at a high price. As an Alpha-level expert, he was highly alert. When his tent flap was pushed aside, his eyes snapped open.

"Who's there?"

No one answered. What Henrik saw was a wooden puppet holding a large sickle. The creature's featureless face stared at him, filling him with a profound sense of dread.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Do you know who we are? We're from the Holy Sword Mercenary Corps! We're backed by a Grand Duke of the empire!"

Henrik was certain that no one in the human kingdom would dare trifle with a Grand Duke.

"Hiding behind a powerful name, are we?" a mechanical, furious, and insane voice scraped from the puppet, though Henrik couldn't tell where the sound originated. "Trying to scare me? So you only know how to bully others by borrowing someone else's might. All who offend me must die!"

"Do you know what will happen to you for committing murder in the kingdom? The empire will be watching. Kill us, take the cargo—you won't escape!"

As Henrik spoke, he slowly reached for his longsword.

"I said," the puppet's voice shrieked, suddenly sharp and high-pitched, its sickle beginning to whine as it sliced through the air, "all who offend me must die!"

The puppet lunged into the tent. For a moment, the air was filled with the flash of blades and the clang of steel. Blood spattered in the flickering lamplight.

Three minutes later.

Zzzzt!

The sturdy tent was slashed open. The puppet stepped out, its sickle dripping. Behind it, in the ruins of the tent, lay the dismembered corpse of the Alpha-tier mercenary, Henrik, and the lifeless body of the blood elf woman.