The Titan King

“Ahahaha! This is the best, Jarce!” Said a man, taking the wine. “You always bring the best alcohol! I should thank you.”

“Nah, don’t mind about it. My family has many, so it’s always going to be my pleasure. But don’t drink too much; we’re still outside the city…”

“Ahaha, well then! We are done for tonight anyway! The kingdom is within eye reach. So don’t worry!”

“Alright then, have a good night. We’ll continue our walk in the morning, so don’t get wasted.”

The other outpost guards nodded before drinking more.

The camp was full of voices, pans, charred meat, and moist leather. The rescued people huddled around fires, draped in spare cloaks, laughing off their fear. Jarce moved among them, nodding, checking his guys, and smiling.

But his eyes kept straying back to the carriage.

Anna. It’s night, but she’s still curled on the bench, pale against the cushion, with a faint rise and fall of her chest in sleep. Her sword rested in her lap like a dog on guard duty. Jarce’s throat tightened. He wanted to step closer, wanted to check her hand, the one the sun had burned, but—no. He’d only wake her.

“She’s still out, eh?” Seware’s voice cut in, grinning wide as always. He strode up with his sloshing tankard, the firelight painting his scarred cheek. “Our mysterious beauty. I swear, Jarce, the way you carried her out of those woods… I thought you were about to kiss her.”

Jarce stiffened, heat rising in his ears. “Don’t talk nonsense.”

Tetbald barked a laugh, deep as rolling thunder. “Seware sees love everywhere. He’s already got five wives to juggle—what’s one more vampire to him?”

“Six,” Baltram corrected dryly, cleaning his spearhead with an oilcloth. “The man collects brides like others collect boots.”

Seware puffed out his chest. “It’s called vitality, lads. A man’s worth is measured by his hearth, and mine’s big enough for all of them. Unlike Jarce here, who thinks one woman is enough for a lifetime.” He clapped him on the shoulder.

“Admit it, you’re smitten. You want that pale little thing.”

Jarce’s jaw clenched. “A knight needs loyalty, not indulgence. One woman. That’s all a man should need. And no! I don’t want that vampire.”

Seware chuckles, “Vampires are immortal, Jarce. For all we know, she has lived for a long, long time... So I’m taking her if she’s not yours.”

Jealousy gnawed at his ribs like a hungry rat.

Seware smirks, “Jealous, are we?”

He shoved it down. “Mock all you like,” he muttered, “but my vows mean something. And I won’t get married until Lady Serenya saves this land.”

The laughter died down eventually, and Baltram’s gaze turned toward the horizon, where the forest loomed black against the starlit sky. “Right… Jests aside… The corruption’s spreading faster. By my reckoning, it’ll touch the capital in three days. Maybe less.”

Jarce straightened, forcing conviction into his voice. “Then we hold the line until Lady Serenya arrives. She’ll know what to do. She always does. After taking the survivor to the capital, we’ll come back here to fight!”

Another voice suddenly cuts between them, “Hahaha, you’re right! Don’t put too much faith in Serenya alone, boy.”

Jarce jolted, his heart leaping into his throat. The three men—Seware, Tetbald, and Baltram—instantly stiffened and then dropped to one knee, bowing low.

“Captain… Destrian!”

It was him. King Titan himself. His huge form loomed in the firelight, wide shoulders wrapped in tattered armor that looked more like a mountain rock than made of steel. His greatsword—longer than a man was tall—rested comfortably against his back.

“I thought you were by the mountain… fighting the corrupted dragon…” "Jarce managed," his voice cracking with disbelief.

Destrian’s lips curled in something like amusement. “That dragon was weaker than the stories made it out to be. Hardly worth the time.” He looked around, his gaze as heavy as anvils. “How many did you all save?”

Seware, ever the quickest to speak, straightened. “Twenty-three, Captain. Twenty humans… two beastkin… and one—” He hesitated. “…vampire.”

A dangerous silence fell. Destrian’s eye twitched, his lips parting to speak—

But before the words left him, a scream ripped from the wooden watchpost.

“ATTACK—!!!”

It ended so quickly. A man’s mangled torso came spinning through the air, crashing into the dirt before the fire with a thud. The bottom half of his body was simply gone.

The survivors froze. “O-Orcs!!!” One guy screamed.

From the tree line came the rumbling. Four shadows emerged, each taller than the highest wagons—five meters of raw muscle, tusks like scythes, and yellow eyes burning like coals in the dark.

“Followed me all the way here, did you?” Destrian chuckled. His voice sounded irritated rather than afraid. He unsheathed his greatsword, rolled his shoulders, and cracked his neck. Like liquid silver, the steel gleamed in the firelight.

“Captain, what should we—?” Jarce stammered.

“Just stay there.” Destrian grinned, baring teeth. “Protect the survivor.”

The orcs bellowed as one, and they charged.

The first orc swung a tree-trunk arm at him, but Destrian stepped inside the blow and brought his blade around in a single sweep. The orc’s arm went spinning through the air, the beast collapsing with a howl before its head followed a heartbeat later.

The second attempted a downward stomp to crush him. The foot only landed on Destrian's shoulder. He didn't give up even though his boots made furrows in the ground. Rather, he flipped the tall creature like a bag of grain by heaving upward. He severed its spine from hip to shoulder with a single two-handed swing.

“By the gods…” Tetbald whispered, his knuckles white around his spear.

The third snapped his jaw, yelled, and attacked. With such power, Destrian thrust his sword forward, piercing the monster's chest and lifting it off the ground. The orc collapsed in two ragged parts as he tore the sword free and spun with it.

The last one faltered. Destrian stalked toward it like a predator, dragging his blade across the earth so sparks hissed in the dirt. “Run if you want,” he taunted.

The orc howled and lunged in desperation. Destrian leapt, clearing the ground. He came down in a storm of steel, driving his sword through the orc’s skull, cleaving it to the shoulders.

Four corpses bled steam into the night.

Destrian straightened, resting his blade against his shoulder, and turned back to the stunned soldiers. His grin was wolfish.

“And that, boys…” His voice was calm, almost bored. “…is the power of the Head of Knights of Minilon.”