Titan King: Ascension of the Giant - Chapter 1207

Chapter 1207: The Conqueror’s Doctrine

A grin of pure, unfiltered pride spread across Eparus’s face. A great city, with the Scourge Wardens at the heart of its creation—the very thought was intoxicating.

“My lord, you have my word,” he boomed. “The Foundry Citadel will be a fortress worthy of your name.”

Orion nodded. With over five hundred giants providing the heavy labor, construction would move at a blistering pace. Things were falling into place. Steady, forward progress. He liked it.

“Next up: the Wraith Knight army,” Orion said, turning to Ashreign. “You can begin recruitment immediately.”

Corpses and bones were two things the Abyss never ran short of, and the Conquest Legion was getting better at producing them every day.

“My lord, the groundwork is already laid,” Ashreign replied smoothly. “We can begin as soon as we’ve chosen a site for the Wraith Spire.”

A Wraith Spire. Orion knew what he meant. It wasn’t just some graveyard or cave, but a proper military production facility—a structure of runes and ritual that would forge stronger, more potent Wraith Knights. A factory that, given enough raw material, could churn out an army from an assembly line. Building one was non-negotiable.

“And that brings me to you, Bidalun.”

As commander of the First Army, Bidalun was the one with the most on his plate.

“Internally, I need the First Army at full operational strength before the Unhallowed descend. I also need a proper command structure in place—a real chain of command. Finally, the Citadel. It’s going to need a government. I want a draft of a management plan on my desk.”

Orion tapped him for the task because Bidalun had grown up in his father’s domain; he’d seen firsthand how the great cities of the Abyss were run. Of course, Orion would only use it as a starting point, tailoring it to the specific needs of their new reality.

“My lord, I will not disappoint you,” Bidalun said with a firm nod.

To Bidalun, a lord from the lower dimensions of the Abyss, these tasks weren’t burdens. He saw it for what it was: Orion delegating real power to his inner circle, to those who had been with him from the beginning. It was a responsibility he was more than happy to accept.

“Now, for our foreign policy,” Orion said, his tone shifting, all business. “The outlook is… challenging.”

He glanced out at the desolate landscape. “We’re sitting on a wasteland, conveniently cleared for us by that cavalry regiment. That means we have no local resources. To fuel our growth, to feed our armies, we have to raid. We need supplies, we need labor, we need skilled personnel.”

The strategy was simple. Internally, build the Foundry Citadel and the entire administrative machine to run it. Externally, plunder for resources and population, while running intel and defense against their neighbors.

“As you’re all aware,” Orion continued, “our Foundry Citadel is being built on the corpses of a calamity lord’s army and a holy cavalry regiment.”

You don’t just walk into a higher-level dimension of the Abyss and claim a plot of land. Every square inch is owned. If you want a piece, you have to take it.

“Frankly, we got lucky. We ran into the Argent Cavalry, yes, but they were a unit that had already lost its demigod commander. That’s the only reason we were able to swallow them whole.”

“Both of their factions are backed by demigods. Sooner or later, they’ll come knocking. When they do, I’ll handle them. That’s not your concern.”

“Your concern is the immediate power gap. I need archlords. Eparus, Holrivus, Thronlis, Ashreign, Bidalun.” He looked at each of them in turn. “I expect all five of you to reach archlord status. Fast.”

The Conquest Legion’s critical weakness was a lack of high-tier commanders. Standard-bearer Vex could channel archlord levels of power through the war banner, but he wasn’t a true archlord. He was a glass cannon wielding a power he couldn’t fully control, and his understanding of an archlord’s combat tactics was zero. His power was a deterrent, nothing more. Besides, no sane faction sends their primary standard into a melee. If they lost that banner, their morale would be shot to hell. It was a non-starter.

“The Sixth Layer has all the Abyssal energy and resources you could possibly need to make the push,” Orion said, his voice hard. “I’m giving you three years. If you can’t make the cut, I’ll find someone who can. It’s up or out.”

He was willing to share power with his followers, but only if they had the strength to wield it.

“So, here’s our first objective.” Orion made a gesture in the air, a map of dark energy forming before them. “A thousand-mile radius, with the Foundry Citadel at its heart. This is our territory now.”

“Effective immediately, the First Army begins clearing our claim. Anyone we encounter, any faction, any organization… they submit, or they are annihilated.”

His voice was ice. “This is the Abyss. There is no room for mercy or half-measures. We can afford to be magnanimous after we’ve consolidated power. Until then, slavery is the most efficient tool for territorial control.”

“And I mean any faction,” he reiterated, his gaze locking onto Bidalun. “That includes any remnants of the last calamity lord who owned this dump. From this day forward, the foreign policy of the Foundry Citadel is one of absolute dominance.”

The bulk of the external raiding would fall to the First Army. The Scourge Wardens and Wraith Knights were elite units, reserved for cracking the toughest nuts. The actual raiding was a job for the specialists.

The Acquisitions Corps and the Slave Vanguards were perfect for this. They were staffed by natives from the bottom rungs of the Abyss. Nobody knew how to plunder and exploit better than them.

“During all of this,” Orion concluded, his confidence a palpable force, “my Deathly Soul Reaper avatar will remain here, guarding the Citadel. Let a demigod come. We’ll be ready.”