“Everyone off the wall!” Owen’s voice boomed over the sound of the incoming giant. “We’ll be lucky if it misses us!”

Yet, Owen remained standing in the sand, watching as the giant approached. For any man or woman, the gargantuan golem would have struck fear into their hearts. But for Owen, he gazed into its stoney eyes, unperturbed.

There was one thing that he hated about A Titan’s Journey, and that was that Ansel was so focused on growing stronger, that he failed to identify anything around him. Failed to truly live, to uncover the mysteries beneath his feet. Every waking thought was preoccupied with how to acquire more strength. The history of the Lone Wanderer was still a mystery, how the Cursed Lands even came to be in the first place… After 3000 chapters, no one knew. Not Ansel, and not him, who had read it.

“My Lord!” Pyris shouted. She was busy guiding the Builders toward the mountain.

Owen flashed her a smile in response. He moved to a heightened point on a nearby dune and watched with a craned neck as the giant strolled on by.

Who created you? Why do you wander these cursed lands? Owen thought as the questions nibbled at him. The author did a terrible job of world building, but now Owen was here, in it, he wanted to uncover its secrets.

The Lone Wanderer's massive stone foot clipped the side of his castle, smashing the brick as if it wasn’t there in the first place. As a result, stone shrapnel shot outward like loose rubble jammed into a cannon. Thankfully, no one was in that area. If they were, there wasn’t anything Owen could do about it.

Using his hand as a visor, Owen saw a black blob leap off the back of the godly being. The giant was at least one-hundred feet tall. Even using the sand below as a cushion would result in a broken leg, or worse. Yet the man above jumped without care. And then he vanished.

Owen knew what was going to happen. He smiled, and looked behind him, to the shadow that he casted. A young man appeared behind him, black hair weathered by the sand and wind for days. A once handsome face was now marred in sun damage; peeling skin, boils, and severely chapped lips. His black clothes were now tattered and bloody wounds were scored into his burnt flesh.

Compared to Owen who was clean, with little in the way of wounds thanks to his own personal healer, the difference was startling.

It was strange looking at him now. In the story, Ansel’s Earth was a lot different to Owen’s. Ancient clans existed. They were powerful and mighty and filthy rich; they were known for their martial-arts. The younger scions of these clans were named Lineages. At the beginning, they had a huge advantage because of their talents in fighting.

Justin in particular was born to be an assassin, and he had the mind set as such.

Knowing the Lineage’s personality well, Owen extended his hand with a kind smile, and said, “I”m Owen, the Lord of this humble area.”

Justin squinted, his lips curving into a dry, almost amused smile, as if he found Owen’s introduction funny.

“Justin,” he said, taking Owen’s hand. “I’m just passing through… though if you get in my way, we’ll have a problem.” His voice carried a hunt of a warning, but it wasn’t overly aggressive—more like he was used to dealing with conflict.

“Honestly,” Owen said, looking at Justin in a joking manner. “You’re pretty terrible to look at. Why don’t you stay here for a few days? We have a bath, food, and water.”

Justin frowned, as if feeling uncomfortable at the notion of staying in the same place for more than he had to.

Finally, he said, “Alright. But if you try anything—”

“I won’t try anything,” Owen said truthfully. “You must have given up your territory?”

“Didn’t get one in the first place. Don’t need it. Ruling isn’t my thing.”

“Wasn’t mine either,” Owen grinned as Pyris and the others ran up. Justin, unfazed, conjured a jagged black lance from his soul—it looked wicked and menacing. Owen ignored it. “This here is Pyris, one of my strongest units.”

Pyris, stoic as ever, gave Justin the look of a soldier sizing up a potential threat.

“And over here,” Owen continued, “we’ve got Lome, Thorin, Mirian, Draed, Rohan, and of course, Rizael, the healer.”

Just then, Bimpnottin strolled up, eyes immediately locked on Justin’s weapon. “Now, that’s a mighty fine spear,” he said, rubbing his chin. “Looks like a thorny branch... Can I see it?”

“No, you can’t see it, Bimpnottin,” Owen said, frowning.

“What do you mean, we can’t see it? Did he telepathically tell you that?”

“You don’t just walk up and ask someone to hold their weapon. Basic manners.”

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Bimpnottin crossed his arms, unfazed. “What’s the big deal?”

“Here’s the big deal—” Owen shot his hands forward, grabbing the point of the gnome’s ears with a mischievous grin. “Even if I remove these, it won’t change the fact you don’t listen anyway.”

“Get off me, you lanky bald ape!” Bimpnottin yelled, swatting at Owen.

Everyone burst out laughing, and Owen let go, still smiling. “But seriously, Bimpnottin, why have you never asked to hold my weapon? You’re hurting my feelings here.”

Bimpnottin scowled, rubbing his ear. “’Cause your weapon looks like a walking stick someone carved for fun! This lad’s weapon, though? It’s got flair!” He retreated behind Pyris, eyeing Owen warily.

“What are you talking about?” Owen asked, frowning. “My sword looks awesome.”

Justin scanned the group, eyes lingering on Pyris before glancing at Owen’s castle. He opened his mouth, hesitated, then closed it again, as if biting back a question.

“Everything alright?” Owen asked, catching the look.

Justin grunted. “Just... don’t see many places still standing out here. You’ve retained your humanity, it seems.”

“It’s been tough,” Owen admitted. “We’ve experienced death and battle just like all the others. Lost people. But it’s important we keep moving forward,” Owen paused, knowing full well the insecurity hidden within Justin, and said, “Important we stick together, as a team. As friends.”

Justin met his gaze.

“A new addition to the kingdom?” Bimpnottin piped up, peeking out from behind Pyris again.

“Just someone passing through,” Owen replied.

Bimpnottin’s eyes widened, suddenly brimming with enthusiasm. “Oh, then you must visit my farm! We’ve got a new baby—named her Bubbles. Unlike her nasty mother, she’s cute. Licks me every morning, tickles like crazy! And, oh! We’ve got fruit—totally not poisonous! Definitely not.”

Justin raised a brow, but before he could respond, Pyris intervened. “Bimpnottin, he needs rest. Let the man breathe.” She cast a stern glance at the gnome, who took a few hurried steps back, ears drooping.

“Besides,” Pyris added, “who even adds ‘not poisonous’ at the end of an invitation? That should be obvious.”

“We don’t get many visitors,” Bimpnottin said defensively. “Thought it was polite to mention.”

“You’ve got... quite the team,” Justin muttered, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“Yeah, they grow on you,” Owen replied. “Well, most of them. There’s orcs that haven’t exactly… well let’s say, integrated as of now. But they’ll come around. Just don’t get in their way for the time being.”

Justin nodded as his gaze shifted to the laughing faces of those around him. For a second, his shoulders relaxed, the tension in his posture easing, as if he was used to moving alone and now found himself oddly reassured by the group’s presence.

Shaking his head, Owen said, “Well, Balthus will see to it that you’re taken care of. But just like you gave me a warning, I’ll give you one in return.” Owen’s playful demeanour faded, his tone hardening. “These are my people. My family. Lay a hand on any of them, and you’ll deal with me. I have some questions, but I’ll see you later.” Owen’s smile returned. “Enjoy the bath and food, you need it.”

Justin met his gaze, understanding the gravity of the words. “I don’t want any trouble,” he said quietly. “I’ll stay the night, if that’s alright, and be gone by morning.”

As he turned to walk away with Balthus, he glanced back over his shoulder, hesitating for just a moment. “Thanks,” he muttered—a simple word, but for Justin, it carried weight.

***

With that out of the way, Owen turned to the lead Builder: Brook. It had been a while since they had a chat.

“Brook, how’s the reconstruction going?”

He bowed. Deeper than ever before. “My Lord,” he said devotedly. “It’s going well. After that giant passed through, we’ll have a bit more work done today, but there was something I wanted to ask of you.”

“Anything, Brook. You know that.”

Brook nodded. “Some of us want to make a prayer room. A church.”

“That sounds like a good idea. Out of curiosity, who are you going to worship—” the moment Owen’s words left his mouth, he bit them back. Of course, they wanted to pray to… him. Lord Plunder. Owen’s face flushed red.

“You, my Lord,” Brook said. “Your feats, the way you treat us—it would be our honour to spread your name across these deserts.”

“Wait,” Owen said, waving his hands. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. There will be no missionaries. Sending others to their potential deaths to spread my name, is not something I’m willing to take on.”

Brook, the dwarf, shrunk his shoulders.

Owen sighed. “But a prayer room is fine.” Brook’s eyes lit up. Owen continued, “Make the walls a priority. I also want a wall around the entrance of the mountain incase of an attack. I want it mighty, easy to defend, impossible to take down. Understood?”

Brook nodded. “It will be done, Lord Plunder!”

Waving his lead builder off, Owen pinched his temples. The whole prayer thing was absurd. Just the thought of it was incredulous. Worshipping him? It was almost impossible to fathom. But he understood the importance of faith within a kingdom.

Not only because of the trust in leadership it would bring, but the power it offered him. The more people that prayed and uttered his name, the stronger he’d become. Many Lords completely relied on their faith. Lords could also adopt another Lord’s faith, but that was a double edged sword. Who was to say when the Lord responsible for granting the faith would use it as a weapon against their own kingdom?

It didn’t just happen in real life. It was a big thing in the novels, too.

Another reason he was a little hesitant on building a religion dedicated to himself, was because he enjoyed the current dynamics between him and his people. It was jovial, friendly; like one big family. And he wanted to keep it that way. Shifting that to one of devotion, didn’t sit well with him. He viewed everyone as equals.

But if he could have both? Owen drew in a breath. Then he’d just have to have both.

Owen turned his attention to the slain scarlet crabs. It was time to plunder.