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Chapter 273: Chapter 273: Red Sky

He had exhibited flawless stealth, infinite patience, and the absolute, balls-of-steel courage to dive into a swarm of frenzied, high-tier beasts just to snatch the ultimate prize from the jaws of hell.

It was the epitome of opportunism. It was the perfect, brutal cunning required to survive the Great Orrath.

“By the Goddess,” one of the older warriors whispered, shaking his head in profound reverence. “To walk into a Sovereign clash and steal the loot… the sheer madness of it.”

High Shaman Zephyra, however, wasn’t entirely swept up in the romanticism of the heroic tale. Her analytical mind was snagging on a geographical impossibility. She stepped forward, looking straight at him.

“Your bravery and the Goddess’s favor are undeniable, Divine One,” Zephyra said, her raspy voice cutting through the rising awe. “But something in your tale contradicts the ancient laws of the Orrath. Did you travel to the depth of the Northern Swapms?”

Sol shook his head. “No. I was in the inner area. Directly northeast from the tribal borders. Deep in the dense, petrified jungle canopy.”

Zephyra exchanged a sudden, highly alarmed look with Warchief Veylara. The Warchief’s storm-colored eyes darkened instantly.

“Northeast?” Veylara repeated, her voice laced with sudden tension. “That is impossible. The inner northeast is entirely dominated by the terrestrial territories. It is the hunting ground of the Great Badgers. Lord Dreadwings are strictly aerial apex predators, they nest exclusively in the northern swamps, hundreds of miles away. A Sovereign Dreadwing would never willingly abandon its territory to fight a terrestrial Lord in the dense canopy. It abandons all its aerial advantages.”

A ripple of unease spread through the elders. The rigid, territorial boundaries of the Layer 3 beasts were the only thing that kept the jungle from devolving into total, apocalyptic chaos. Sovereigns did not casually cross borders.

Sol frowned, his mind racing. He had genuinely wondered about that himself. When he was sitting in the trees, he had found it incredibly strange that a giant dreadwing and a massive earth-badger were brawling in the same zip code. He had just assumed the Orrath was a chaotic mess, but apparently, it was highly unusual.

Zephyra closed her milky eyes, her face scrunching in deep, troubled thought. She took a deep breath, inhaling the lingering scent of Sol’s residual aura, before her eyes snapped open, wide with a terrifying realization.

“The Red Sky,” Zephyra breathed, her voice trembling slightly.”

“Red Sky?” Veylara asked.

“It is the only logical explanation,” Zephyra continued, turning to address the Warchief and the gathered elders, her voice echoing with ominous weight. Even though it wasn’t the normal red moon phenomena, it was indeed a red sky. The toxic, crimson moon that periodically sweep across the world… we know it drives the lesser beasts mad, forcing them into senseless stampedes.”

Zephyra pointed a bony finger toward the northeast. “if it’s the result of Red Sky’s influence … it would explain everything. It drove the Lord Dreadwing completely mad with distress. Blinded by the cosmic phenomena, it abandoned its natural habitat and fled, accidentally stumbling directly into the Great Badger’s undisputed territory.

“A territorial dispute fueled by Red Sky madness,” an elder muttered, his face pale. “It forced two Sovereigns to fight to the death.”

Sol stood perfectly still, his face an unreadable mask, but internally, his mind was doing backflips of pure joy. Holy shit, these people write their own lore to cover my tracks, Sol thought gleefully.

Even though he was curious about this mysterious red sky phenomena, he was thankful that he hadn’t needed to invent a complex ecological reason for the anomaly. The tribe’s own deep-seated superstitions and knowledge of the world’s natural disasters had just handed him an ironclad, unshakeable alibi.

It also perfectly answered his own internal questions about why the Hive Mother and the Badger were all crammed into that specific valley. The ecosystem was currently experiencing a massive, unnatural migration event.

“The Shaman speaks the truth,” Sol chimed in, perfectly adopting a tone of solemn realization. “When I observed the Dreadwing, its movements were erratic. It fought with a rabid, mindless desperation, completely unlike the cold, calculating intelligence a Sovereign should possess. It was fighting like a beast fleeing a wildfire.”

Veylara nodded slowly, the final pieces of the puzzle clicking into place in her mind. The impossibility was gone. It was a freak, one-in-a-million convergence of natural disasters, territorial disputes, and the sheer bravery of the man standing before her.

She looked at Sol, her expression softening from Warchief-like suspicion into genuine, profound respect.

She stepped forward, raising her heavy obsidian spear high into the air.

“The Great Orrath is a realm of absolute chaos,” Veylara’s voice boomed over the courtyard. “But it is also a realm that rewards the bold! Sol did not just survive the wild, he walked into the very jaws of a Sovereign clash, outsmarted the apex predators of our world, and returned to us holding the power of the skies!”

She turned to face the massive crowd. “He is no longer an unranked outsider! He is a Warrior of the Veynar Tribe! He is the bearer of the Lord Blood!”

The silence broke.

No, It didn’t just break, it shattered into a million pieces. The courtyard erupted into an absolute, deafening frenzy of jubilation. Warriors thrust their weapons into the air, screaming themselves hoarse. Women wept tears of joy. The drummers positioned near the Great Heartwood instantly began hammering out a rapid, thunderous beat of victory.

“DIVINE ONE! DIVINE ONE! DIVINE ONE!”

The chant started near the front and rapidly consumed the entire tribe, a rhythmic, earth-shaking chorus of absolute devotion. They had a Lord Blood Warrior. Their tribe’s status, their security, their future prosperity had just skyrocketed to unimaginable heights.

Amidst the roaring crowd, Thorne’s remaining lackeys hastily scrambled forward. They didn’t look at Sol. They kept their heads bowed in abject terror as they grabbed the moaning, broken Elder Thorne by the arms and unceremoniously dragged him away through the dirt, dragging him back to his hut in complete, utter disgrace. The mighty Elder’s political faction had been completely, irreversibly decapitated in a single morning.

Sol stood amidst the deafening cheers, drinking in the adulation. Seems like his plan was successful, now until he could leave this place he was untouchable.

He let his gaze drift through the cheering, chaotic mob until he found her.

Kira stood near the edge, her bone sword finally sheathed at her hip. She wasn’t cheering like the others, but her golden feline eyes were shining with an overwhelming mixture of awe, relief, and deep, profound pride. She looked at him not just as a man she had escorted, but as a Lord Blood warrior now.

Sol flashed her a slow, knowing smirk, a silent promise of things to come, before raising his Void-Oak spear to the sky, letting the Veynar tribe scream his name to the heavens.