FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 276: Chapter 276: Reason For Pact With Zharun

The heavy, petrified wooden doors of the High Hall slammed shut with a resounding, echoing thud. Yet, the suffocating, foul tension that the Zharun Envoy had brought into the sacred chamber refused to dissipate. It lingered in the air, thick, rancid, and entirely overpowering, cutting straight through the fragrant, calming smoke of High Shaman Zephyra’s medicinal incense.

The Envoy’s blatant disrespect and the sheer, murderous malice he had directed at the room hung over the tribal council like a suffocating dark cloud.

The lackey elder… the one who had been nervously groveling just moments before to appease the hideous intruder… suddenly looked incredibly uncomfortable. The adrenaline of his sycophancy was fading, replaced by the heavy, judgmental silence of the High Hall.

Under Sol’s piercing, silver-crimson gaze, the man seemed to physically shrink. He wiped a thick layer of oily, nervous sweat from his forehead with the back of his trembling hand, offered a hasty, deeply uncoordinated bow to the Warchief, and quickly scurried out of the hall through a side corridor.

His rapid footsteps echoed against the stone, clearly eager to escape the highly volatile atmosphere he had just helped facilitate.

Sol stood in the center of the cavernous room, his silver-crimson eyes sharp. He looked directly at Warchief Veylara, who was currently rubbing her temples as if fighting off a sudden, blinding migraine.

He looked toward the elevated throne, his silver-crimson eyes filled with genuine curiosity rather than judgment.

“Warchief,” Sol began gently, his tone laced with a quiet, grounding concern. “I do not mean to overstep my bounds as a guest. But I couldn’t help but hear the Envoy’s words. A temporary alliance? And Prince Gorr of the Zharun coming tomorrow to finalize it? What happened and why the sudden deal?”

Veylara let out a long, shuddering sigh. The stoic, untouchable Warchief suddenly looked every bit her age, the crushing, relentless weight of tribal leadership physically pulling at her shoulders. She leaned back heavily against her carved wooden throne, staring up at the shadowy, vaulted canopy of the High Hall.

“We thought we had some time, Sol,” Veylara said, her voice heavy with a profound, bone-deep exhaustion. “When the Marauder attacked us a few days ago, we assumed it was just another seasonal probing attack, albeit a bit more violent one. A raid to test our Vanguard walls before the heavy rains set in. We deal with those every cycle.”

She looked back at him, offering him a weary, grateful smile for his respectful approach. “But the reports pouring in from our forward scouts while you were in the deep woods… they paint a much darker, much more terrifying picture.

They are not just raiding. They are preparing for a massive, full-scale offensive. They are amassing numbers, and they are moving with an aggressive, tactical coordination we have never seen from them before. We have no choice but to agree to a temporary alliance with the Zharun tribe to bolster our numbers.”

Sol frowned slightly, gesturing vaguely to his own chest, where the dual core of the Sovereign spirits rested. “Even with my return? I know I am new to this, and I don’t fully understand the depths of my own core yet, but couldn’t the phantom of a Layer 3 Lord Blood turn the tide? We have high walls. We have seasoned Vanguard warriors. Can’t we compete with these species ourselves behind our own fortifications?”

“Your achievement is nothing short of miraculous, Divine One,” Zephyra croaked from the sidelines, packing fresh, luminous blue leaves into the bowl of her bone pipe. Her milky eyes studied him with intense scrutiny.

“You hold a terrifying potential. But you must understand the reality of your vessel. You are unranked. Your human body has only just absorbed the spirits.”

Veylara nodded in agreement, leaning forward. “Even though you have anchored the phantom, Sol, it will take precious time for him to grow. It takes time to synchronize with you, and for your physical body to adapt to the sheer metabolic strain of projecting that aura.

It will take time for you to learn how to properly manifest the phantom, and time for the beast’s soul to grow and synchronize with your will.

If you tried to fight a full-scale, protracted war right now, pushing that Sovereign essence for hours on end… your body would violently shatter before the battle was even half-won. You need time to cultivate. Meanwhile, we need a meat shield to survive the immediate storm.”

Sol frowned. “Can’t you compete with those other species yourselves? You have so many warriors. These have the walls, and even your excellency is also Layer 4 warrior.”

“If it was just the Marauder tribe alone, it wouldn’t be a big issue,” Veylara explained grimly. “We could hold the walls. Even with their numbers, our Vanguard could repel them. But unfortunately… the Marauders have not come alone. They have joined hands with another, much more sinister faction. The Zerith Tribe.”

Veylara explained, her voice tinged with genuine, uncharacteristic dread. “They are ruthless, they are intelligent, and they are highly organized. They don’t just charge blindly, they use cruel tactics. And worse… they have human equivalents of Layer 4 warriors.”

Veylara took a slow, painful breath before delivering the final, crushing blow. “Our elite scouts confirmed the power scaling of their leadership. The Marauder Chieftain possesses raw power equivalent to a Layer 4 human Vanguard warrior. Both tribes have one. In fact, there are terrifying new reports that the Zerith tribe has two Layer 4 combatants.”

Sol’s breath hitched slightly, his mind rapidly calculating the catastrophic math of the impending war.

A Layer 3 Sovereign, like the Great Badger or the Dreadwing he had encountered, was a walking natural disaster. It had taken a suicidal, mind-shattering psychic attack from a colossal Hive Mother just to brain-dead the Great Badger, and even then, half the valley had been melted into glass and churned into an apocalyptic crater. Of course, they were beasts and more powerful than humans or other species, but still, the concept of a Layer 4 entity was entirely apocalyptic. And the enemy coalition had three of them.

The Veynar Tribe’s strongest combatant was Warchief Veylara, sitting solidly at Layer 4. The power gap wasn’t just wide, it was a completely insurmountable abyss.

“So, if we want to reduce the sheer number of casualties, if we want to actually survive and not be wiped from the face of the Great Orrath entirely, we have to take this bitter gulp,” Veylara stated firmly, her ocean eyes burning with desperate resolve.

“We initiated preliminary discussions with the Zharun yesterday. They are brutal, yes, and their customs are savage. But they are a massive tribe with their own high-tier combatants. They have agreed to a temporary alliance to crush the Marauder-Zerith coalition.

“I see,” Sol said, nodding slowly as the grim tactical reality settled in his stomach. “But… aren’t they notoriously untrustworthy?” Sol asked, remembering the sheer, murderous malice in the Envoy’s eyes. “That Envoy didn’t look like he wanted to fight beside us. He looked like he wanted to slaughter us in our sleep.”

“We know they are not,” Veylara said bitterly, closing her eyes for a brief moment. “They are bastards. The moment the battle is won, they are just as likely to turn their blades on us to claim our territory.