FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 281: Chapter 281: A Repository Of Knowledge

“I finally have the technique,” Sol muttered internally, successfully passing the heavy, polished stone tablet back to High Shaman Zephyra. The burning thrill of progression was humming in his veins, but as always, his rational mind quickly worked to cool the adrenaline. Having the engine and the fuel was only part of the equation. He was currently flying blind in a world that fundamentally wanted him dead.

He thought further, “Brute force and a fast cultivation speed aren’t enough. The only lesson I have learned from my recent adventure is that I didn’t know enough, not in the Great Orrath. If I’m going to actually survive out there, and eventually master this power… I need to know what I’m looking at.

Right now,I don’t know the geography beyond these walls. I don’t know the local flora or what’s poisonous. I don’t even know the proper hierarchies of the beasts hunting in the deep woods. If I had more concrete knowledge about this world, I could prepare much better and fight smarter.”

So, he looked back at Warchief Veylara and the High Shaman, his silver-crimson eyes sharp and entirely focused. I understand this stone tablet is precious, so do you happen to have something similar like this, so that I can gain more knowledge and plan my future better.”

Veylara nodded approvingly, clearly pleased that he wasn’t letting the arrogance of his newly anchored Lord Blood phantom cloud his tactical judgment. A warrior who only relied on raw power usually died young in the jungle. In fact, despite the warnings, many young warriors anchored a strong spirit and immediately thought they were invincible, only to die a week later to a toxic plant or a hidden ambush.

She cast a brief, knowing glance at the High Shaman.

Zephyra exhaled a slow, curling plume of blue smoke, her milky eyes glinting with a hidden, profound amusement. “Knowledge is the greatest, sharpest weapon of the Vanguard, Divine One. It outlasts the spear and outranges the bow.

A sharp spear is useless if you do not know where to thrust it. And we happen to have a place for that. A repository carved directly into the root-cellars next door. It holds the accumulated wisdom of our ancestors, the scout reports of a hundred generations, and the deeply guarded bloody secrets of the jungle.”

She tapped her carved bone pipe against her palm, the rhythmic sound echoing in the quiet hall. “Normally, access to the Vault is strictly restricted to the Warchief, myself, and the most senior trusted Elders of the council.

The common warriors do not need the heavy burden of history to swing a spear, they only need to follow orders. But considering you currently hold the fate of the Veynar tribe sleeping inside your chest… I think we can make a rare exception for you.”

Zephyra paused, tilting her head slightly, her gaze turning highly inquisitive. “By the way… do you even know how to read and write our script? You speak our tongue fluently, but the ancient carvings and the written language of the Veynar are a different beast entirely.”

Sol thought back to the seamless, magical translation that had just occurred in his mind when he had just come here. The linguistic cheat-code provided by Islyia’s divine shard embedded in his mind seemed to effortlessly cover all bases, seamlessly translating intent regardless of whether it was spoken or inscribed.

“I guess we’ll find out,” Sol said with a confident, easy smirk. “Take me there.”

“Follow me, then,” Zephyra croaked, turning her back to the throne and walking toward a heavy, reinforced timber door at the rear of the High Hall.

Sol followed the ancient woman down a spiraling, dimly lit staircase carved directly into the living, petrified wood of the Great Heartwood tree.

Zephyra moved with a surprising, fluid grace, her hips swaying slightly beneath her robes. As they descended deeper into the cooler, earth-scented depths of the root system, she cast a sidelong glance back at him, a playful, distinctly feminine smirk playing on her lips.

“You know, Sol,” Zephyra purred, her raspy voice suddenly taking on a teasing, melodic lilt that completely contrasted with her usual mystical severity. “For a man who arrived at our gates half-starved and entirely unranked, you certainly possess a rather massive appetite.

First, you effortlessly conquer the hearts of our young, fierce warriors. And now, you casually swallow a Lord Blood spirit before breakfast. One really has to wonder what exactly you plan to devour next.”

Sol chuckled quietly, genuinely admiring the sheer audacity of the busty, beautiful High Shaman. Even with her respected persona, she possessed a fierce, primitive allure… a raw, matriarchal confidence that was incredibly striking and entirely unapologetic.

“I only devour what threatens me, Shaman,” Sol replied smoothly, his silver-crimson eyes glinting in the flickering torchlight lining the stairwell. “And what benefits me. I’m just a very pragmatic eater.”

Zephyra laughed, a rich, throaty sound that echoed pleasantly down the wooden shaft, as she reached the bottom of the stairs and pushed open a set of heavy, intricately carved stone double doors. “Pragmatism is the only thing that keeps you breathing in the Orrath. Welcome, Sol, to the Vault of Ancestors.”

Sol stepped past her into the room and stopped dead in his tracks.

The repository was absolutely breathtaking. It was a massive, sweeping circular chamber illuminated by thick clusters of glowing, bioluminescent blue moss hanging lazily from the domed ceiling. The walls were lined floor-to-ceiling with deeply carved stone shelves.

Resting upon them were thousands of accumulated items… heavy stone tablets, tightly bound scrolls of cured beast leather, and strange jars filled with preserved, faintly glowing botanical specimens. The air smelled intensely of old dust, dried medicinal herbs, and the heavy, static charge of highly concentrated essence.

“I will leave you to it, Divine One,” Zephyra said, bowing her head slightly, her teasing demeanor replaced by solemn respect for the archives. “Read as much as your mind can stomach. May the ancestors guide your eyes.”

As the heavy stone doors clicked shut behind her, plunging the room into the soft blue glow of the moss, Sol was left completely alone in the absolute silence of the vault. He didn’t waste a single second. He walked straight up to the nearest shelf, pulled down a heavy, leather-bound scroll, and unrolled it flat on a large obsidian reading table situated in the absolute center of the room.

The moment his eyes focused on the strange, blocky runes of the Veynar script, the same magical phenomenon from the teleportation occurred. A slight, invisible thrum in the hollow cavity in his chest activated his passive translation ability, and the alien symbols seamlessly rearranged themselves in his mind, carrying perfect, inherent meaning.

He could read it. All of it. Flawlessly.

Sol pulled up a carved wooden stool, sat down, and dove into the deep end. He spent the entire day locked in the vault, completely immersed in a state of hyper-focused flow. He was a seasoned reader, reading the ultimate, unfiltered wiki for a brutal death-world, and the sheer amount of data he processed was staggering.

He started with the foundations: Botany and Alchemy.