FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 324: Chapter 324: Dreadwing Blade

Sol rolled his shoulders, feeling the silver-gray plates of the Badger-hide armor shift with a fluid, silent precision. It was an engineering marvel, despite its density, it didn’t hinder his range of motion. Instead, it felt like an added layer of muscle, a protective exoskeleton that hummed with a low-frequency vibration whenever he drew upon his core.

He could feel the Great Badger soul within him grow quiet, almost satisfied, as if the spirit recognized its own skin and found a new kind of peace within the familiar texture.

Teshar was still grumbling under his breath, adjusting his apron and casting suspicious glances toward the door, his heart likely still thudding from the phantom threat of Warchief Veylara. He looked like a man who had just been robbed of his most precious treasure, and every time Sol shifted or flexed his arms, Teshar winced as if the movement itself were a sacrilege against the hide.

“Stop stretching it,” Teshar snapped, though there was a tremor of pride beneath his irritation. “It was designed to increase your defense, not your vanity. If you pop a stitch before the first Marauder reaches the gate, don’t bother coming back to me for repairs.”

Sol ignored the jab, his attention already drifting toward the second bundle on the table. If the Badger’s hide was merely his “second-best” creation, Sol could only imagine the level of insanity Teshar had poured into the materials of the Lord Dreadwing. The sapphire-blue calcified wing-struts of the Sovereign Dreadwing were materials of high-tier aerodynamic properties… light, sharp, and naturally resonant with the sky that had once fueled the beast’s flight.

If the Badger hide was the shield, then what remained under that protective cloth was the fang.

Teshar didn’t immediately move toward the second bundle. He stood for a moment, his chest heaving as he recovered from his “inspection” of the armor, his eyes darting between Kira and Sol. The grumpy, stoic facade was completely gone now, replaced by the jittery, high-strung energy of a creator about to reveal his soul’s work.

“The Badger hide was… a test of patience,” Teshar rasped, his voice dropping into a register of profound, almost religious solemnity. “It is a work of earth and endurance. But the second material… that was a test of my very life. The wings of a Sovereign Dreadwing do not belong on the ground, outsider. They are woven from the sky’s own fury and the lightning that splits the world.”

“The wings were a challenge of the soul. The Dreadwing did not want to be bound. It did not want to be stilled. Every time I set the chisel to the wing-struts, the air in the forge would scream. I had to work in the dead of night, using specialized clamps and cooling the materials in the blood of mountain-vipers just to keep the essence from evaporating.”

He looked up at Sol, his eyes wide and bloodshot. “I have been a craftsman for thirty cycles. I have forged the blades of three different Warchiefs. But this… this is the reason I was born.”

He wiped his hands on a fresh cloth, his expression shifting once again. The grumpiness vanished, replaced by a look of profound, almost religious solemnity. He stepped toward the second bundle with a slow, deliberate pace, his fingers hovering over the coarse woven cloth for a long moment before he even dared to touch the knot.

Teshar reached for the cloth. His hands were shaking visibly now.

“Behold,” he whispered. “My masterpiece. My absolute, undisputed number one.”

With a snap of his wrists, the cloth was whipped away.

Kira gasped, her eyes widening in shock. Even Sol, whose transmigrator mind was usually braced for any spectacle, felt his breath hitch in his throat.

Resting on the obsidian surface was a weapon that defied the primitive aesthetics of the Veynar tribe. It wasn’t a bone-sword or a wooden spear. It was a specialized, slightly curved saber that looked as though it had been forged from solidified storm clouds.

The blade was long, sleek, and terrifyingly thin, yet it vibrated with a latent, high-frequency energy that made the very air around it shimmers. It wasn’t made of steel or stone. The core of the blade was the translucent wing of the Sovereign Dreadwing. And since it was the most important part of the Dreadwing, the outer edges were naturally crafted from the hyper-compressed wing membranes, layered and folded a thousand times until they became a translucent, iridescent obsidian that held a permanent sapphire glow.

“The Dreadwing Blade,” Teshar said, his voice trembling with a mix of pride and exhaustion. “Since the wings were designed for flight. I used that to my advantage and made it as sharp as possible. I had to use fourteen different tempering vats, each charged by the High Shaman herself, just to keep the material from vaporizing the moment I struck it with a hammer.”

He reached out, his finger hovering just a hair’s breadth away from the edge.

“This is not just a weapon,” Teshar continued, his eyes wide and obsessive. “It is a masterpiece. Because it is made from the Dreadwing’s own flight structures, it effectively ignores air resistance. It doesn’t move through the air, it cuts through the air itself.

Its weight is almost perfect, not too heavy, nor too light, but carries the kinetic impact of a thunderbolt.

And the edge… the edge is so fine that it doesn’t cut flesh…. it separates it before it even reaches. And the hilt was wrapped in the fine, dark leather of the Dreadwing’s under-wing. So, you don’t have to worry about the grip.”

He didn’t lean down to cuddle this one. He didn’t even dare to touch it with his bare hands. He looked at it with the fearful reverence a mortal might show a sleeping god.

“It is not a simple blade,” Teshar explained, his analytical glint returning but intensified a hundredfold. “It is a conduit. Because you anchored the Dreadwing’s soul, this blade is an extension of your own nervous system. It perfectly aligns with your body.

Kira stepped closer, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and professional envy. As an Elite Vanguard, she had seen the best weapons the tribe had to offer, but this… this was something from a different era. This was a Sovereign’s legacy, reshaped by a genius into a tool of absolute slaughter.

“Teshar,” Kira whispered, her hand hovering near her own bone-sword. “I’ve never seen a glow like that. Not even on the Warchief’s spear.”

“That’s because your mother’s spear is a relic of the past, little girl!” Teshar barked, his obsessive pride flaring. “This is a weapon for the future! For a man who carries the beast’s very soul! Look at the iridescent sheen! See the way the sapphire light pulses? It’s alive! It’s hungry!”

Sol stared at the blade, his heart hammering against the new Badger armor. He could feel the Dreadwing soul in his solar plexus reacting violently to the weapon’s presence. The sapphire lightning in his core was no longer just sparking, it was roaring, attempting to bridge the gap between his body and the wing-bone saber.

Sol stepped forward, drawn to the weapon by an irresistible, magnetic pull in his core. As he reached out, the Golden Liquid in his solar plexus began to churn with a restless, frantic energy. The Dreadwing soul… usually a chaotic, flickering presence… suddenly roared in his mind, its essence racing through his veins in a surge of pure recognition.

He gripped the hilt.

The moment his fingers closed around the dark leather, a sharp CRACK of essence echoed within the small confines of the forge. A shockwave exploded outward, tossing light tools off the nearby shelves and making Kira’s hair stand on end. The sensation was unlike anything he had ever felt. The weapon didn’t feel like an object in his hand, it felt like he had just grown a new limb.

As Teshar had said, it felt almost perfect in his grip, not too light, nor too heavy, just the right amount of weight.

But as he lifted it, he felt the terrifying potential energy vibrating through it. It wasn’t just sharp, it was hungry. It wanted to move. It wanted to pierce the sky.

Sol gave the blade a slow, experimental horizontal sweep.

There was no sound of metal whistling through the air. Instead, there was a high-pitched, crystalline zing… the sound of the air itself being violently parted.

Sol looked at Teshar, the smirk on his face softening into a look of genuine respect. He could feel the sheer amount of soul and obsession the man had poured into this weapon. It was more than just a tool, it was a bridge to the Sovereign’s power.

“Teshar, you’re truly a genius, this is… beyond anything I could have imagined.”

Teshar didn’t look at Sol. He was staring at the blade in Sol’s hand, a single tear of pure, artistic fulfillment tracking through the grime on his cheek. “Of course it is. I told you, I’m the best. Now, put that thing away before you accidentally slice through my roof. It’s a specialized weapon… don’t go using it to chop firewood, or I’ll find you and take it back myself.”