FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 325: Chapter 325: Testing Dreadwing Blade

Sol walked out of the dim forge and back into the humid, tension-thick air of the Veynar settlement. He didn’t immediately head for his quarters. He turned to Kira, his silver-crimson eyes burning with a dangerous, untested fire.

“I need to know what this gear can actually take,” Sol stated, adjusting the grip on the Dreadwing Blade.

Kira didn’t argue or offer a tearful farewell. She was a warrior, she understood the absolute necessity of blood-testing new equipment before a siege. “Be careful, Sol. Don’t push too deep. The jungle has been a bit restless these days.”

“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on pushing deep,” Sol replied with a dark, confident smirk. “I plan on pushing hard.”

“I’ll be back by moonfall,” he said.

With a single, explosive burst of his improved strength, he blurred toward the southern gates, ignoring the startled shouts of the guards, and plunged into the emerald nightmare of the Great Orrath.

He didn’t skulk through the underbrush or mask his scent. He was actively broadcasting his presence, a walking beacon of high-tier essence daring the jungle to respond. He ventured deep into the western scrublands, bypassing the lesser rot-hounds and razor-beasts that scattered at the sheer, dense weight of his aura.

He didn’t have to wait long.

Three miles into the deep rot, where the trees grew so thick they choked out the noon sun, Sol found what he was looking for.

It was a Layer 2 Omen Blood Beast… a Krag-Ursid. It was a monstrous, bear-like aberration that stood eight feet tall at the shoulder, its flesh completely covered in thick plates of hardened stone. It was currently feeding on the carcass of a lesser beast, but as Sol stepped into the clearing, it snapped its massive head up.

Seeing the “hairless monkey” causally and utterly brazenly walking in its territory, the Ursid let out a roar that physically vibrated the leaves on the surrounding trees. It didn’t hesitate and dropped onto all four.

The ground shook. Three tons of stone-plated muscle accelerated to a terrifying speed, becoming a living, breathing battering ram aimed directly at Sol’s chest.

Sol didn’t evade. He didn’t take a defensive stance. He didn’t even raise his spear.

He stood perfectly still, his feet planted wide, squared his shoulders, and aimed the silver-gray Badger Armor directly into the beast’s path.

As the Ursid got closer, he took a deep breath, and for the first time, he pushed his essence into the Great Badger’s Armor.

BOOM.

The collision sounded like two mountains slamming together. The sheer force of the impact sent a shockwave through the dirt, kicking up a massive cloud of dust and shredded vegetation. Sol felt himself being shoved backward, his boots carving two deep trenches into the packed dirt as he was pushed back five, then ten feet.

But as the dust settled, Sol let out a booming, exhilarated laugh.

His chest didn’t ache. His ribs weren’t fractured. His internal organs were perfectly fine. The Badger hide had caught the entire, catastrophic momentum of the Layer 2 charge and seamlessly distributed the kinetic energy across its surface, channeling the excess force straight down into the earth beneath his feet. It had turned a lethal, bone-crushing blow into a mere stumble.

“As expected,” Sol rasped, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, delighted light as he patted the breastplate. “Lord-tier materials really are too overpowered.”

The Ursid stumbled back, its head shaking in confusion. Its tiny, primitive brain couldn’t process how this small creature hadn’t been reduced to a red smear on the ground. . Normally, a strike of that magnitude would have blown a hairless monkey into a shower of red mist and shattered bone. But this prey was standing there, completely safe and entirely sound.

It growled, a low, vibrating sound of pure frustration, and prepared to lunge again, its claws digging deep into the soil.

Sol looked at the beast’s confused expression and taunted it, beckoning with his index finger, in a slow, mocking “come here” gesture.

Enraged beyond reason, the Ursid screamed in volcanic rage and lunged, rearing up on its hind legs to bring its massive, stone-crushing paws down on Sol’s head.

Sol didn’t react until the beast was inches away. He didn’t give it a second chance, one was more than enough for the test.

Sol’s hand moved in a blur.

He calmly reached to his hip and drew the Dreadwing Blade. The sapphire blade cleared the sheath with a crystalline zing that seemed to slice the very silence of the forest.

He didn’t use a complex martial art. He simply stepped into the beast’s guard and delivered a single, effortless horizontal sweep.

The world seemed to pause for a microsecond.

A thin, sapphire line appeared in the air. A second later, the Ursid’s massive head, still mid-roar, slid cleanly off its neck, and hit the dirt with a heavy thud. A thick, high-pressure spurt of black blood erupted like a fountain, but before a single drop could touch Sol’s new armor, the wind-shear from the blade blew it away.

The massive headless body of the Omen Blood swayed for a heartbeat before collapsing heavily at Sol’s feet, its legs twitching uselessly.

Sol looked at the blade. The iridescent blade was pristine. The thick, viscous blood of the beast was already beading up on the translucent surface. With a slight, casual flick of his wrist, he shook the blade, the lingering moisture rolled off the sapphire surface as if it were oil on glass. Not a single drop of blood remained.

“High-level equipment is really the best,” Sol muttered to himself, his heart hammering with an addictive, blood-pumping rush of absolute power. He sheathed the blade with a satisfying click.

He didn’t turn back toward the tribe. Instead, he excitedly ventured deeper into the jungle, his senses dialled to the maximum, looking for stronger opponents… anything that could make his sapphire blade roar again.

…

The next five days passed in a blur of blood, essence, and sweat.

The atmosphere in the Veynar tribe remained at a terrifying snapping point. The looming threat of the war was a suffocating blanket over the settlement. Every day, the Veynar elders and Spirit warriors were busy with their own preparations… reinforcing the walls, making arrowheads, hunters laid complex traps in the outer perimeter, shamans brewing massive vats of healing salves, and running grueling defensive drills on the walls.

Sol completely isolated himself from the tribal panic. He followed a brutal, optimized routine. At break of dawn, he would perform the Breath of Dawn, refining the purest essence into his Sun Core until he felt like his veins were made of molten gold. Then, he would vanish into the Orrath.

He treated the deep jungle as his personal training ground. He hunted Layer 2 Omen Bloods like they were common game. He actively sought out the most dangerous predators the territory had to offer, fighting packs of corrosive Shadow-Vipers, heavily armored Crag-Beasts, and hyper-agile Canopy-Stalkers.

Each kill was absorbed into his core, his golden liquid purifying the raw essence and feeding the Sovereign spirits within him. He was training himself, learning the exact timing of the Blade’s vacuum-shear and the limits of the Badger’s endurance.