FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 341: Chapter 341: Zeyra’s Obsession

It was a perfect, lethal ambush.

But Sol’s enhanced senses immediately detected the displacement of air. He felt the cold, creeping killing intent zeroing in on his spine.

But incredibly, Sol didn’t care. He didn’t drop his guard against the beasts in front of him. He didn’t engage his Dreadwing agility to dodge. He simply continued his downward slash, entirely ignoring the lethal threat lunging at his unprotected throat.

Just as the Ghost-Mantis was in mid-air, its scythes mere inches from Sol’s skin, a sharp, supersonic CRACK tore through the humid air.

A massive, heavy, obsidian-tipped arrow, thick as a spear and trailing a blue aura of concentrated Vanguard essence, accurately and violently pierced the air from a hundred yards away. It struck the Ghost-Mantis directly through the side of its head, the sheer kinetic force shattering its chitinous skull and instantly extinguishing its life.

As if he had expected the exact trajectory, timing, and outcome of the shot all along, Sol suddenly ducked his head down by a fraction of an inch.

The dead, heavy carcass of the stealth beast flew entirely over his head, carried by the momentum of its own lunge and the impact of the arrow. It crashed violently into a tightly packed cluster of dozens of Essence Born wolves in front of him, bowling them over in a tangled, bloody mess of limbs and broken bone.

Sol slowly straightened up. He didn’t look at the dead Mantis. He casually flicked the blood off his sapphire blade and looked back over his shoulder, toward the towering petrified walls of the Veynar settlement in the distance.

There, standing atop the highest remaining rampart, illuminated by the beautiful sunlight, was Kira.

She stood tall, her hair whipping in the fierce wind. In her hands, she held a massive, heavy war-bow, the string still vibrating from the release of the shot. Her pale leather armor was stained, and she was panting heavily, but her stormy feline eyes were locked directly onto him across the vast, chaotic expanse of the battlefield.

Sol, his face smeared with the viscera of a hundred beasts, flashed a brilliant, genuinely happy smile through the grime.

In the distance, Kira saw the smile. The fierce, stoic Warchief’s daughter couldn’t help the radiant, affectionate smirk that broke across her own face. She didn’t shout. She just nocked another heavy, obsidian-tipped arrow, drew the bowstring back to her cheek, and shifted her aim to a Crag-Ape trying to flank him from the left.

She was his anchor. She was his overwatch. She had been providing him support since long ago.

Sol turned back to the meat grinder, his laughter returning, fully confident that his blind spots were secured by the deadliest huntress in the tribe. He resumed his relentless slaughter, carving deeper into the horde.

But across the battlefield, on a lower, heavily damaged section of the outer wall, another pair of eyes was watching the exchange.

Zeyra stood panting, her hands ached with the continues and sterneous use.

She had been fighting desperately, providing covering fire for the Vanguard units trying to seal the lesser breaches.

But the battle had rapidly escalated far beyond her current strength. The beasts swarming the walls now were high-tier Omen Bloods… monsters whose thick hides practically shrugged off her attacks. She had been reduced from a frontline combatant to a mere support role, lobbing attacks to distract the beasts while the veterans went in for the kill.

She leaned against the petrified wood, her chest heaving, and looked out into the center of the slaughter.

She saw Sol. She saw the terrifying, awe-inspiring way he dominated the battlefield, moving like a god of war, draped in silver and sapphire light, completely untouchable.

And then, she saw the stealth beast attack. She saw him ignore it. She saw the arrow strike, and she saw him look back and smile.

Zeyra followed his gaze up to the high rampart. She saw Kira standing there, proud, lethal, and intimately connected to the monster in the mud. She saw the silent, absolute trust passing between them… a bond forged in blood, survival, and shared indulgence.

Zeyra’s hands clenched into tight fists. The fingers clenching so tightly that, it had turned red due to pressure.

The bitterness she had felt earlier mutated. It wasn’t just jealousy anymore, it was a profound, agonizing inadequacy. She wanted to be the one standing on that wall. She wanted to be the one holding his back. She wanted that smile, that trust, that absolute, unquestioning devotion to be directed solely at her.

But she was too weak. In the face of this apocalyptic tide, her power was nothing but sparks.

Zeyra bit her lip again, tearing open the scab she had formed earlier. The fresh blood ran down her chin. She didn’t cry. She didn’t despair. The obsessive, terrifying ambition within her simply found a new, higher gear.

I will not be a spectator, Zeyra thought, her dark eyes burning with an unhinged, feverish light as she stared at Kira’s silhouette. I will devour this entire world if I have to. I will reach Layer 1. I will reach Layer 2. I will rip the stars out of the sky until I am strong enough to stand beside him.

With a feral, agonizing scream, Zeyra pushed her exhausted core past its breaking point. She ignored the tearing pain in her veins, channeling every ounce of her rage, jealousy, and obsession into her core.

A straggling, wounded rot-hound scrambled up the palisade toward her. But this time, Zeyra didn’t retreat. She drove her spear directly through the hound’s throat, pinning it violently to the petrified wood.

But as the beast died, the dark, obsessive ambition within her found a new, terrifying gear.

I will not be left behind, Zeyra thought, her dark eyes burning with a feverish light as she stared at Kira’s distant silhouette on the high wall. If the spirit needs to eat to grow, then I will gorge it until it chokes.