FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 356: Chapter 356: Current Situation!

Zeyra’s jaw tightened, looking slightly insulted, but she quickly turned, grabbed a clay pitcher from the bedside table, and poured a cup. She handed it to him, intentionally leaning in a bit closer than necessary, letting her dark hair brush against his bare shoulder.

Sol ignored the blatant move, took the cup, and downed it in three massive gulps.

Kira watched the exchange, her eyes narrowing further, but she focused back on Sol.

“The beast tide is broken,” Kira said, her voice dropping back into that serious, no-nonsense tone. “After you dropped that Rockhorn Beetle, the rest of the horde shattered. Chief killed the remaining Layer 3 beasts. The rest of them ran back into the deep rot.”

Sol nodded slowly, handing the empty cup back to Zeyra. “Casualties?”

Kira’s expression darkened. “It could have been heavy. We could have lost a lot of good warriors but… thanks to you the numbers were minimal and were in acceptable range. The eastern wall took massive structural damage. But the inner sanctum held. The civilians are safe. The elders and the remaining last few spent the last few days cleaning up the battlefield and burning the rot-hounds.”

“It’s great that you finally woke up,” Kira added, her tone softening just a fraction. She reached out, her fingers lightly brushing against his uninjured arm. “Everyone was worried about you. You looked like a corpse when I caught you.”

“You were out for three whole days,” Zeyra chimed in, not wanting to be left out of the conversation. She crossed her arms again, leaning against the wooden bedpost. “Your core was completely empty. You had forced it past the absolute limit. The healers couldn’t do much. The shamans had to come in and continuously infuse you with pure dawn essence just to keep your pathways from permanently collapsing.”

Sol frowned, processing the timeline. Three days. He had been unconscious for three days. That explained why his muscles felt so stiff and dead.

He thought back to the battlefield. He remembered the blinding, catastrophic lightning storm that had wiped out half the horde. He remembered the frail, terrifying woman standing on the watchtower, commanding the sky itself.

“What about High Shaman Zephyra?” Sol asked. “She unleashed a massive spell. She looked like she was dying on that tower.”

The room suddenly went dead silent.

Zeyra looked away, suddenly very interested in the grain of the wooden floorboards.

Kira didn’t look away, but her jaw clenched tight. She stayed silent for a second too long. It was the kind of heavy, awkward silence that screamed a lie before the words even came out.

“She is okay,” Kira finally said, her voice a little too flat, a little too rehearsed. “Just… a bit worn out from the over-draft. She’s resting in the High Hall.”

Sol stared at Kira. He didn’t press it. He wasn’t stupid. You don’t unleash a localized apocalypse that cooks Layer 3 behemoths alive and walk away “a bit worn out.” She must be in some perilous condition. The tribe was just keeping a tight lid on the information to prevent panic while they rebuilt the walls.

File that away for later, Sol thought.

Kira quickly cleared her throat, eager to change the subject. “Anyway. The whole tribe is grateful to you, Sol. You held the center line for hours. You killed a Sovereign that was about to breach the gates. Veylara told the elders exactly what you did. Nobody is calling you an outsider anymore.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t do it for them,” Sol muttered, leaning his head back against the wood.

“We know,” Zeyra said, a faint, knowing smirk on her lips. “But power demands respect. You proved you have the strength to stand at the top of this tribe.”

“He doesn’t care about tribal politics, Zeyra,” Kira snapped, her patience finally breaking. “Stop trying to drag him into your ambitious little games. He needs to rest.”

“I’m not playing games,” Zeyra shot back, her tone turning icy. “I’m just stating a fact. Why are you acting like you own him? You’re just a small-time warrior right now, not some elder.”

“I’m the Warchief’s daughter. And I actually fought beside him out there, while you were hiding behind the reserve lines trying to force a breakthrough.”

“I killed three Layer 1 omen blood spiders by myself! I stepped up!”

“Yeah, after the heavy lifting was done!”

Sol rubbed his face with both hands, letting out a loud, miserable groan. The headache was getting worse. The high-pitched bickering was drilling straight into his skull.

“Out,” Sol commanded, dropping his hands.

Both girls stopped arguing and looked at him.

“What?” Kira asked, blinking.

“Both of you. Out,” Sol said, pointing a heavy finger toward the wooden door. “I just woke up from a three-day coma. I fought a walking mountain. I don’t want to listen to you two throwing knives at each other over my bed. Can you please go out? And let me rest.”

Kira looked slightly hurt, but her discipline quickly took over. She nodded sharply, standing up. “Fine. I’ll tell the healers you’re awake. I’ll come back later with some actual food.”

Zeyra didn’t look hurt, she just looked annoyed that she was being dismissed at the same time as Kira. She pushed off the bedpost, smoothing out her clothes. “Rest well, I’ll be back soon,” she purred slightly, flashing him a dark look before turning on her heel.

They both marched out of the room, still glaring daggers at each other, and shut the heavy wooden door behind them.

Sol let out a massive sigh of relief as the quiet finally returned to the room. He just wanted some water but he didn’t expect to summon both of them, it was okay to summon them both, but damn, he wasn’t in the mood for a situation like that.

He didn’t hate the attention. In a brutal, savage world like the Great Orrath, having the Warchief’s daughter and a genius Layer 1 spirit warrior fighting over you meant you were doing something right. It meant you had value. It meant you had power.

But right now, he just needed to make sure his body wasn’t permanently broken.

Sol threw off the thick animal furs covering him. He was completely naked underneath, his ruined silver-gray armor and bloody clothes long gone.

He sat up fully, ignoring the dull, throbbing ache in his muscles, and looked down at his own body.

He looked alright. The minor bruises and cuts he had taken from the endless swarms of wolves and apes were completely gone, most likely healed by his body after the shamans’ essence infusions.

But then he looked at his stomach.

“Damn,” Sol muttered.

Starting from his right side, just under his ribs, and tearing diagonally across his stomach toward his navel, was a massive, ugly scar.

It wasn’t a clean cut. It looked like a jagged bolt of lightning had been carved directly into his flesh. The skin was raised, thick, and colored a dark, angry pink. It was the exact path the Rockhorn Beetle’s serrated foot-spike had taken as it ground through his armor and tore into his meat.

He ran a finger tracing the jagged scar. It was numb to the touch, but the muscle underneath still ached.

That bastard insect really did a number on him. If his Sun Core had been completely dry for even a fraction of a second longer, that jagged scar would have been a massive hole, and he would be rotting in the mud out there with the rest of the beasts.

Sol leaned back against the headboard, staring at the petrified wood ceiling.

So, he survived. He had held the line, leveled up his Great Badger spirit, and killed a creature infinitely beyond his paygrade.

He had proven his absolute worth to the Veynar tribe. They weren’t just going to tolerate him anymore, they were going to rely on him.

But as he stared at the ugly lightning scar on his stomach, Sol knew he couldn’t get complacent. The beast tide was just a symptom of this rotting jungle. The real threats… the Zerith, the Zharun, and whatever other horrors were hiding in the deep rot… were still out there.

He needed to fill his Sun Core. He needed to push his spirits to Layer 2. He needed to get stronger.

Because next time, a broken rib and a bad scar wouldn’t be enough to pay the toll.