FREE USE in Primitive World

But against Sol’s palm, the momentum completely vanished. His arm didn’t even tremble. He absorbed the strike effortlessly, freezing her mid-air.

Kira’s eyes widened in absolute shock. She was suspended upside down, her heel locked in his iron-like grip.

Before she could even try to twist free, Sol fluidly shifted his weight. He stepped deeply inside her guard, bringing his right arm up, and gently pressed the flat of his forearm directly against her collarbone as she dropped.

He didn’t hit or push her. He just applied a tiny, microscopic fraction of his Layer 2 tectonic mass to his arm.

Kira’s entire body was violently swept off its feet.

The sheer, overwhelming density of his physical strength completely bypassed her balance. She flew backward, flipping head over heels, and crashed heavily onto her back in the dirt, sending a massive plume of dust into the air.

The entire crowd around the sparring pit went completely, utterly silent.

Nobody cheered. Nobody gasped. They were too shocked to make a sound. The Warchief’s daughter, one of the most elite fighters in the entire Vanguard, had just been effortlessly swatted out of the air like a minor annoyance without Sol even visibly engaging his essence.

Kira lay flat on her back in the dirt for a full three seconds, completely stunned. The breath had been knocked clean out of her lungs.

Sol stood in the center of the ring, looking down at his own hands.

A dark, heavy realization washed over him. Even though both were Layer 2, the power gap between his foundation and hers wasn’t a step. It was a massive, unbridgeable canyon. If he had actually punched her… if he had put even a quarter of his actual strength into that strike… he would have completely shattered her ribcage and killed her instantly.

He had to actively, consciously hold back his own body just to avoid turning his allies into a red mist.

Kira finally let out a ragged gasp, sucking air back into her lungs. She rolled over, pushing herself up onto one knee, coughing violently and spitting a wad of dirt onto the ground.

Sol quickly stepped forward, offering her a hand.

“You okay?” Sol asked, his cocky smirk entirely gone, replaced by genuine concern. “I didn’t mean to hit you that hard.”

Kira looked up at his offered hand. She didn’t take it right away. She just sat there in the dirt, staring at him, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe, extreme frustration, and a healthy dose of fear.

“You didn’t hit me,” Kira rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as she finally took his grip and let him pull her up. “You just… leaned on me. You really are too strong. What the hell are you, Sol?”

“I told you,” Sol said quietly, ensuring only she could hear him. “I’m Layer 2.”

“That is not normal Layer 2,” she muttered, dusting off her leather armor.

“My turn!”

A highly excited voice interrupted them. Zeyra, watching from the edge of the pit, didn’t bother using the gate. She practically leaped over the wooden fence, her sleek black-and-emerald tunic flared behind her like a banner, the fabric snapping in the wind.

Every head in the training yard turned as Zeyra vaulted over the wooden fence in one fluid bound.

She tossed the Dreadwing Blade to Kira, her dark eyes burning with absolute, competitive hunger.

“I want to feel it,” Zeyra declared, her voice ringing with challenge. She dropped into a low, sinuous stance, knees slightly bent, arms loose and ready.

Sol let out a helpless, tired sigh. “Zeyra, you’re Layer 1. You saw what just happened.”

“I’m faster than her,” Zeyra argued confidently. “And I don’t attack like a blunt instrument.”

“I’m faster than her,” Zeyra shot back, flashing a cocky grin. “And I don’t attack like some blunt instrument. I flow. I adapt. Let me show you.”

Kira, still holding the blade, smirked from the sidelines. “She’s been pacing like a caged viper for the last twenty minutes. Just let her get humbled, Sol. It’ll be good for her ego.”

Sol rolled his shoulders, the faint crack of joints audible. “Fine,” he grumbled. “Come on, then. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

The moment the words left his mouth, Zeyra exploded into motion.

She didn’t charge straight in. Instead, she circled laterally with uncanny grace, her body bending and twisting like a living serpent. Her footwork was flawless… light, quick, impossible to pin down. She darted forward with a stinging palm strike aimed at Sol’s floating ribs, then immediately dropped low, sweeping at his ankles with a whip-like leg.

Her movements were poetry in motion. The green spirit energy coiled around her limbs, enhancing every twitch and turn. Spectators murmured in appreciation; even Kira leaned forward, impressed by the sheer artistry of Zeyra’s technique.

But against Sol, it meant nothing.

His kinetic perception saw every shift of her center of gravity, every micro-twitch of muscle before it happened.

Sol sidestepped her sweep. As Zeyra fluidly bounced back up, attempting to wrap her arm around his neck for a joint lock, Sol simply reached out with both hands. He didn’t try to block or strike. He grabbed her firmly by the waist.

He simply reached out with both hands and seized her by the waist.

Zeyra’s eyes widened in pure shock. “Wha—?!”

With a single, effortless heave, Sol lifted her entirely off the ground. He held her suspended in the air by her waist, completely neutralizing her leverage. She dangled there, her legs kicking uselessly.

“Dead,” Sol said dryly, a hint of tired amusement in his voice.

Zeyra’s face flushed crimson, a mix of fury and mortifying embarrassment burning across her cheeks. She twisted and writhed, but Sol’s grip was like iron wrapped in velvet… firm, unyielding, yet careful not to bruise.

After a few long, humiliating seconds, he gently deposited her on her back in the dirt. Zeyra just lay there, staring up at the cloudless sky, her cheeks burning bright red from the overwhelming physical humiliation of being picked up like a misbehaving child.