FREE USE in Primitive World

But still, since they are much weaker in direct confrontation, compared to human spirit warriors, there was some fragile balance in the Orrath, with no force being able to fully dominate the other other, until now, due to birth of an extra layer 4 in Marauders and them joining hands with Zerith.

Of course, it was all for the same layer. Higher layer spirit warriors could easily conceal themselves better, avoid their detection and kill them.

But this?

Sol had just wiped out a four-man elite sentry cell in complete darkness, alone, using nothing but raw speed and terrifyingly clean physical execution. No big team. No long planning. No drawn-out fight.

Just four quick, silent deaths.

Torin stared at the bodies sprawled in unnatural positions around the small clearing. One had its head almost completely severed, another had a fist-sized hole punched straight through its chest, the third lay with its neck twisted at a grotesque angle, and the last one was pinned to a tree by its own broken spear.

All of it done in seconds.

“By the ancestors…” Torin stammered, his voice shaking as he looked up at the dripping green fluid on the willow branches. “Your senses… you didn’t even use a tracker spirit to find their blind spots.”

“Holy ancestors!…” Bran whispered, voice hoarse. “That… that wasn’t even a fight.”

Kael slowly shook his head, still trying to process what he had just witnessed from the branches above.

“We usually need at least twelve warriors and three scouts to even think about taking a group like this,” he muttered. “And even then, we lose people. But he just… walked through them.”

Torin swallowed hard, glancing at Sol’s back. The outsider wasn’t even breathing heavy. No sweat. No tension in his shoulders. He looked like he could do this all night and still have energy left for breakfast.

“They were looking for a traditional tribal army,” Sol said, his tone casual but rough. “They weren’t looking for a hunter who knows how to hunt better than them in the dark. Torin, leave the signs on the trunks, for later forces.”

Torin nodded frantically, pulling out his bone-chisel to dig the jagged Veynar marks deep into the wood.

Zeyra slipped out from the shadows beside Sol, her eyes shining with open pride and that familiar obsessive heat. She didn’t say anything, but the way she stayed close to him, almost brushing against his arm, spoke volumes.

Kira appeared a moment later, lowering her bow. Even she looked mildly impressed, though she tried to hide it behind her usual sharp expression.

Tala crouched near one of the corpses, checking for any hidden alarms or signaling devices. She glanced up at Sol, her voice low but respectful.

“Clean work. No alerts sent. We’re still undetected.”

Sol simply nodded, rolling his shoulder once.

“Good. Let’s keep it that way.”

After leaving the secret signs on the trunks, which only Veynar could recognize, the three leopard warriors huddled together again and exchanged another stunned look behind his back.

Their earlier bruised pride had been completely replaced by something closer to reverence. They had thought they were hot shit because of their speed. But watching Sol move through the dark like death itself had shattered that illusion in seconds.

Bran finally found his voice again, whispering to the others as they started moving again.

“I think… we just became the slow ones in the group.”

Torin let out a weak, disbelieving laugh under his breath.

“Yeah. Welcome to reality.”

Kael just shook his head, clenching his fists tighter due to excitement as he fell back into formation.

The team melted back into the jungle, heading deeper toward the Zerith settlement. But the atmosphere had changed.

The three leopard warriors no longer tried to push ahead or show off. They followed Sol’s lead without complaint, watching his back with newfound seriousness.

Sol didn’t notice… or if he did, he didn’t care.

His eyes were already scanning the darkness ahead, cold and calculating, the faint smirk still playing on his lips.

He could vaguely sense that there were a lot more Zerith in the jungle than just these four sorry bastards. Hidden camps, scouting parties, and bigger outposts were scattered all throughout the forest.

But it wasn’t just the numbers that caught his attention.

As he stood there, Sol felt a faint, strange disturbance in his Free Use silver liquid. It was extremely subtle.., barely a ripple… but it was definitely there.

The viscous energy sitting in his chest, which had been unusually quiet, all this time, felt almost restless. Like something was tugging at it from a distance.

It wasn’t strong enough to be felt clearly, but it was definitely not normal.

What the hell is that? he thought, frowning slightly.

He had absorbed a ton of essence from the Zerith he’d killed these days, and had been feeding both the Golden essence and the silver, usually golden essence would show some effects by strengthening his body, while Silver liquid remained stagnant, but this new disturbance gave him some hope again.

Seems like I gotta prioritize Silver liquid in later hunts.

Sol flexed his fingers, feeling the silver energy shift lazily inside him. He couldn’t pinpoint the source yet. It was too faint, too spread out. Trying to chase it directly right now would be pointless.

Whatever this disturbance was, he would figure it out the same way he figured out everything else lately… by hunting more of these bastards down and ripping their essence out. The more Zerith he killed, the more power he absorbed, the clearer the picture would become. Simple as that.

A cold, hungry smirk slowly crept across his face.

“Plenty more where these four came from,” he muttered under his breath.

…

The night was still thick, but the deep, suffocating blackness of the Great Orrath was slowly giving way to a pale, bone-grey hue as the true dawn crawled behind the giant ironwood canopy.

The green fluid on Sol’s knuckles hit the damp ferns with a sharp flick of his wrist.