FREE USE in Primitive World

Marrying into the Zharun tribe as a prince’s wife would have meant finally living freely, away from the prejudice and cold shoulders that had followed her all her life.

Even though the Zharun had a not-so-good reputation among the other tribes, Lumi would have been protected by her status.

As the bride of the chief’s son, she would have been treated with respect and care.

Marriage was a sacred thing in the human tribes... a bond blessed by the ancestors themselves.

No matter the hostilities between tribes, the married-off bride was always respected and taken care of. It was one of the few unbreakable rules that even the most ruthless chiefs honored.

Mistreating a bride, especially one of high standing, would bring shame upon the entire tribe, plummeting their standing in the eyes of the ancestors and inviting divine wrath.

The bride would continue the next generation, carrying the bloodline forward, so she was considered untouchable, a vessel of future strength and prosperity.

Kira had truly believed that Lumi would finally find peace there.

She had imagined her friend smiling again, free from the whispers and cold glances, living a life where she was valued and cherished.

Even if things didn’t work out between her and the Zharun prince, it wouldn’t hurt her... the sacred pact would ensure her safety and dignity.

At least that’s how it was between human tribes.

No one had ever broken that rule.

Not even in her nightmares could she have imagined an outcome like this.

Lumi’s bright smile, her carefree laughter, her gentle hands wiping away other’s tears... all of it was gone.

Turned into this grotesque trophy for monsters to wear.

Kira’s heart felt like it was being torn apart.

The guilt was equally maddening and suffocating.

If she had gone instead, maybe Lumi would still be alive. Maybe she could have protected her.

Maybe none of this would have happened.

Tears streamed down Kira’s face as she clawed at the dirt, her nails breaking against the hard ground. Her body shook with sobs, the pain so deep it felt like her soul was being ripped out.

The recruits around her were equally devastated. Some wept openly. Others screamed in rage. A few charged forward instinctively, only to be held back by their comrades. The air filled with cries of ”Lumi!” and ”Monsters!” as the young warriors’ grief and fury boiled over.

Veylara’s voice cut through the madness with a barely suppressed rage.

”Zharun...” she growled, her voice devoid of any emotion, but every word seems to increase the pressure exerted by her. ”You have gone too far.”

The Warchief stepped forward, her spear gripped so tightly the wood groaned. The air around her seemed to grow heavier, her Layer 4 presence flaring like a storm about to break.

Chief Vane laughed again, raising his hands in mock innocence.

”Come now, Warchief. It’s just a trophy. A reminder of old debts. The Sacred Pact still stands, does it not?”

Sol’s voice was ice cold as he finally spoke.

”You have made a mistake.”

The free Use power and Golden essence inside him surged, the power fully unleashed.

Sol’s control which had teetering on the brink of explosion finally snapped.

For the first time since falling into this primitive world, he forgot about planning, numbers, or strategies. He just looked at the stretched skin of the girl who had been epitome of kindness in this cruel and savage world, whose smile seemed to brighten up the world.

He looked at the grotesque permanent smile sewn into a monster’s hat.

The Golden Silver pool inside his chest erupted like a volcano of molten fury.

The power he had been holding back... the noble, radiant energy that had evolved from silver to golden... surged outward in a massive, earth-shattering wave.

”DIE!!!”

An earth-shattering roar tore out of his lungs, a sound so violently loud that it sounded like an angry god descending from the heavens.

With that single shout, Sol completely released the floodgates of his Free Use power, unleashing the Golden Silver energy to its fullest.

The shout shook the very air. The ground trembled. The mountain cracked. The sky itself seemed to darken as the Golden Dominion exploded outward in a radiant, suffocating field that rushed to cover the entire battlefield.

A massive, blinding shockwave of radiant golden-silver energy exploded outward from his body in a seamless, expanding circle.

It wasn’t the subtle and hidden like he had used before; it was a tidal wave of pure, unadulterated madness that raced across the parched flats at a speed the eye couldn’t track.

Every enemy warrior on the field... Zerith, Marauder, and Zharun alike... suddenly staggered.

Their movements became sluggish, their nervous systems lagging, their perception distorting as if the world had turned to thick mud.

The Layer 4 powerhouses felt it the hardest, their superior strength fighting against the suppression but still slowed significantly.

The lower layers were almost paralyzed, their bodies refusing to obey their commands.

Finally, after what felt like nothing more than a single heartbeat of absolute dominance, the low-level enemies broke.

The countless Layer 1 fodder, making up the bulk of the Coalition horde and the Zharun army... simply could not endure it.

One by one at first, then by the dozens, then by the hundreds, they began to drop.

Their fragile and underdeveloped spiritual pathways shattered under the crushing pressure of Sol’s radiant aura.

Hearts that had been pounding with battle-lust suddenly seized and ruptured inside their chests with wet, sickening pops.

Blood vessels burst like overfilled wineskins.

Eyes rolled back into skulls, whites showing as veins exploded across them in crimson webs. Frothy pink foam bubbled violently from gaping mouths, mixing with guttural death rattles and choked screams that died before they could fully form.

Bodies convulsed violently as their nervous systems overloaded, limbs jerking in grotesque, marionette-like spasms.

Some warriors clawed desperately at their own throats or chests, nails ripping skin and drawing blood as if trying to tear the invisible force out of their bodies.

Others simply collapsed without struggle, knees buckling, faces slamming into the mud as their spines arched unnaturally one final time before going limp.

Hundreds fell in mere seconds.

Where proud warriors had stood moments ago, the battlefield transformed into a nightmare of slaughter.

The ground, once dry and trampled, became a slick, churning river of blood and viscera. Bodies piled up in grotesque mounds, limbs twisted at impossible angles, chests caved inward from internal explosions.

Some corpses did not even survive intact... the weakest among them literally burst apart under the pressure, exploding into gruesome red and green mists and scattered gore that painted the armor of those still standing.

The air thickened with the metallic stench of blood, the sharp tang of ruptured bowels, and the acrid smell of voided bladders as death claimed them en masse.

Almost instantly, a dense, ethereal fog of stolen souls began to rise from the carnage.

Translucent wisps of energy spiraled upward from every fallen body, twisting and writhing like smoke caught in a whirlwind. Thousands of souls... each one a flickering spark of life... converged toward Sol’s chest in a roaring vortex that was only visible to him.