FREE USE in Primitive World

"We know the drill, Sol," Thauren said, his jaw tightening with a fierce, absolute focus. The massive Lion Commander raised his heavy blade in a sharp salute, the golden scales on his shoulders gleaming under the harsh sunlight.

"We’ll be sitting in the rocks like sleeping lizards. Not a single breath will leave our lines until you open the gate."

Sol gave a single, firm nod.

"Then move into the stone," he commanded flatly, his voice carrying the quiet weight of absolute authority.

Veylara and Thauren didn’t waste another second.

The two powerhouses immediately split from the center of the formation, each waving their respective elite squads toward the low crevices and hidden ledges at the base of the towering cliffs.

The battle-hardened Veynar veterans moved swiftly like ghosts.

Their bodies glided up the narrow slate trails with practiced, high-speed agility... years of jungle warfare making every step silent and precise.

High Shaman Zephyra’s mystic camouflage took effect almost instantly. Layers of spiritual illusion and light-bending wards wrapped around the hidden warriors, making them blend seamlessly into the rocky terrain.

Within moments, the towering mountains looked completely bare and lifeless under the blazing sun, as if no living soul had ever set foot there.

Sol stood motionless on the boulder, watching them vanish one by one. Not even his sharp senses could pick them out anymore. Perfect.

He turned his gaze back to the three hundred green-painted recruits huddled in the white limestone gravel below. These were the young ones... many still in their late teens, faces tight with a mixture of fear, excitement, and determination.

Their hands gripped spears and shields a little too tightly. Some were visibly trembling, though they tried to hide it.

Sol hopped down from the boulder, landing with a dull thud in the loose stones.

"Cross the pass," he ordered, his voice steady and clear. "We are going to take our positions on the other side of the mountain barrier."

The young warriors nodded without hesitation, though many swallowed nervously. They knew the plan. They were the bait. The visible, seemingly weak force meant to lure the massive Coalition army into the narrow pass where the real slaughter would begin.

As the column started moving again, one of the younger recruits... a boy no older than seventeen with an old scar across his cheek... whispered to the warrior beside him, voice shaking slightly.

"Do you think... we’ll actually make it back?"

The older youth beside him forced a grin, though his eyes said otherwise.

"Lord Sol is leading us. If anyone can bring us through this alive, it’s him."

Sol walked at the very front, his black Rockhorn armor cutting a dark, imposing figure against the pale stone. He could feel the weight of every young life behind him. These weren’t hardened veterans. They were the future of the Veynar tribe. And today, he was using them as the most dangerous lure in the entire plan.

But there was no hesitation in his steps.

This was the only way.

The narrow mountain pass loomed ahead... a natural choke point carved between two sheer cliffs. As the three hundred green recruits followed Sol through the tight corridor, the temperature dropped slightly, and the sound of their footsteps echoed off the stone walls.

The moment their boots cleared the stone gate, the world seemed to have changed completely.

It was as if they had stepped through an invisible wall separating life from death.

The majestic mountain range acted as a true, brutal ecological barrier... a natural divide that split the two lands with merciless finality.

Behind them, on the Veynar side, lay the lush, emerald paradise they had just left: rolling waves of vibrant green grass, massive herds of six-horned giants grazing peacefully, and the constant rustle of life under a golden sky.

But on this side...

The ground was entirely dead.

It was a vast, parched wasteland of cracked clay and exposed shale that stretched endlessly toward the horizon.

The ground was a desolate mosaic of white limestone dust and jagged grey rock, so dry that every footstep kicked up fine clouds of powder that lingered in the air like smoke.

Even the wind here carried a harsh, acrid bite... heavy with the smell of sulfur, decaying bone, and long-forgotten rot.

Deep, jagged fissures ran across the lifeless soil like open wounds that had never healed, some wide enough for a man to fall into.

The only things breaking the flat, monotonous horizon were the bleached skeletons of beasts that seemed to have dried out centuries ago.

Massive rib cages of beasts jutted upward like the remains of fallen gods.

Scattered across the wasteland were the sun-bleached skulls of six-horned grass-eaters, their hollow eye sockets staring blankly at the burning sky.

Even the occasional twisted, petrified tree stood like a blackened corpse, branches reaching desperately toward a sky that had long abandoned them.

There was no birdsong. No rustle of small animals in the grass. No distant bellows of grazing herds.

Only silence.

A heavy, oppressive silence that made the young recruits shift uncomfortably in their boots.

One of the younger warriors swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper.

"...It feels like the land itself died here."

Another recruit, gripping his spear until his knuckles turned white, muttered, "If we lose the grasslands... is this what our side will look like too?"

Sol stood at the front, his black Rockhorn armor shining stark against the pale, lifeless terrain.

He swept his eyes across the barren expanse, taking in every detail without a word. The contrast was very jarring. Just minutes ago they had been walking through a paradise of life. Now they stood in a graveyard of what that life could become without water and protection.

He understood the stakes even more clearly now.

This wasteland wasn’t just barren land... it was a warning. A glimpse of what would happen if the Veynar lost control of the fertile plains.

The Zerith and Gray Marauders weren’t just greedy for territory.

They were desperate for the lifeblood that sustained their own people.

And they were willing to burn everything to get it.