FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 213: First Soul Ceremony

Chapter 213: Chapter 213: First Soul Ceremony

The heavy silence of the Shamanic Grove was finally broken by the shuffling of feet against the singing moss.

A skinny boy with prominent cheekbones and nervous, darting eyes swallowed hard and stepped forward. Sol recognized the look instantly… it was the face of a background character desperately hoping to survive the inciting incident.

“I will, High Shaman,” the boy, Korr, stammered, his voice cracking slightly in the mist.

Zephyra offered a slow, encouraging nod. “Step to the altar, Korr. Clear your mind. Breathe the dawn.”

Korr walked past the terrifying Blood-Jade and the pulsing Star-Stones, kneeling directly before the pale-reed basket, even though really wanted to try others, but he knew his worth so he didn’t humiliate himself and knelt directly in front of the reed basket. His hands were shaking as he reached in and pulled out a cloudy, grey Quartz-Stone. It was the size of a plum.

Analysis, Sol commanded his mind, leaning forward slightly.

His mutated Crimson-Sight flared. To Sol’s altered vision, the physical world faded, replaced by the vivid, thermal signatures of souls and essence. As Korr pressed the cold Quartz-Stone against his bare chest, the boy’s solar plexus illuminated with a faint, flickering orange glow.

A low-grade Coal core, Sol categorized instantly. Small capacity. The walls of his soul look thin. Let’s see how much pressure it can take.

Korr gritted his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut. “Submit,” the boy whispered, channeling his meager willpower into the stone.

The Quartz flared. With a silent, violent tearing sensation that vibrated the air, a spectral, translucent projection of a massive, tusked Mud-Boar erupted from the rock. The beast towered over the kneeling boy, letting out a phantom squeal of pure rage, thrashing wildly as an invisible tether tried to pull it downward into Korr’s chest.

It was a brutal, ugly battle of attrition. Korr ’s face turned a deep, bruised purple, the veins bulging on his forehead and neck like thick cords. He was sweating profusely, his physical body straining to anchor the spiritual mass. Sol could literally see the boy’s internal core straining, the internal walls of his soul expanding uncomfortably, stretching like a balloon filled with too much water.

For ten agonizing seconds, the boar dug its spectral hooves into the air, refusing to sink. Korr let out a strangled cry, his knees buckling.

He’s hitting his limit, Sol noted, his eyes narrowing. The beast was beaten near death by hunters, locked in a stone to break its ego, and it’s still almost too heavy for him. The bottleneck isn’t just internal capacity; it’s the mental friction.

But Korr possessed the stubborn survival instinct of the weak. With a final, desperate gasp, he pulled. The beast’s battered will finally gave out, and his last ditch efforts failed. The phantom collapsed into a stream of dull grey light and was violently sucked into Korr ’s solar plexus.

The boy collapsed onto his hands and knees, panting violently, coughing up a small string of saliva, but a triumphant, exhausted grin stretched across his face.

“An Essence-Born Mud-Boar,” Zephyra nodded approvingly, her voice ringing over the heavy breathing. “Thick skin. Relentless charge. A solid anchor for a long life. Well done, Korr. Next.”

Sol mentally cataloged the data. Establishing a baseline.

Next up was a boy named Varn… tall, heavily muscled, and radiating the kind of arrogant entitlement that usually got characters killed in the second act. Varn sneered at Korr as the skinny boy crawled back to the circle, deliberately wiping his boots on the moss where Korr had knelt.

“I am the son of a Warrior,” Varn declared loudly, his chest puffed out, making sure Sol was watching him. “I do not settle for prey. And I do not settle for mere predators. I will anchor a Lord Beast. Just wait and see.”

He walked straight past the pale-reed basket of Quartz. He didn’t even glance at the dark roots holding the Star-Stones. Instead, with a swagger born of absolute, blind confidence, he marched directly to the smallest basket wrapped in crimson-stained vines.

He reached in and grabbed a Blood-Jade.

Varn stood before the altar, holding the smooth, freezing-cold crimson stone against his muscular chest. He closed his eyes, struck a dramatic, dominant stance, and channeled his aura, fully expecting the heavens to shake and a Lord-Beast to manifest in a storm of glory.

He gritted his teeth. “Submit!” he commanded loudly.

One second passed. Then two. Then three.

Absolute, deafening silence hung over the Shamanic Grove. The singing moss continued its low hum. The fog drifted lazily. The Blood-Jade in Varn’s hand remained completely, utterly inert. It didn’t glow. It didn’t pulse. It completely ignored him, as if he were nothing more than a passing breeze trying to move a mountain.

Varn’s confident expression faltered. He squeezed his eyes shut tighter, his face scrunching in exertion. He pushed his aura harder, his muscles trembling.

Pfft.

Someone in the semi-circle… it sounded suspiciously like a beauty… couldn’t hold back a muffled snort of laughter.

Varn’s eyes snapped open, his entire face flushing a violent, embarrassed red. He gripped the Blood-Jade so hard his knuckles turned white, furiously trying to force a reaction from the mythic stone, desperate to salvage his pride.

“Put it back, Varn,” Zephyra’s voice cut through his desperate straining, calm but laced with heavy authority.

Varn whipped his head around, his chest heaving. “High Shaman, I just need a moment to—”

“I said, put it back,” Zephyra interrupted, her milky eyes narrowing into a stern, icy glare that tolerated zero insubordination. “The vessel does not even acknowledge your presence. It rejects your spiritual weight entirely. You are not destined for a Lord-Beast. Do not test the patience of the Ancestors. Step down to the Star-Stones.”

Humiliation warred with rage on Varn’s face. He opened his mouth to argue, but the sheer, crushing weight of Zephyra’s stare made his throat click shut. Humiliated, he meekly lowered his head, placed the Blood-Jade back into its thorny basket, and trudged over to the dark roots.

Furious and desperate to prove he wasn’t a joke, he violently snatched a speckled Star-Stone.

And this time, he succeeded. Instantly, the Grove echoed with a visceral, phantom roar that made the blue-glowing crystals in the trees flicker. A massive, four-armed Blood-Ape materialized above Varn. Unlike the boar, this spirit wasn’t fully broken. It was an Omen-Blood. It was furious, its spectral form practically dripping with the promise of violence.

Varn’s chest ignited with a bright, blazing red light.

A mid-tier Ember core, Sol observed, analyzing the glow with his Crimson-Sight. A decent talent. Much larger capacity than Korr. But with his pride wounded, he’s biting off more than he can chew.

The absorption was the spiritual equivalent of a car crash. The Blood-Ape phantom didn’t just resist; it fought back. It plunged its massive spectral claws directly into Varn’s glowing chest, trying to rip the boy’s core out of his body.

Varn screamed… a horrifying, wet sound of genuine agony. Blood immediately began to leak from his nose and the corners of his eyes, trailing down his war-painted cheeks.

Zephyra raised her wooden staff, her eyes narrowing sharply again. The younger priestesses behind her tensed, preparing to intervene and shatter the stone to save the boy’s life.

He’s fracturing, Sol analyzed coldly, tracking the microscopic, jagged cracks appearing in the glowing walls of Varn’s internal core. The Ape is too heavy. The spiritual cost is exceeding his structural limits. If he forces this, it will permanently damage his ceiling for future growth.

But Varn was stubborn, fueled by sheer, toxic pride and the stinging humiliation of his earlier failure. He refused to look weak a second time in front of the tribe, and more importantly, in front of the so called “Divine One.” With a blood-curdling roar of his own, Varn slammed both hands over the Star-Stone, forcing his aura outward and physically crushing the Ape’s projection down into his chest.

The light snapped off.

Varn fell backward, coughing up a mouthful of dark, almost black blood onto the pristine singing moss. He was shaking uncontrollably, his hands clutching his chest as if trying to hold his ribs together, but he was alive. His aura, previously a steady red, now flickered erratically.

“An Omen-Blood Ape,” Zephyra said. Her voice was entirely devoid of praise, laced instead with a stern, cold warning. “You have anchored a violent storm, Varn. You forced the door instead of unlocking it. If your discipline falters for even a moment, that beast will hollow you out and wear your skin. Sit down and meditate immediately.”

Varn glared at Sol through bloodshot eyes, a bloody, defiant grin plastered on his pale face, trying to pretend it was a total victory before dragging himself to the edge of the circle. Sol didn’t react, maintaining his mask of divine indifference.

Congratulations, idiot, Sol thought. “You carved a spear too heavy to lift, and you shattered its shaft just to bind a larger stone head.”

The brutal reality of Varn’s struggle sent a wave of icy fear through the remaining youths. The next boy, a burly youth named Jaro, stepped up. His hands were trembling, but his eyes were wide, driven by the exact same intoxicating greed that had just mutilated Varn. He couldn’t let himself be outdone.

He hungrily looked at the blood jade and hurriedly grabbed one, but unfortunately just like before it didn’t budge, so before the high shaman could say something, he focused his attention on the dark roots holding the Star-Stones. His hand hovered over them, fingers twitching, before he grabbed one pulsing with the trapped essence of a…