FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 217: Chief’s Arrival

Chapter 217: Chapter 217: Chief’s Arrival

Before the Chief could examine the stones, Thorne stepped forward, his hook-nose casting a sharp shadow over his face.

“With all due respect to our ’guest,’ I think this is nothing but a frightened boy making up nonsense,” Thorne spat, his voice laced with venomous condescension that echoed loudly in the ravine. “There is no physical way something could be wrong with the Blood-Jades. They are impenetrable. I think the truth is much simpler, and much more pathetic.”

Thorne turned to address the crowd, gesturing dramatically at Sol. “He approached the altar. He felt the terrifying, crushing weight of the Apex beasts inside. He realized that he simply doesn’t have the willpower or the capacity to subjugate a Lord-Beast, but his massive pride wouldn’t let him admit defeat in front of the tribe. So, he fabricated this ridiculous story of ’corruption’ to save face in front of others!”

A tense ripple spread instantly through the Grove.

To the highly pragmatic, martial minds of the Veynar warriors, Thorne’s logic seemed far more plausible. It was incredibly common for warriors to overestimate themselves and back down in fear. It was infinitely easier to believe a mysterious young man was a coward trying to protect his ego than to believe their most sacred, impenetrable ancestral heritage had somehow magically rotted from the inside out without anyone noticing.

Two Elders, long-time political allies standing faithfully by Thorne’s side, immediately chimed in to support the narrative.

“Elder Thorne speaks reason,” the first Elder sneered, glaring at Sol with open disdain. “It seems highly probable. The boy is just overwhelmed by the true power of the Veynar.”

“I didn’t think this ’Divine One’ could be such a cowardly, deceitful person,” the second Elder added, shaking his head with exaggerated disappointment. “Making up tall tales to avoid hardship and save his fragile ego. Tch, tch. What a waste of a brilliant core. Ruined by the weak spirit of a liar.”

Through the barrage of insults, Sol didn’t say a single word in his own defense. He didn’t yell, he didn’t argue, and he didn’t draw his weapon. He simply stood there, his arms casually crossed over his broad chest, a cold, intensely knowing sneer playing on his lips as he looked past Thorne, directly at Chief Veylara.

Because since she had arrived at the altar, Veylara hadn’t looked at him, and she hadn’t looked at Thorne. Her eyes had been fixed intensely on the Blood-Jades. It seemed she, too, had sensed something foul in the air.

Sol remained utterly silent, letting his silence project confidence, but Kira couldn’t hold back her fury.

“Sol isn’t that type of person!” she retorted .”He pulverized the Sun-Stone! He doesn’t need to lie about capacity. If he says there is something wrong with the stones, there is something wrong!”

“What should a naive, lovestruck child like you know of the deep spiritual arts?” the first Elder snapped back dismissively, waving a hand at her.

Kira looked outraged, wanting to speak further, but someone was faster than her.

“Can’t you old fools shut your mouths for a few damn moments?” Elder Harkan suddenly roared, stepping forward, his massive, scarred frame dwarfing the other elders, his voice booming like thunder. “Can’t you see the Chief hasn’t spoken yet? Hold your venomous tongues and let’s wait to see what she has to say.”

Thorne flinched internally at the rebuke, but his dark heart was racing with triumph.

Let them look, he thought, his pulse drumming. Examine them all you want, Veylara. It is the Zharun special poison. A highly classified liquid shadow designed specifically to bypass physical wards and target beast souls, rotting their minds, ensuring that the moment a warrior anchors them, the beast will tear the host’s sanity to shreds, making them feral. Confident in the undetectable nature of the Zharun, Thorne regained his calm, composed expression. He nonchalantly raised a hand in a magnanimous gesture of peace.

“Of course, Harkan. My apologies for my passion,” Thorne said smoothly, “We should all wait for the Chief’s absolute wisdom. Let her prove the boy wrong.”

On the other side of the altar, Chief Veylara ignored the bickering. She kept her intense gaze locked on the Blood-Jades. Initially, just standing there, she hadn’t felt anything unusual. But out of an abundance of precaution, and a growing trust in the strange young man who had saved her daughter, she pushed her own essence outward, blanketing the three crimson stones.

The moment her aura touched the jade, a violent, involuntary shudder ran down her spine. As a layer 4 warrior her senses were extremely sharp.

The feeling was completely, horrifyingly wrong. It didn’t feel like the proud, suppressed rage of a Lord-Beast. It felt like dragging her bare hand through a pile of rotting, maggot-infested meat. It was a sensation of pure, spiritual decay.

Veylara’s eyes widened in sheer horror. She stepped back, her boots scraping against the stone.

And without a word of warning, she immediately manifested her phantom.

This was the first time Sol had seen the fully manifested phantom of the Chief. In the High Hall, she had only partially manifested its aura to exert pressure. But this? This was the real deal. And he had to admit, it was genuinely, terrifyingly majestic.

The air pressure in the Grove plummeted instantly, making ears pop. The silver fog was violently blown away. Ozone crackled violently in the air, raising the hairs on Sol’s arms.

A beast materialized above Veylara, casting a massive shadow over the altar, perfectly suiting the Warchief of the Veynar. As Sol took a closer look, he realized it wasn’t just a standard, oversized white tiger. It was something far more ancient.

Its frame was towering, significantly larger than any normal tiger, its massive shoulders sitting as high as a war-beast’s back. Its hide was as pale as bleached bone, streaked not with stripes, but with jagged, glowing golden scars that looked like lightning strikes burned directly into its fur.

Its fangs didn’t look feline at all; they curved long, uneven, and brutal, resembling the tusks of a mammoth more than teeth, and thick, electrified essence mist dripped constantly from their razor-sharp tips, sizzling as it hit the moss.

But it was the eyes that truly made everyone feel deep fear. They were not the eyes of an animal. They were deep, swirling pits of a blue lightning storm, devoid of pupils or irises. Its mane was ragged and wild, bristling like dark storm clouds, and its massive paws ended in black, obsidian stone shards that literally gouged deep trenches into the earth beneath it just by existing.

Unlike the phantom Sol had seen Korg use in his final, desprate moments, or the golden lion-beast from the battlefield, this creature was infinitely more ferocious. It felt tangible. It felt real.

The moment the Storm-Tiger fully appeared, it didn’t look at the crowd. It immediately snapped its massive head downward, locking its storm-cloud eyes onto the basket of Blood-Jades.

And with a fury that physically shook the silver leaves from the ancient trees, the majestic beast bared its dripping, electrified tusks, reared its head back, and unleashed a deafening, earth-shattering roar of pure, unadulterated hatred at the corrupted stones.