FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 219: I Gotta Go!
Chapter 219: Chapter 219: I Gotta Go!
“Where does that path lead?” Sol asked.
His long, steady finger was aimed straight past the monolithic altar, past the glowing runic boundaries of the Shamanic Grove, directly into the churning, impenetrable wall of dark fog that marked the edge of the known tribal territory.
Kira flinched violently. The sound of her bone-armor rattling in the quiet clearing was stark.
She followed his gaze into the swirling darkness, and her stormy grey eyes widened in absolute, unadulterated horror. Seemingly realizing his insane intentions, Kira hurriedly stepped directly into his line of sight, planting her hands on his chest to physically block his view, lest the “Divine One” get a crazy idea that would get him slaughtered before the sun rose.
“Don’t,” Kira breathed, her voice a frantic, desperate whisper. “Don’t even think about going there, Sol. That is the true deep woods. The Great Orrath.”
She swallowed hard, looking over her shoulder at the fog as if it might reach out and grab her. “That’s the domain of the Savage Beasts. No one… no one… goes there for their First Awakening. The spirits in that darkness are completely untamed. They aren’t just feral, they are ancient. They are Sovereigns of their own domains, ruling over hundreds of lesser beasts. To enter that fog with an empty, unanchored core is to invite instant Feralization. The ambient essence alone is so thick and violent it will make you go crazy before a beast even finds you.”
Sol looked down at her terrified face. He slowly lowered his pointing hand. He met her panicked gaze and gave a slow, serious nod of comprehension.
Seeing this, Kira’s rigid shoulders finally slumped. She let out a long, shaky sigh of profound relief, dropping her hands from his chest. She stepped back, genuinely believing she had managed to convince him of the sheer, suicidal lunacy of the idea.
But behind Sol’s calm, serious expression, his mind was operating on a completely different frequency.
A high-level zone, Sol’s internal monologue deduced instantly. Uncapped spawns. High-tier bosses. No safety nets. Mean Higher level of bloodlines.
He looked back at the fog. As Kira and Zephyra had explained, a warrior’s first soul was the foundational bedrock of their entire progression. It dictated their absolute ceiling. If he compromised now and picked a broken, half-dead spirit from a common Quartz-Stone, his massive, endless-sky core would be permanently bottlenecked by a weak chassis.
Furthermore, the ticking clock was deafening in his ears. He couldn’t just cower inside the relative safety of the Veynar tribe forever, grinding low-level boars while playing politics with old men. He had to face the true threats of this savage world eventually.
And honestly, the tribe wasn’t even safe. The Zharun Vanguard was coming. War was actively looming on the horizon. He still had to survive in this primitive, brutal place for an entire month.. or possibly the rest of his natural life, depending on how Orphos rules actually worked.
If he ventured into the Great Orrath and found a Lord beast bloodline, it would be the perfect, overpowered anchor his Golden Liquid demanded. If he failed, or if the risk proved genuinely fatal? Well, Sol reasoned pragmatically, I have thehyper-regenerative body and a frankly ridiculous speed stat. I can always just run away screaming, come back here, and settle for a depleted Star-Stone as a backup.
It was basic gamer logic. Always check the high-level dungeon first before settling for the starter gear.
Sol took a deep breath, letting the heavy, ozone-scented air fill his lungs. He rolled his broad shoulders, looking past Kira to address the entire gathered Council and the terrified initiates.
“I have decided,” Sol declared, his voice a casual, nonchalant rumble that carried effortlessly across the singing moss. “I will go into the Great Orrath to try my luck.”
Instantly, the Shamanic Grove erupted. The sheer shock of the statement hit the tribe.
“Are you insane?!” Chief Veylara snapped.
Her stoic, impenetrable Warchief composure finally, completely broke. She closed the distance between them in three massive, predatory strides, her cape of silver leaves snapping behind her. She stepped directly into his path, her imposing, armored frame blocking his way to the fog.
“That is the deep Great Orrath!” Veylara roared, her voice echoing with the authority of a woman who had bled for every inch of her territory. “You cannot simply decide to go there on a whim! Even my most skilled, battle-hardened Layer Three warrior cannot guarantee their own survival in that darkness, let alone a newly awakened youth with absolutely no combat experience and an empty core! To walk in there alone… it is not bravery, Sol. It is suicide!”
“You will die!” Zephyra pleaded, her voice cracking with terror. The beautiful woman hobbled forward as fast as her w legs could carry her, her wooden staff clicking frantically against the stones to stand beside the Chief.
Tears were literally pooling in the High Shaman’s milky eyes. “Sol, please! You saved our youths today. You saved our heritage from a massacre. Do not throw your own precious life away for a moment of youthful arrogance! The Ancestors have blessed you with a vast core; do not insult them by shattering it in the jaws of a beast!”
Sol looked at the two most powerful women in the tribe, recognizing the genuine, desperate care in their eyes. He didn’t mock them. He gently, but firmly, placed a hand on the High Shaman’s frail shoulder and carefully moved her aside.
“I gotta go, High Shaman,” Sol said, his tone softening slightly, though his resolve remained absolute steel. He pointed dismissively back over his shoulder at the monolithic altar and the ruined basket of crimson stones. “And those… those are already ruined. A poisoned well. I need a clean source, and I need a strong one. I have to go out there and try my luck.”
He took another step toward the boundary of the fog.
Before Veylara could physically draw her blade to restrain him… which she looked entirely ready to do… a smooth, oily voice cut through the damp air.
“Wait, Chief.”
Elder Thorne stepped forward. His dark cloak swirled around his ankles, and his dark eyes were gleaming with a sudden, intense, barely concealed malice.
“Perhaps,” Thorne purred, his hook-nose casting a sharp shadow over his thin smile, “we are being far too cautious.”
Kira whipped her head around, her stormy grey eyes blazing with pure, unrestrained hatred.
“He will die, Elder Thorne!” Kira screamed, abandoning all tribal decorum and respect for his rank. “You know exactly how dangerous the deep forest is! You sent three scouting parties there last winter, and they came back as pieces of meat in a sack!”
“Do I?” Thorne asked smoothly, completely ignoring Kira’s anger. He opened his hands wide, palms up, in a theatrical gesture of absolute innocence. He turned his gaze to the Chief, and then, slowly, to Sol.
“He is the Divine One, is he not?” Thorne asked, his voice dripping with weaponized reverence. “He materialized from thin air, delivered by the light. He pulverized the sacred Sun-Stone with his bare, unanchored hands. Just moments ago, he saw through a catastrophic poison that our own revered High Shaman and our mighty Warchief could not detect.”
Thorne took a slow step closer, looking directly into Sol’s crimson eyes. A poisonous, triumphant smile played on the Elder’s lips. “If the Goddess truly walks with him… if he is as vast and powerful as his core suggests… who are we, mere mortals of the dirt, to deny him his destiny? Let him enter the Orrath. Let him try.”
Sol stared back at Thorne. His face was an unreadable mask of calm indifference.
But internally? Sol’s inner monologue was laughing so hard he could barely breathe.
Beautiful, Sol thought, mentally applauding the sheer, unadulterated audacity of the man. Absolutely beautiful. He knows he can’t assassinate me openly now that I’ve saved the youths and earned the Chief’s favor. So, what does he do? He uses my own ’Divine’ status to push me into a meat grinder. He wants the Sovereign beasts of the forest to do his dirty work for him. It is a textbook, flawless villain maneuver.
Sol knew exactly how to play this game. You don’t argue with the villain’s trap, you confidently step right onto the trapdoor and smile at them.
“Elder Thorne makes an excellent point,” Sol said loudly, his deep voice startling everyone in the Grove, especially Thorne.
