FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 221: Preparations For Adventure

Chapter 221: Chapter 221: Preparations For Adventure

Sol stood in the silence, processing the horrifying description. Translucent, veined wings. Stone armor. Bone-melting venom. Faceted gem eyes. Pack-hunting essence-drainers.

He uncrossed his arms. A slow, terrifying, and completely inappropriate grin spread across his face, his crimson eyes burning with absolute, unrestrained excitement.

But a second later, the sharp instincts hammered into his newly forged cells kicked in, dumping a bucket of cold water over his rising adrenaline.

Damn, Sol thought, violently reeling in his runaway imagination. He quickly composed his features, wiping the feral grin from his face. I need to get a grip. My “seeking death” brain is taking over. Yes, a Lord-rank beast spirit is the ultimate loot drop, but my actual life is infinitely more important. Plot armor doesn’t exist in reality, and I am only a weak kid in this brutal world. If I die, there are no respawns. No checkpoints.

Still, he couldn’t completely discard the idea. Let’s keep the Dreadwing as a main focus. If I happen to see a weak, lone straggler separated from the pack, it wouldn’t hurt to try and gank it. Otherwise, I’ll just explore the other areas and try my luck looking for other Omen-blood beasts.

Seeing Sol’s expression stabilize back into calm determination, Chief Veylara turned her imposing frame toward the High Shaman.

“Someone,” Veylara commanded, her voice ringing with the absolute authority of a Warchief preparing a soldier for the front lines. “Take him to the armory. Give him all the necessary equipment. The finest hardened-bone armor we have that fits his frame. And fetch our highest-grade beast repellent powder. Give him a full pouch.”

Before anyone could even nod her head, Elder Thorne stepped forward, his face twisting into an ugly scowl.

“Impossible!” Thorne interrupted, his voice echoing sharply in the damp clearing. “Chief, that repellent powder is incredibly rare! It requires a dozen different toxic flora from the deep swamps, and takes months to refine a single batch! We need that for our border patrols against the Zharun Vanguard. There is absolutely no need to waste it on him!”

Veylara didn’t yell or argue. She simply turned her head slowly, fixing Thorne with a stare so cold and heavy it felt like the gaze of a hungry predator. The lightning-scarred Storm-Tiger might have vanished back into her core, but the sheer predatory pressure of a Layer Four warrior radiated from her eyes.

“That,” Veylara said, her voice dropping to a dangerously quiet rumble, “is my order.”

Thorne’s jaw instantly clicked shut. He swallowed hard, all his bravado vanishing as his face paled slightly under his hood, and he smartly took a half-step back, lowering his head in submission. Because no matter what Veylara was a layer 4 warrior, and normally as a warchief she is pretty tolerant.

But when she get angry, they all have to obediently bow their heads, if they don’t want their heads to roll on the ground, and yes, it is not just a hypothetical situation, she had literally done something like this when she just came to power and many were still opposing. She didn’t care about seniority or traditions and went on a killing spree.

Veylara turned her attention back to Sol. The harshness in her eyes faded slightly, replaced by the calculating gaze of a military commander.

“Take a few of my warriors with you,” the Chief offered, gesturing to the silent, heavily muscled guards standing at the perimeter of the Grove. “They are experienced pathfinders. They know the terrain, they know the warning signs of the deep woods, and they can help you manage the situation if you stumble into a dangerous beast’s territory.”

Sol looked at the hardened warriors. Having a vanguard to draw aggro while he analyzed the beasts would be tactically sound. But then he remembered the ace up his sleeve: his Domination power. The ’Free Use’ absolute command he had awakened.

It was a terrifying, deeply invasive cheat that allowed him to shatter the will of a target. He had no idea what it would look like when used on the feral beasts here, but he absolutely could not risk using it with an audience. If the tribe saw him overriding a monster’s free will without fighting it, they wouldn’t see a Divine Savior, they’d see a dark sorcerer.

“I appreciate the offer, Chief,” Sol declined politely, offering a respectful nod. “But I would like to give it a try myself. Alone. A pack of warriors will only draw more attention and scent. If I am alone, I can move faster and stay hidden.”

Veylara studied him for a long moment. To her, this sounded exactly like the stubborn eccentricity of a peerless genius. She was a genius of her own generation, she understood the deep, instinctual need to forge one’s own path without the crutch of elders holding your hand.

She let out a heavy sigh, the sound rustling the silver leaves on her cape.

“Very well,” Veylara conceded. “Do as you wish, Sol. Just… don’t die.”

“I’ll be back before you know it,” Sol replied with a bright, confident smile.

The Grove shifted instantly into preparation mode. The terrified initiates watched from the sidelines with a chaotic mix of expressions… awe, lingering jealousy from Varn, and an intense, burning curiosity from Zeyra, who tracked Sol’s every movement with her dark, predatory eyes.

The priestesses moved quickly. They brought him a set of proper tribal warrior clothes. Gone was his previous neat casual attire, replaced by dark, supple leather treated with tree sap to resist moisture. Over his chest and shoulders, they strapped plates of hardened, polished bone… the remains of some massive, unnamed beast, surprisingly light but incredibly sturdy.

Next came the weapons. They handed him a heavy, beautifully balanced spear. The shaft was made of petrified Void-Oak, dark as the night sky, and the spearhead was a jagged, foot-long piece of chipped obsidian that gleamed with a lethal sharpness.

Finally, they strapped a thick leather belt around his waist, equipping him with three short knives: one carved from dense bone, one chipped from flint, and one made of a strange, iridescent metallic ore he couldn’t identify.

They handed him a thick waterskin and a woven pouch packed tightly with dried, heavily salted Essence-Meat and a handful of glowing Star-Fruits. Lastly, Zephyra personally tied a small, tightly sealed leather sack to his belt… the rare beast repellent powder.

“Use this only when in danger, it will help you hide from the beasts. If you just want them to avoid you, just a bit of it would be enough, but if you happen to be in a dangerous situation, and need to avoid their perception, use all of it at once.” She instructed carefully.

Sol nodded with utmost respect.

Finally, She reached into a small, heavily warded pouch at her waist and held out her pale soft hand.

Resting in her palm were two smooth, freezing-cold crimson stones. Blood-Jades.

“I refined these personally,” Zephra said, her voice dropping to a low, serious murmur meant only for him. “They are completely pure, free from the rot that claimed the Ancestral Jades. Listen to me, Sol. When you find your target and fell it, do not attempt the binding in the wild.