FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 282: Treasure Trove
Chapter 282: Chapter 282: Treasure Trove
He started with the foundations: Botany and Alchemy. He devoured scrolls detailing the complex flora of the Great Orrath. He read about the Sun-Lotus, a mythical, highly sought-after flower that bloomed only in the center of active, roaring volcanoes, capable of permanently expanding a warrior’s internal core capacity.
He meticulously memorized the visual profiles, scent markers, and side effects of over two hundred highly toxic, parasitic plants that mimicked safe foraging food… knowledge that would undoubtedly save his life the next time he ventured into the deep woods.
Next, he aggressively moved to the Bestiary. He tore through the physical descriptions, territorial habits, breeding cycles, and elemental weaknesses of the horrors that stalked the jungle. He read about the Deep Rot, a sprawling, infectious biome to the south where mutated, fungal-hybrid beasts resided.
He studied the migration patterns of the massive herd beasts, and the terrifying, isolated territories of the Layer 3 and Layer 4 apex predators.
He studied the aerial predators, the subterranean horrors that swam through dirt like water, and the colossal, walking natural disasters that occupied the Layer 4 brackets.
He learned that striking a Storm-Tiger exactly two inches behind its left ear disrupted its ability to generate lightning, and that the armored plating of a Siege-Boar was actually weakest right at the joints of its front legs.
He spent the remaining hours delving deeply into Culture, Society, and Geography. He mapped out the known territories, the trade routes, and the borders of the surrounding human settlements, noting their defensive capabilities and their historical alliances.
He even read about the Red Sky phenomenon Zephyra had mentioned earlier in the courtyard, discovering it was a cosmic tide of corrupted, dense essence that periodically swept the Great Orrath, driving lesser beasts to absolute madness and forcing even Sovereigns to frantically migrate out of their established territories.
He read about the history of the Sun Core, the different evolutionary paths of beast phantoms, and the tragic history of the Veynar tribe’s founding, and the bloody rise and fall of dozens of previous Warchiefs.
It was a veritable treasure trove of knowledge. Sol absorbed the tactical, historical, and biological data like a dry sponge dropped in the ocean.
He had walked into the vault as a powerful but dangerously ignorant foreigner. As he finished rolling up the last major scroll on territorial boundaries, stretching his neck, he felt a profound, deeply satisfying shift in his perception of reality.
He wasn’t just a blind transmigrator stumbling through the dark anymore, relying entirely on his transmigration cheats and his raw instincts. He understood the intricate, brutal rules of the Great Orrath.
He finally knew exactly what he was hunting, and more importantly, he knew what was hunting him.
He truly needed nothing more than this to conquer this world.
“Sol?”
The soft, hesitant voice broke perfectly through his intense concentration.
Sol blinked, the glowing, translated runes fading from his vision as he looked up from the obsidian table. The bioluminescent moss on the ceiling had dimmed significantly, shifting from a bright, energetic blue to a soft, sleep-inducing violet hue.
Standing in the heavy stone doorway of the vault was Kira. She had finally changed out of her heavy, warrior armor. Instead, she was wearing a simple, beautifully woven tunic of soft, pale leather that hugged her athletic curves perfectly.
Her hair was damp, as if she had just bathed, and her stormy feline eyes were incredibly soft in the dim, mystical light of the vault.
“It’s already nightfall,” Kira said, stepping lightly into the room, her footsteps completely silent. “You have been down here for hours reading in the dark. The Warchief said you needed to rest. Your body has endured far too much today to be studying ancient stones.”
Sol sat back, stretching his broad shoulders until his spine popped loudly in the quiet vault. In truth, thanks to the hyper-regenerative properties of the Golden Liquid constantly surging through his newly enhanced veins, he felt completely, boundlessly energetic.
He didn’t feel a single ounce of mental or physical fatigue, he could have easily stayed awake and read the entire right wing of the massive library until the sun came up.
But seeing Kira standing there, seeing that she had personally come down to the cold, dusty cellars just to check on him, her usual stoic, lethal Vanguard demeanor entirely replaced by a gentle, almost domestic concern, instantly melted his resistance.
“You’re right,” Sol said, offering her a warm, genuine smile as he carefully placed the final leather scroll back onto the table. “I’ve crammed enough doom, gloom, and beast anatomy into my head for one day.
And besides, the vault isn’t going anywhere. I have the Warchief’s permission now. Since I’m going to be staying here for a while, I can always come back and read more.”
He stood up, brushed the ancient dust from his trousers, and walked over to her. “Lead the way.”
They left the depths of the High Hall, climbing the spiraling wooden stairs, and stepped out into the sprawling, open expanse of the Veynar tribe.
The transformation from the tense, suffocating panic of the early morning to the current atmosphere of the night was absolute and staggering. The previous, heavy fog of helplessness and impending doom that had choked the settlement for days had been violently swept away by the news of Sol successfully anchoring a Lord Spirit.
It had been replaced by a fiercely jubilant, roaring, almost manic atmosphere of hope and celebration.
Massive, towering bonfires crackled in the communal squares, throwing dancing orange light against the massive petrified walls. The rhythmic, thumping beat of heavy hide drums echoed through the humid air, accompanied by the melodic, harmonious singing of the village women.
The rich, mouth-watering scent of roasting high-tier essence-meat filled the cool night breeze. Warriors were drinking heavily from cups of fermented sap, laughing loudly, slapping each other on the back, and slamming their cups together in premature victory.
As Sol and Kira walked side by side through the winding, bustling pathways, the reaction of the tribe was immediate and overwhelmingly reverent.
“The Divine One!” a heavily scarred hunter shouted, spotting them and raising his wooden cup high to the sky.
People immediately stopped what they were doing, bowing their heads in deep, reverent respect as he passed. Some of the bolder, younger women threw lingering, highly suggestive, and hungry glances his way, giggling behind their hands as they whispered to their friends.
Sol merely nodded in return, maintaining his calm, untouchable aura of a Lord blood host, but internally, he was incredibly satisfied. The prestige was intoxicating. He practically owned this place now. He had truly secured his safety and his status in one fell swoop.
They slowly walked away from the noisy, crowded areas of the settlement, heading toward the quieter, elevated residential district built directly into the massive, sweeping upper roots of the Great Heartwood. Kira was leading him toward the ’Feline Spire’… a designated, high-tier housing area strictly reserved for Elite warriors and Warchief lineage, where his guest quarters were located.
As they climbed the wide, sweeping wooden ramps, leaving the bonfires behind, the raucous noise of the celebration faded into a pleasant, distant background hum. The air grew noticeably cooler, crisper, and free of the heavy woodsmoke.
They walked in a comfortable, intimate silence, their shoulders occasionally brushing as the wooden path narrowed between the massive roots. The casual physical proximity sent a slight tingle through Sol.
