FREE USE in Primitive World - Chapter 404: Leave The Real Fighting To Men

She pressed both hands over her burning face.

“I… hate you,” she mumbled through her fingers, voice muffled but still sharp.

Sol crouched beside her, forearms resting on his knees. “You lasted longer than I expected. Your footwork is genuinely excellent. But technique only matters if your opponent can’t just pick you up and throw you like a kitten.”

Zeyra peeked through her fingers, glaring daggers at him. “Next time I’m bringing a knife.”

Sol chuckled softly and offered her a hand up. “Next time you’ll still be Layer 1. Now get up. It’s dirty down here.”

Despite the humiliation still painting her face red, Zeyra grabbed his hand and let him pull her to her feet. She brushed the dirt off her tunic with sharp, angry swipes, muttering under her breath the whole time.

Up on the fence, a chorus of loud, booming laughter erupted.

Several veteran warriors, massive men scarred from years in the jungle, were practically crying with laughter at the sight of the pampered, ambitious genius getting effortlessly manhandled like a disobedient child.

“Looks like the little snake tried to swallow a boulder!” one burly captain mocked loudly, leaning over the fence.

“Should stick to your herbs and pretty poisons, girl!” another roared, pounding the rail. “Leave the real fighting to men!”

Zeyra, still brushing dirt off her tunic, shot them a venomous glare, her cheeks burning even hotter.

Sol slowly turned his head. His silver-crimson eyes locked onto the jeering warriors up on the fence. He raised a single eyebrow, an arrogant, dangerous smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth.

“If you think it’s so funny,” Sol called out, his voice carrying easily over the dirt pit. “Why don’t you come down here? Let’s see if your bodies are as tough as your mouths.”

The laughter died instantly, as if someone had slammed a door.

The burly captain who had spoken first… a massive Layer 2 veteran built like a brick house, sporting a thick beard and scars across his face… scowled.

At first he wanted to back down, but seeing Sol looking at him in particular, he knew that he couldn’t back down, so he vaulted over the fence with a grunt, landing with a heavy thud that sent a small cloud of dust exploding outward.

“Careful now, outsider,” the brute growled, cracking his massive knuckles. Earth-aspected spirit energy rumbled around him like distant boulders grinding together. “I’m not some nimble little girl. I hit back. Hard.”

The brute charged like an enraged rhino, winding up a massive, wild, looping swing aimed straight at Sol’s jaw. The punch carried raw, crushing power that could shatter stone.

Sol didn’t even shift his stance. He simply raised his hand, catching the massive fist in his palm.

The brute’s eyes widened as his forward momentum hit a completely immovable wall. Before the brute could react, Sol twisted his wrist, stepped smoothly into the man’s guard, grabbed his thick leather belt, and casually hip-tossed the three-hundred-pound warrior straight through the air.

CRASH.

He slammed violently into the heavy wooden fencing on the far side of the pit. Beams splintered and cracked on impact. The captain slid down the broken fence in a groaning, unconscious heap, a cloud of dust settling over his limp body.

The entire training yard gasped.

Sol straightened up, rolling his neck once with a faint crack. His expression hadn’t changed at all.

“Next,” he shouted, voice ringing with clear authority.

The veterans exchanged uneasy glances. Then immediately, a second warrior…a lean, sharp-eyed Layer 2 scout known for his blinding speed… leaped down into the pit without a word.

He didn’t speak big unlike his predecessor. He just blurred into motion, using a wind-aspected power to dart completely behind Sol’s back, aiming a devastating chop at Sol’s neck.

Sol didn’t even turn around. He just ducked his head a fraction of an inch, letting the chop whistle over his hair, and snapped his elbow backward.

Thwack. The point of Sol’s elbow connected perfectly with the scout’s solar plexus. The man folded in half like a cheap chair,all the air exploding out of his lungs in a choked wheeze. His eyes rolled back as he collapsed face-first into the dirt, twitching once before going still.

A heavy silence fell over the training ground.

Sol glanced across the fence at the remaining veterans, his smirk deepening with clear provocation.

“What? Where’d all that fire go? I didn’t even move properly yet.”

His mocking words struck a nerve. One of the warriors still on the fence gripped the railing so tightly the wood creaked, his face twisted with rage as he prepared to leap down.

Before the man could jump, Sol let out a loud, exaggerated yawn. He stretched his arms high overhead, casually popping his shoulders as if he had just woken up from a nap.

“Listen,” he called out, his voice carrying across the entire training ground as he looked at the ring of furious, humiliated veterans. “I’m starting to get bored. This one-by-one nonsense is a waste of everyone’s time.”

He dropped his arms and gestured broadly toward the crowd with an open palm, as if inviting them to a casual feast.

“Everyone who wants a piece of me… come down together. Right now.”

The training yard erupted in angry shouts and curses. These were proud Veynar Vanguard warriors… men who had survived years of brutal jungle warfare. Even though many had already witnessed Sol’s monstrous strength, his sheer arrogance was too much for their pride to swallow.

Within seconds, eight heavily armed men vaulted the fence and dropped into the dirt pit. They were a mix of hardened Layer 1 veterans and three Layer 2 captains. They surrounded Sol in a tight circle, their faces twisted with fury, dropping into their respective combat stances.

Kira and Zeyra quickly scrambled out of the ring, not wanting to get trampled by the incoming brawl. Zeyra’s eyes were wide with a mixture of excitement and worry.

“Teach the outsider some manners!” someone yelled from the crowd.

The eight men rushed him simultaneously.