FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 216: Chapter 216: Corrupted Blood Jades

There were indeed beast souls inside. But instead of the brightly colored, wildly thrashing spectral forms he had seen in the other stones, the souls inside the Blood-Jades were pitch black. It wasn’t just an absence of light; it was a sickening, oily void.

They weren’t just angry at being trapped… they were thrashing around madly, tearing at their own metaphysical flesh with spectral jaws, completely and utterly insane. It looked like a spiritual cancer, a black rot that had eaten away the pride and sanity of the Lord-Beasts, leaving only a rabid, infectious madness.

He thought there was something uniquely wrong with that specific stone and hurriedly shifted his focus to the next one. But again, all of them were the exact same. Pitch black, violently corrupted, and radiating a mindless, feral madness that made his stomach churn. If he had anchored one of these into his core, the oily black rot would have flooded his endless sky.

On the other side of the altar, High Shaman Zephyra had been watching him closely. Seeing the constantly changing colors flash through his eyes, the sudden halting of his hand, and the deeply darkening expression on Sol’s face, she couldn’t help but speak, breaking the tense, breathless silence of the Grove.

“Sol? Is there something wrong?”

Sol dropped his hand, his jaw clenching. He deactivated his Crimson-Sight, the colorful, foggy world rushing back into view. “I think something is very wrong with these Blood-Jades.”

“Impossible!” Zephyra snapped, speaking without a second of hesitation. “There is no way something could be wrong with these vessels. They have been with us for countless generations! Even though no one has possessed the capacity to claim them in these past few hundred years, they are our most precious ancestral heritage. They are guarded specially by an Elder at all times!”

A shocked murmur rippled through the Grove. The initiates looked at the exchange with bewildered, wide-eyed expressions. To question the integrity of the Blood-Jades was not just an insult; it was akin to spitting directly on the graves of the warriors who had died bleeding to trap those beasts.

“I understand their history,” Sol insisted, his voice low and unyielding, refusing to be cowed by her outrage. “But I am telling you, there is something definitely wrong with the souls inside these stones.”

Kira, who had been watching from the edge of the clearing, was unable to stand back any longer. Seeing the rising hostility, she stepped forward, her armor clinking softly. After greeting the High Shaman with a hasty, respectful bow, she moved directly to Sol’s side, nudging his arm.

“What happened?” Kira whispered, her stormy eyes wide with concern.

“I was just about to touch them,” Sol murmured back, keeping his eyes locked on the crimson stones. “But my instincts went crazy. I think there is some kind of deep corruption inside. You may not feel it, but my sense of danger is screaming right now. If someone anchors those, they won’t gain a phantom. They’ll just go insane.”

Kira frowned deeply, her eyes scanning the basket of seemingly pristine crimson stones. This was unprecedented. It was the first time something like this had happened in the recorded history of the Rite of Soul. She didn’t know what to do; her lifelong loyalty to the tribe and its sacred traditions was warring violently with her absolute, battle-forged trust in the man who had pulled her from the jaws of death just yesterday.

Zephyra stepped up to the altar. With trembling hands, she carefully picked up one of the Blood-Jades. She examined the intricate runic carvings, traced the smooth surface, and felt the ambient temperature. She closed her milky eyes, extending her shamanic senses, feeling the stone’s resonance… but she found absolutely nothing amiss.

If it were anyone else… Varn, Jaro, or even Kira… she would have simply dismissed them as being cowardly or alarmist, ordering them to choose a weaker stone and be done with it.

But the problem was the young man standing in front of her.

He wasn’t someone normal. He was wearing the Divine Envoy’s clothes. He had seemingly materialized from thin air in the middle of the battlefield. He had effortlessly pulverized a sacred relic with his bare hands. And most importantly, he possessed a core that completely dwarfed the legendary Sun-Core. If the Divine One said the stones were poisoned, she could not simply dismiss it.

But Zephyra also knew her own limits. Because she was a High Shaman, her path was one of spiritual communion, she was not a phantom warrior. She didn’t possess a Beast Soul herself, nor did she have the internal core to directly interface with them.

She carefully, reverently lowered the crimson stone back into the thorny basket.

“Go and bring Chief Veylara,” Zephyra ordered, turning to a young priestess standing nearby. Her voice was strained, betraying her rising panic. “Now.”

The priestess bowed deeply and hurried away, her orange robes snapping in the wind as she vanished into the silver fog toward the upper levels of the Great Heartwood.

In this situation, the only person who could definitively resolve the matter was the Warchief. Veylara was the most knowledgeable about the violent ,unpredictable ways of beast souls, and most importantly, as a Layer Four warrior… a true powerhouse of the region… she possessed a deeper, more visceral understanding of essence than anyone else alive in the tribe.

Hearing the order, Kira nudged him again, her voice tight with anxiety. “Are you sure about this, Sol?”

Sol looked down at her and nodded with absolute, unshakable confidence. Seeing the iron certainty in his crimson eyes, Kira didn’t say another word. She crossed her arms and waited patiently by his side, forming a silent, protective wall.

Below the altar, the other initiates looked even more bewildered, muttering nervously among themselves.

Meanwhile, Zeyra, standing just a few paces away, watched Kira and Sol with a glint in her dark eyes. Her hands clenched into involuntary fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms. But a moment later, she smoothed her features, perfectly controlling her expression, and slipped seamlessly back into the charming, seductive persona she wore like armor.

They didn’t have to wait long.

The heavy, rhythmic thud of armored boots announced the arrival. The majestic Warchief Veylara entered the Grove, parting the silver mist with her sheer physical presence. But she wasn’t alone. Flanking her were several senior figures of the tribe, including Elder Thorne and Elder Harkan.

The initiates immediately dropped to one knee, greeting Veylara with deep, respectful salutes. Veylara nodded curtly, her piercing gaze locked onto the altar.

Reaching the stones, she looked between the pale Zephyra and the unnervingly calm Sol. “What has happened here? The messenger said the Rite was halted.”

Kira stepped up, standing tall before her mother, and quickly reiterated the whole matter. She explained Sol’s sudden hesitation, the intense warning of his instincts, and his incredible claim that the ancestral Blood-Jades were completely corrupted from the inside out.

Hearing this, the expressions of everyone in the Warchief’s entourage shifted drastically. Shock, outrage, and deep confusion painted the scarred faces of the Elders.

But, the expression on Elder Thorne’s face was entirely different from the others. While the other elders looked genuinely horrified at the prospect of their heritage being tainted, Thorne’s eyes widened not in shock, but in alarm. And for a fraction of a second, before it was expertly masked by feigned, righteous outrage.