FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 295: Chapter 295: Sold for Survival: The Zharun Prince Demands Kira’s Hand

Do not get involved in primitive political marriages. It has nothing to do with you.

But… despite the flawless logic of his mind, Sol couldn’t help feeling a profound, visceral spike of displeasure, his gaze involuntarily turned into a glare.

It was that same cold, deep-seated territorial instinct flaring up again. Kira wasn’t just some random tribal princess to him. She was the one who had guided him through the battlefield. She was the one who had washed the acid from his back. She was a fixture of his environment.

And this rotting, oil-eyed corpse was trying to step into his claimed territory and snatch something that Sol, on a purely primal level, considered under his own metaphysical umbrella.

Before Sol could physically step out of the shadows or utter a single word, Kira herself moved.

She took a sharp, aggressive step forward, putting herself between her mother and the Zharun Prince. Her stormy feline eyes were blazing with deep undisguised fury. She didn’t cower under his rotting aura.

“Impossible!” Kira shouted, her voice ringing out like a cracked whip, silencing the chaotic shouting of the elders. “There is no way in this life or the next! Don’t even think about it, you rotting bastard!”

Hearing the absolutely disrespecting insult. The Zharun elders standing behind Gorr immediately bristled, their hands dropping to their weapons.

Prince Gorr, however, was entirely unfazed. If anything, her fierce defiance only seemed to amuse him more. He tilted his head, his oily eyes drinking in her anger.

“What? Why is that?” Gorr asked nonchalantly, casually inspecting his bone gauntlet. “Are the furs in my carriage not soft enough for the little kitty?”

Before Kira could spit another insult, an older, heavily scarred Zharun elder stepped forward from Gorr’s retinue. He was draped in rattling bone charms, his face painted with the same skull-like markings as the Envoy from the previous day.

“The Prince is right,” the Zharun elder hissed, his voice like dry leaves. “Why is that not possible? Do you guys despise our Prince Gorr? Do you despise the might of the Zharun tribe?”

He swept his cold, dead eyes across the furious Veynar elders, his tone dripping with condescending venom. “Remember your place, Veynar. It is you guys who are begging on your knees for our help, not us. We do not need your walls. We can simply turn our Grave-Hounds around right now, march back to our own territories, and let the Zerith coalition feast on your bones tomorrow.”

…

The sheer, brutal reality of the threat slammed into the High Hall like a battering ram.

The shouting instantly died in the throats of the Veynar elders. The absolute, suffocating silence returned, heavier and far more oppressive than before.

The Zharun elder was right.

They were trapped. If the Zharun left, the Veynar would be facing three Layer 4 blood king warriors completely alone. It would be a total, unmitigated massacre. So, their pride was a luxury they could no longer afford.

Warchief Veylara gripped her spear so tightly the petrified wood began to splinter under her gauntlet, her storm-colored eyes burning with a helpless, agonizing fury. She was a mother, but she was also a leader of thousands.

Seeing the total, crushing psychological defeat of his own tribe, Elder Thorne realized his golden opportunity had arrived.

He stepped out from the paralyzing silence, ignoring the disgusted, hateful glares of his fellow Veynar elders. He bowed deeply to Prince Gorr, then turned toward the elevated throne, his face twisted into a mask of false, pragmatic sorrow.

“Chief Veylara,” Thorne spoke, his voice carrying an infuriatingly reasonable tone. “Considering our dire situation… considering the absolute annihilation staring us in the face… I think… maybe we can really consider it.”

He gestured vaguely toward Kira, as if she were just another basket of essence-meat to be traded. “The survival of the thousands must outweigh the comfort of the one. A union between the Warchief’s bloodline and the Zharun Prince would solidify our alliance perfectly. It is a small price to pay for our continued existence.”

Prince Gorr finally looked down at Thorne, a genuine spark of dark appreciation flashing in his oily eyes. He reached out and patted the massive elder’s shoulder.

“Well said, old man,” Gorr chuckled, the grinding sound echoing in the hall. ’It seems even an obedient dog can be helpful sometimes.’

Kira stared at Thorne, absolute betrayal and horror washing over her beautiful features. Her own elder, a man who had sworn blood oaths to protect the tribe, was actively trying to sell her to a monster to save his own skin. She looked at her mother. Veylara’s face was a mask of stone, but the agonizing conflict in her eyes was obvious. She was trapped in an impossible, unwinnable tactical corner.

Hot and frantic panic finally broke through Kira’s strict warrior discipline. She was being cornered by her own people.

“No way!” Kira blurted out, her voice trembling slightly as she took a step backward. Her mind raced, desperately searching for any excuse, any cultural taboo or tribal law that could block the political maneuver. “I… I can’t! And… and I already have a life partner!”

She threw the bomb directly into the center of the silent room.

The effect was cataclysmic.

Everyone in the High Hall was physically shocked. The Veynar elders gasped, their eyes snapping to the Warchief’s daughter. Warchief Veylara herself blinked, her stoic facade cracking in utter bewilderment. Even High Shaman Zephyra, usually unfazed by anything, nearly dropped her blue-bone pipe.

From the shadows of his pillar, Sol’s eyebrows shot up in genuine, profound surprise. He stared at Kira, utterly bewildered by the sudden plot twist.

Kira stood frozen under the crushing weight of a hundred stares, her face burning a brilliant, undeniable beet-red. She looked absolutely terrified of what she had just said, her stormy eyes darting frantically around the room.

Prince Gorr’s sadistic smile faltered for a fraction of a second. His brow furrowed in genuine confusion, before smoothing back out into a cold, highly suspicious sneer.

“Oh?” Gorr said, his grinding voice dropping an octave, carrying a lethal edge. “It’s my first time hearing something like that. According to all my information, the Warchief’s daughter is untouched. Her bed is empty.”

He took a slow, intimidating step toward her, his rotting aura flaring. “Or maybe… you are just lying to save yourself from your duty, little kitty?”

Kira forced herself to stand her ground, though her hands were visibly shaking against her sword belt. She had dug the hole, and now she had to dive into it.

“I’m not lying!” Kira shouted, her voice echoing defensively off the walls. “I… I really have a partner! We are already bound!”

Gorr stopped. He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his bone-gauntlet, his iridescent black eyes gleaming with a dark, terrifying amusement. He knew she was cornered. He knew she was bluffing. And he was going to enjoy tearing the lie apart piece by piece in front of her entire tribe.

“Oh?” Gorr asked, a slow, mocking smile stretching across his corpse-like face. “Then tell me, little kitty. Who is it? Who is the man brave enough to claim what belongs to me?”