FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 361: Chapter 361: Hot High Shaman Zeyphyra

“You are reckless, Sol. You really fight like a madman who doesn’t care about his life. But you held the line when it mattered most.” She looked him dead in the eye, the gratitude completely genuine. “You saved my daughter. You saved my tribe. You have my thanks. The Veynar owe you a debt that cannot be paid with just meat and shelter.”

“You guys gave me a place to stay and a method to awaken my core,” Sol replied, brushing it off smoothly. “You helped me a lot. This was just what I had to do. Call us even.”

Veylara let out a short, rough laugh. “Modesty doesn’t suit you, boy. But fine. We are even.”

“So, what’s the situation now?” Sol asked, looking out at the tree line. “I blacked out right after the Beetle dropped. What happened?”

“The immediate threat is gone,” Veylara explained, her tone turning strictly business. ” Once you killed the Beetle and I broke the necks of the remaining Sovereigns, the force driving the horde shattered. The lesser beasts routed and scattered back into the deep rot. We have scouting parties out tracking them, but they are terrified. They won’t organize another tide for years.”

Sol nodded, processing the tactical layout. “Any signs of the Zerith or the Zharun trying to capitalize on our weakness?”

“None,” Veylara said grimly. “Our scouts report that their territories were almost okay, as the main direction of best tide was in our direction. But of course, they couldn’t escape completely, the whole jungle was in chaos, and they were also hit by smaller, beast tides. Which means we have a brief window of peace to recover.”

Sol nodded, absorbing the intel. The immediate pressure was off. They had time to breathe.

“Good,” Sol muttered. He thought back to the most terrifying part of the siege. “There’s something else,” Sol said, shifting the topic. “Speaking of recovery… what about High Shaman Zephyra? Right before the final wave, she had unleashed that massive storm. I saw her pull a tornado out of thin air and kill a dozen Layer 3 beasts. I’ve never seen anything like that. How the hell does that work?”

Veylara raised an eyebrow. “You want to learn Shamanic arts?”

“I want to know how a frail woman wipes out an army without swinging a sword,” Sol corrected.

“It is a completely different path from the Vanguard,” Veylara said, crossing her arms. “We draw essence into our cores to enhance our physical vessels and our spirits. The Shamans use their cores, though they don’t like to call it a core, to resonate with the ambient essence of the Great Orrath itself.

They borrow the power of the world, rather than hoarding it inside themselves. Normally they use that to do various daily stuff, but more than that, they obtain blessings from a mysterious place only the shamans know, but of course, spells like that are very rare and for spells like that the cost is… severe.”

“Is she okay? She looked like she was in a pretty bad situation on that tower,” Sol noted.

“She burned years of her lifespan to cast that storm,” Veylara said grimly. “But she survived. If you want to know how it all works, you should go ask her yourself. She knows better than I do.”

“She’s awake?”

“She is recovering in the Shamanic Grove,” Veylara said, gesturing toward the northern side of the inner settlement. “You should pay her a visit. She was the one who personally oversaw your healing these past few days.”

Sol nodded. “I’ll go check on her.”

He left the Warchief to her rebuilding efforts and navigated his way through the winding wooden paths toward the deepest, most secluded part of the inner ring.

The Shamanic Grove was cut off from the rest of the loud, chaotic settlement. It was a dense, enclosed garden surrounded by high walls of woven petrified vines. Pushing through the heavy, hanging vines at the entrance, Sol stepped into a completely different world. The noise of the hammers and saws completely vanished, swallowed by the thick, humid air.

It wasn’t just a simple courtyard. It was a sprawling, mystical sanctuary hidden inside the Great Heartwood.

The air here was incredibly thick, smelling strongly of ozone, burning incense, and crushed herbs. The ground wasn’t muddy, it was covered in soft, glowing blue moss.

Ancient, massive petrified trees formed a natural canopy overhead, blocking out the harsh sun and casting the whole area in a cool, shadowy twilight. Tucked between the massive roots and glowing flora were various beautiful, intricately carved wooden buildings, their walls decorated with hanging bone chimes and glowing spirit-runes.

Unlike last time, no one came to guide him in, he also understood the reason, it must be because all the shamans had been busy tending to the injured.

Sol walked deeper into the grove, passing a few lower-level acolytes who quickly bowed their heads and got out of his way.

After asking around, he headed straight for the largest, most elaborate structure right at the very back of the sanctuary…. the High Shaman’s personal residence.

“High Shaman?” Sol called out, keeping his voice low in the quiet grove.

No answer.

He knocked once, but no one answered. Seeing it he was a bit worried and pushed the door in, as he navigated, he noticed the sudden spike in temperature, he followed the heat and found himself standing in front of a room deep inside. But what made him stop dead in his tracks wasn’t the temperature.

It was the woman sitting in the center of the floor.

This was High Shaman Zephyra. A mature, mysterious beauty in her absolute physical prime.

She was sitting cross-legged on a large woven mat, surrounded by a ring of floating, glowing cyan runes. She was doing some kind of deep, rhythmic breathing ritual.

She wasn’t wearing her usual robes. In fact, she was wearing nothing but a few thin, white linen strips wrapped tightly around her chest and hips. The fabric was completely soaked through, clinging to every single curve like a second skin, turning almost transparent in the heat.