FREE USE in Primitive World

Sol let out a short breath, clearing the cold fog of the Zharun mystery from his mind. He saw the entire council of elders, along with Veylara and Thauren, staring at him with heavy, expectant looks.

He coughed slightly, his face recovering its usual mechanical detachment. ”I was just going over the plan one final time,” Sol lied smoothly, his rough voice casual. ”I was calculating the coalition’s possible response.?

”Hmmm.” Warchief Veylara nodded heavily, her eyes flashing with a rare intense, proud light as she stepped up to his side.

She reached out and slammed her hand against his black Rockhorn shoulder plate with a resounding THUD.

”Don’t overwork your mind before the clubs start swinging, Sol. This plan of yours is already perfect. I haven’t seen an ingenious strategy like this in my entire life. It has more twists and hidden turns than an ancient ironwood root.

Then a net within a net, using our own children to pull the enemy straight into a stone pass... it’s a beautiful piece of malice.”

”The Chieftain speaks the truth,” Thauren boomed from the side, his thick hand slapping the pommel of his blade until his gold scales clicked. ”Traditional warfare is just about standing in the dirt and trading heavy blows until one side runs out of teeth. But this... this is like building a dead-fall trap for a giant mammoth, except the mammoth is bringing four thousand clubs. It’s beautiful.”

The surrounding elders nodded their approval, their low murmurs filled with a newfound reverence for the black-armored outsider. They fully believed his sudden appearance from the sky was a sign from the ancient ancestors, a divine intervention meant to save their lineage from the starvation of the dying river.

Only Throne remained completely silent. The old traitor stood near the edge of the ironwood shadow, his arms crossed tightly over his furs. He didn’t join the praises; instead, he kept his dark, bloodshot eyes fixed on Sol’s face with a weird, unreadable look.

It was a volatile mix of deep resentment, lingering anger, and something far more dangerous... anticipation.

It was the look of a man who knew the executioner’s blade was coming but believed he had a secret stone hidden in his palm that would shatter the axe before it touched his neck.

But since every eye in the clearing was focused entirely on Sol’s massive form, no one else noticed the old man’s expression.

”Okay, now let’s go,” Veylara spoke again, her heavy bone-spear cutting a sharp line through the air as she turned toward the mountain track. ”Otherwise, the Coalition’s front vanguard is going to reach the choke point before us and ruin the whole spacing of the plan.”

Sol stepped into the lead line, his heavy boots crushing a brittle reed with a sharp snap. ”Don’t worry,” he said confidently, his voice carrying a weight that instantly silenced the whispers. ”I have already thoroughly calculated their route. Since they are forced to circumvent the deep untamed sectors of the Great Orrath to avoid provoking the ancient primal lords, their army has to follow the old, winding creekbeds.

With such a big, clumsy army, they definitely wouldn’t be able to reach the pass before us, even if they ran until their hearts burst.”

”Okay, okay, we know you have calculated everything down to the last drop of dew,” Thauren laughed roughly, his gold scales clicking as he fell into a long-striding pace beside him. ”But still, let’s go. My body is getting stiff from standing here and blade is hungry, after tasting the blood.”

Sol gave a short nod. ”Okay, let’s move out.”

The converged force of one hundred and eighty elite veterans broke from the treeline, their rapid, steady stride leaving the lush emerald green grassland behind as they approached the base of the massive mountain barrier.

Now that every single shadow stalker of the enemy had been thoroughly hunted down and liquidated from the grassland, the Veynar warriors could move openly without fear of leaking their numbers.

They reached the mouth of the majestic mountain pass within less than half the time it took for Sol’ and recruits.

The remaining part of the main vanguard emerged openly from the barren land, converging with Sol’s army of three hundred recruits and Thuren’s troops at the wide mouth of the narrow pass.

The grand ridges rose hundreds and thousands of feet into the pale sky, forming a massive, unyielding wall that separate the two sides of the territory.

For the first time since the march began, the entire deployment stood together in the open air, a striking contrast between the hardened, blood-caked veterans and the shivering, nervous children whose bodies were smeared with false charcoal lines.

Sol gathered the entire vanguard force in the center of the limestone grave, going through the final alignment of the plan one last time to ensure no warrior’s hand would shake when the enemy across.

He didn’t use a long, dramatic speech. His instructions were short, cold, and focused purely on the plan they had decided before.

”The rats are gone from the brush, so listen well,” Sol growled, his voice traveling down the narrow stone corridor with absolute authority. ”The layout of this pass is our ultimate weapon, but it only works if your compliance is total.

Chief Veylara, you take your one hundred elite spear-vanguards and embed them completely along the southern slate ridges. Use the shaman’s skills to hide your bodies against the grey stone.

Thauren, your warriors will hold the northern side right behind the pre-positioned boulder piles.”

He pointed a thick finger straight down at the white gravel path beneath his boots. ”The moment the Coalition army clears the lower bend and enters this pass, they will see nothing but me and these three hundred ash-painted children.

You do not ignite your cores, you do not let your weapons click against the slate, and you do not lift a finger until the first enemy crosses the pass.

Let them believe the Veynar are reduced to a desperate, suicidal stand of teenagers.

Let their pride carry them straight into the bottleneck.”