FREE USE in Primitive World

Even the young recruits on the ground could now sense the approaching army. The vibration under their feet grew stronger, and the distant dust cloud became visible. Their faces turned ashen with fear. Some gripped their spears so tightly their hands shook. Confusion and fear filled their ranks.

”Lord Sol... what do we do?!” one terrified boy called out, voice cracking. ”They’re coming from the wrong side! Our trap... it’s ruined!”

”We’re all going to die here!” another recruit whimpered, his voice breaking with panic. ”We’re too exposed! There’s nowhere to run!”

The pessimism spread like poison. The young warriors, already nervous and inexperienced, began to lose control. Some stood up fully, looking around desperately for an escape route. Others clutched their weapons with trembling hands, faces pale with terror.

”Everything’s falling apart...” an elder groaned from the cliffs, his voice filled with despair. ”All that planning... for nothing. We’re going to be slaughtered like sheep.”

Another elder clutched his bone staff until it creaked. ”We trusted that boy too much. Look at us now... trapped in the open like fools!”

Even Veylara’s expression darkened for a moment. The usually unshakable Warchief felt a rare spike of doubt.

If this was the Coalition’s main force coming from an unexpected angle, their carefully laid trap could collapse instantly. Thousands of enemies against their few hundred warriors in open terrain... it would be a massacre.

The hidden Veynar forces teetered on the verge of all-out chaos. Murmurs turned into panicked whispers. Weapons rattled as hands shook. They couldn’t understand what and why was it happening.

The plan that had seemed so perfect just moments ago now felt like a death sentence.

And through it all, Sol remained completely calm.

He stood motionless, eyes fixed on the approaching dust cloud, his expression cold and calculating. The Golden Silver energy inside his chest hummed steadily, feeding him constant information about the incoming army’s size, speed, and composition.

But unlike others, even though his eyes were narrowed, he didn’t panic.

...

The massive cloud of grit and pulverized ground rolled across the transition zone, where the dying yellow stalks of the borderland met the hard, barren shale of the mountain roots.

The air grew thick with the chalky taste of limestone dust, blotting out the harsh glare of the midday sun.

As the vanguard of the mysterious army broke through the hazy shroud, the panicked cries of the Veynar recruits suddenly ground to a halt.

The raw terror in their throats died, replaced by a heavy, breathless shock that made the silence in the valley feel even more suffocating.

Through the swirling grey veil, the distinct, towering shapes of the oncoming warriors became fully visible.

These weren’t the lanky, Zerith stalkers, nor were they the hairless, Gray Marauders brutes.

They were human warriors, and judging from their attire, it was clear that they were Zharun Bastards.

A dense murmur erupted among the hidden Veynar elders crouched within the high slate crevices, their old faces twisting into a messy mix of confusion and deep suspicion.

”The Zharun...?” an old, scarred elder muttered, his hand trembling so hard against his bone staff that the wood creaked. ”Why are they here? Why are they marching with their full war mass?”

”This doesn’t make any sense,” another whispered, his eyes wide as he tracked the disciplined, heavy rhythm of the Zharun footsteps. ”When our message birds went to their tribes three suns ago, they didn’t answer our call for help.

They gave nothing but silence. Even the secret clearing where their scouts had promised to pitch their tents and camp ahead of the march was found completely empty... looking like they had abandoned the valley or sold our blood to the Coalition.”

The confusion was like a cold rot spreading through the senior line.

For days, the Veynar had operated under the grim calculation that the Zharun had either betrayed them or fled into the deep untamed sectors of the southern delta to escape the Coalition’s wrath.

To see them now, marching in perfect war formation with at least a thousand spears, was a variable that broke every single line of Sol’s rotation strategy.

Warchief Veylara stood near the lip of the northern ledge, her single eye narrowed into a sharp, volatile slit. Her jaws were clenched so hard the muscles along her neck stood out like iron wires.

She looked at their massive number, she looked at their battle ready attire, and finally looked at the Layer 4 Zharun Chief in the very center of the Zharun army.

”Thauren,” Veylara said, her voice dropping into a determined, low register that instantly froze the panicked murmurs of the elders behind her. ”Get the warriors down from the crags. Ready your blades and prepare to meet them in the open.”

The Lion Commander frowned, his gold-scaled shoulder plates clicking as he stepped closer to her flank. ”Chief? If we break the shamans’ spirit mask now, any stray eye in the distance—”

”It doesn’t matter anymore,” Veylara interrupted, her tone holding a dark finality. ”Look at the center of their line. The Zharun haven’t just sent their hunting packs. They have brought their full tribal force. The Grand Chieftain and other layer 4 earth blood king are both here. That means there are two Layer 4 powerhouses sitting in that dust cloud.”

She tightened her grip on her heavy bone-spear, her single eye fixed on the approaching army.

”The concealment spell our shamans wove over these slate walls is great against Layer 3 stalkers, but to a Layer 4 master, it’s nothing more than a thin spiderweb.

Their senses can feel our presence through solid stone from fifty paces away. Trying to hide from them now is not only futile... it’s an insult that would give them an excuse to drive those spears through our chests.”

Without another word, Veylara slid down the steep slate crevice, her heavy leather boots cutting a sharp path through the loose gravel as she abandoned her hidden nest.

Commander Thauren let out a grunt, his Lion traits firing as he bounded right behind her, while the gray-haired elders scrambled down the rock faces like old mountain goats, their expressions full of deep anxiety.