FREE USE in Primitive World

Chapter 233: Chapter 233: Deep Inside The Orrath

He seemed to remember seeing something vaguely similar in a survival documentary back on Earth about desert plants storing water. But this was a different world, assuming a plant was safe was a quick way to get poisoned.

Out of pure precaution, Sol closed his eyes and tapped into his ’mental library’… the vast, transmigrator-enhanced recall of his past life’s knowledge. He flipped through mental images of Earth flora, comparing leaf structures and survival tactics.

He opened his eyes. It did indeed look remarkably similar in biological function to a barrel cactus, even though the one sitting in front of him was countless times larger and looked significantly fiercer, possessing thick, defensive barbs along its base.

Still, it was worth a shot. He drew his flint knife and carefully made a small, precise puncture near the top of the bulbous plant.

Instantly, a clear, pressurized stream of liquid started gushing out. Sol caught some in his palm and brought it to his nose. He sniffed it cautiously. No acidic burn, no sickly-sweet scent of neurotoxin. It just smelled… clean. Like morning dew.

He took a tiny, tentative sip.

Voila, Sol thought, his eyes lighting up. It was indeed water. In fact, it was much better than any filtered water he had ever tasted on Earth. It was incredibly sweet, heavily oxygenated, deeply refreshing, and possessed a natural, icy coolness that instantly hydrated his dry throat.

He eagerly drank his fill right from the stream, then refilled his heavy leather waterskin to the brim.

With his thirst quenched, he turned his attention back to the skewered bird. He consulted his mental library once more, pulling up step-by-step memories of how to properly prepare and dress a wild chicken.

He found a flat, clean stone, plucked the vibrant feathers away, and expertly gutted the creature… carefully removing the terrifying inner-jaw and tossing it into the bushes. He washed the meat thoroughly with the gushing water from the plant.

Using a piece of dry void-oak and his flint knife, he sparked a small, smokeless fire. He rigged a crude spit over the flames and set the bird to roast.

Ten minutes later, the smell of searing meat and dripping fat filled the small clearing. Sol pulled it from the fire, blowing on it to cool it down, and took a massive bite.

His eyes widened. The meat was impossibly tender, incredibly juicy, and naturally flavored by whatever magical, essence-rich seeds the bird had been eating. It was infinitely better than the dry, genetically modified, factory-farmed chicken found in modern Earth supermarkets.

He ate with absolute relish, tearing the meat from the bone, and almost finished half of the massive bird entirely on his own.

He stopped, letting out a heavy, satisfied sigh. As for the remaining half? Well, it was for the hungry guests who had been staring at him from the distance for the last five minutes.

Through the ferns, about thirty yards away, a pack of Black Wolves had gathered. They were common, essence-less beasts, but they were massive, and their stomachs were clearly empty. They didn’t dare attack, as he was actively radiating the terrifying Golden Liquid aura, but the smell of roasted meat was driving them crazy.

Sol chuckled. He took his bone knife, carved off a few thick, prime strips of meat, and set them near the edge of the fire to smoke them for his travel pouch.

Then, he stood up, grabbed the remaining half of the roasted carcass, and threw it high into the air toward the tree line.

The Black Wolves didn’t hesitate. They lunged from the shadows in a chaotic, snarling frenzy, instantly fighting and tearing at each other over the scraps of the cooked meal.

Sol groaned contentedly, patting his uncharacteristically full belly. “Seems like I ate a bit too much,” he muttered.

He picked up his Void-Oak spear, stretched his arms wide until his back popped satisfyingly, and looked out into the deeper, darker woods toward the North. The peaceful morning illusion was fading as the shadows grew longer.

He was fully fed, fully hydrated, and his core was humming with raw power. He was finally ready for today’s adventure.

…

With his uncharacteristically full belly and his muscles brimming with the warm, heavy energy of the Golden Liquid, Sol pushed deeper into the Great Orrath. As he walked, the miles ticking by under his sturdy leather boots, the serene, picturesque illusion of the morning quickly began to rot away.

The further North he ventured, the more the jungle seemed to actively close in around him. The purple trunks of the colossal trees grew denser, their bark taking on a dark, almost necrotic hue, weeping a thick sap that smelled like burnt sugar and sulfur.

Their sprawling canopies overlapped so tightly that the bright azure sky was choked out entirely, plunging the forest floor back into a heavy, oppressive twilight that made distinguishing shadows from predators incredibly difficult.

As he crossed what his logic assumed was the invisible boundary of the ’buffer zone’ and entered the true deep woods, the atmosphere shifted violently.

The air grew thick again, but it wasn’t just the damp humidity of the swamps. It carried the faint, sharp metallic scent of raw electric ozone and the unmistakable, lingering copper tang of spilled blood that had seeped permanently into the soil.

The ambient Primal Essence felt heavy, almost toxic, pressing against his skin like a physical weight. His Golden Liquid core had to actively churn just to filter the chaotic, violent energy out of his lungs with every breath.

The relatively harmless, pretty bioluminescent fungi that had lit the previous zones were entirely replaced by more powerful, aggressive types. Massive growths of deep crimson and sickly, toxic-yellow lichen clung to the roots like glowing tumors, emitting faint hisses and releasing microscopic spores that made the air shimmer like a heat mirage.

And the silence here wasn’t peaceful. It wasn’t the quiet of a sleeping forest. It was the tense, suffocating, breathless silence of an active warzone waiting for the next artillery strike to land. There were no chirping birds, no rustling insects, no distant howls. Every living thing in this sector was either holding its breath, hiding, or already dead.

…

He had been exploring this hostile environment for nearly an hour, his Crimson-Sight sweeping the gloom, when a low, rumbling noise vibrated straight through the damp earth and into the soles of his boots. It sounded like distant thunder, but the rhythm was entirely too chaotic. It was punctuated by the sharp, explosive snapping of massive timber… trees the size of watchtowers being violently uprooted and splintered into matchsticks.

Curiosity, fueled by the intoxicating confidence of his absurd base stats and his absolute need to find a phantom worthy of his core, instantly won out over caution. Sol adjusted his grip on the heavy Void-Oak shaft of his spear, a feral, anticipatory grin touching his lips, and veered directly toward the noise.

He didn’t make it fifty yards.

Without a single snapped twig of warning, his heightened intuition flared… a sharp, freezing prickle of mortal danger shooting up his spine like an electric shock. The dense, thorny underbrush to his immediate right simply exploded outward in a shower of dirt and shredded leaves.