FREE USE in Primitive World

"So," Sol growled, his dangerous smirk returning as he saw the hatred take root in their cores.

"In this war, your goal is not to die for some stupid tribal glory. I don’t care about your traditional pride of standing in the dirt and taking a club to the skull just to prove your courage to the ancestors. Your only goal today is to SURVIVE.

No matter the means. If a ten-foot giant is rushing your line with a stone hammer, you don’t stand there and let him crush your shield; you use your smaller frame, you drop low, you cut his leg tendons, or you run until he stumbles in the muck, and then you drive your spear through his throat from behind."

He lifted his thick finger, pointing it straight toward the northern ravines. " If a bug is too fast, you throw dirt in his eyes and run. If your spear breaks, you use your teeth. If you are outnumbered, you run.

You will run, you will slide, you will use every dirty trick the mud offers, and you will survive. Because as long as you are alive, the knife stays in your hand, the enemy cannot touch your homes. Live for your blood, not for the dirt! Do you understand me?"

"UNDERSTOOD!" three hundred voices roared back, the nervousness completely wiped from their systems, replaced by a cold, desperate resolve to live.

"Grab your weapons and get in line," Sol growled, turning on his heel. "We are moving now."

He turned around, leading the three hundred green warriors out through the main gates.

The sight that greeted the Veynar tribe was something no one would forget for generations.

Sol walked at the very front like a conqueror, his black Rockhorn armor still stained with the blood of countless enemies. Behind him marched three hundred young Veynar warriors... many of them barely more than teenagers or fresh Blooded hunters... their bodies and armor painted to look worn out, to truly deceive the enemy. They were inexperienced, nervous, but their eyes burned with determination as they followed Sol.

A stunned silence fell over the Veynar.

Then the tribe erupted.

Women and children rushed to the walls and balconies, gasping and shouting. Mothers clutched their hands to their mouths as they recognized their sons and daughters among the ranks. Elders stood frozen.

Warriors who had stayed behind to defend the tribe lowered their weapons in shame, as they should have been the ones on the frontline, but due to their insufficient strength, they had to let their young ones stand on frontlines.

Chief Veylara stood at the top of the central tower, her jaws clenched. She gripped her massive spear tightly, her expression a mixture of helplessness and deep concern.

"He’s taking the young ones..." she murmured. "The weak and the inexperienced... using them as the spearhead."

High Shaman Zephyra stood beside her, hands clasped tightly together, her face pale.

"So many young lives..." she whispered, voice trembling. "But if anyone can bring them back alive... it’s him."

Kira stood on one of the inner walls, arms crossed. A complex expression crossed her face... worry, pride, and a hint of bitterness.

"That madman..." she muttered. "He’s really going to use our youngest as bait to make the enemy think we’re desperate."

Zeyra stood near the gate, watching Sol approach. Her dark eyes were shining with pure, obsessive worship, staring at him like he was a living god.

"You’re taking them yourself..." she whispered, voice thick with emotion. "You could have chosen the veterans... but you chose to lead the young ones personally. You really are my monster."

The tribespeople lining the path began cheering wildly. Mothers wept openly as they saw their children marching to war. Fathers slammed fists against their chests in pride. Children pointed excitedly at Sol, calling him "the Black Hunter" and "the general."

An old elder near the front fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face.

"The outsider is leading our children to victory... May the spirits protect them all!"

Hargon, still bandaged from earlier fighting, stood among the crowd. He stared at Sol with deep reverence.

"He’s not just strong... he’s willing to carry the future of our tribe on his shoulders," he said hoarsely. "I would follow that man into the mouth of hell itself."

Sol walked through the cheering, weeping, and shouting crowd with calm, measured steps. His expression remained cold and focused. He wasn’t basking in the glory.

This was the most important part of the plan.

These three hundred young, green warriors weren’t reinforcements.

They were the key to the deception.

By sending the youngest and least experienced fighters forward, the enemy would see a desperate, weakened Veynar tribe throwing everything they had left into a reckless attack.

The Coalition would believe the Veynar were just this weak, could only sneak attack... and combined with fury for killing their peoples, they will walk straight into the trap.

Chief Veylara descended from the tower and met Sol at the center of the main square. For a long moment, she simply looked at him, then at the young green army behind him.

She suppressed the helplessness and worry. And a savage, proud smile broke across her face.

"Sol," she said, her voice booming across the square so everyone could hear. "You have taken our future into your hands. The Veynar will remember this day ... win or lose."

Sol gave her a small, respectful nod.

"I’m just repaying for all of your help until now," he said calmly. "The real war begins now. These three hundred will help us look weak... and lure the Coalition into the valley where we will destroy them."

Veylara’s smile widened into something truly terrifying.

"Then lead them well. May the blessing of Ancestors will be with you."

The entire tribe roared in approval as Sol turned and continued marching forward, the three hundred young warriors following him with nervous but determined steps.

The next and most dangerous phase of the war had officially begun.