FREE USE in Primitive World

That was the rot the Coalition had been swallowing. In fact, this precise layer of deception was the sole reason Sol’s squads had been able to execute the dawn raid with such terrifying, flawless success.

As they had given them info that Veynar warriors were cowering in fear, and many had already ran away. The message was clear: You can easily come and conquer the Veynar Spire whenever you wish.

This gave them an immense boost in arrogance, resulting in them being lax, having feasts and wasting away without any care.

Their pride was already bloated from their sheer four-thousand-man mass; receiving confirmation that the Veynar were reduced to throwing teenagers into the furnace was the exact spark needed to make them discard all military caution.

They weren’t marching to a war... they were running to a slaughter, desperate to claim the credit for trampling the last seeds of the Veynar.

Naturally, after the dawn raid completed and the smoke began to clear over the valley, some small doubts were bound to take root in the minds of the grand chieftains.

Their forward Zerith outpost had been burned to the ground, and the outer ring of the Marauder mud huts was now a graveyard caked in green fluid.

Not a single runner or warning horn had managed to escape the bottleneck to report the disaster.

A modern commander might have frozen his lines, suspecting a massive, hidden trap. But in the volatile, primitive minds of the Coalition lords, the silence wouldn’t trigger caution... it would trigger an explosive, unrefined fury.

Even if the grand chieftains felt a flicker of suspicion about the sudden lack of communication from their scouts, they would still march with maximum velocity for two undeniable reasons:

The Rage of the War Crests: Sol had ordered his warriors to carve the massive, jagged Veynar war signs directly into the chests of the dead sub-commanders and their settlement.

To a proud tribal race like the Gray Marauders, seeing their elite leaders butchered like feral pigs and marked by a "dying" tribe was a humongous, unforgivable insult to their ancestors.

The pure, red-eyed rage would completely blind them to any logical discrepancies.

The Traitor’s Justification: The lack of warning would easily be justified by the false narrative they had already swallowed.

The chieftains would assume that the desperate, panicked Veynar children had simply launched a reckless, suicidal surprise attack out of sheer terror before running away.

They would believe the internal traitors simply couldn’t give them information about the raid due to severe time constraints and the chaos of the fire.

They would look at the smoking ruins of their outer rings not as a sign of an organized trap, but as the final, dying thrash of a cornered rat.

They would believe the Veynar had used every ounce of their remaining strength just to take out a few of their warriors, and were now running away, waiting to be crushed.

Their bloated pride would demand an immediate, brutal retaliation, driving their clumsy four-thousand-man army straight into the narrow pass where the main Veynar force and Sol’s golden dominion was waiting to shut the gates of hell.

And while Sol led the three hundred green recruits openly down the central game trails, the true force of the Veynar tribe moved like a silent, deep-water predator.

One hundred and eighty elite spirit warriors, alongside the remaining heavy veteran hunters who had survived the previous seasons, glided through the parallel thickets and hollow root-ways just a quarter-mile behind the bait force.

They didn’t walk on the open dirt tracks; they utilized the deep, petrified trenches where the giant ferns completely swallowed their shapes.

Their weapons were wrapped in wet leaves to prevent the bone-heads from clicking, and their internal essence pathways were hidden deeply, showing no essence signature that a stray beast could track.

After two hours of continuous, grueling march, the dense primeval jungle suddenlyfell away behind them as if a heavy curtain had been torn open.

The massive wooden walls gave way to a stark, terrifying landscape that made the young recruits stop mid-stride, their chests heaving as they looked upon their tribe’s primary hunting grounds for the first time in their lives.

It was a vast, sprawling grassland that stretched for miles upon miles beneath the pale morning sky.

Deep waves of wild-grass rolled endlessly under the wind like a living green sea.

The air here was crisp and alive, carrying the rich scent of fertile soil, morning dew, and the distant musk of thousands of beasts.

Golden sunlight poured across the plains, turning every blade of grass into a shimmering jewel.

In the far distance, gentle hills rose and fell like the breathing chest of the world itself.

This was no ordinary plain.

It was overflowing with life, like the very cradle of life itself.

Unlike the deep jungle, countless herbivore beasts moved in massive, slow-moving herds that stretched across the horizon.

Giant six-horned grass-eaters ... each the size of small houses... with hides as thick as tree bark grazed peacefully, their low grunts echoing across the fields.

Packs of swift-footed tusk-deer darted through the high reeds, leaping gracefully with incredible speed.

In the far distance, colossal long-necked titans slowly stripped leaves from ancient trees that dotted the grassland like lonely guardians.

Flocks of colorful birds wheeled overhead, while smaller predators... sleek shadow-cats and cunning grass-wolves... stalked the edges of the herds, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The sheer abundance of life here was overwhelming. The energy in the air felt thick enough to taste... raw, vibrant, and overflowing with vitality.

This single stretch of land could feed an entire tribe for years without ever running dry.

Just like the recruits, Sol also stopped in a deep awe, his eyes sweeping across the endless green sea.

Even after everything he had seen since arriving in Veynar, this was the first time he truly felt the overwhelming richness of this world.

The sheer scale of life here was staggering.

It wasn’t just a hunting ground.... it was a paradise of resources.