Chapter 687: Supreme Spear

Then, she raised a single hand again.

The roaring crowd cut off instantly. Not a cough, not a shuffle. Total obedience.

Her gaze shifted across the front ranks, passing over the battered captains, the bowing elders, and landing squarely on the broad-shouldered man standing casually at the base of the stairs.

Sol hadn’t knelt. He hadn’t cheered. He was still leaning back on one heel, his arms folded across his chest, watching her with that same lazy, unbothered smirk.

Veylara’s eyes met his crimson gaze. For the briefest fraction of a heartbeat, behind the sovereign majesty of a newly crowned ruler, the sharp, proprietary heat of a woman who remembered every breathless second beneath the willows flashed across her sapphire irises.

"A victory this vast was not bought with words," Veylara spoke, her tone dropping into a measured, dangerous resonance that drew every set of eyes down to the foot of the dais. "The Coalition was formidable. Their Layer 4 chieftains dared to attack us indiscriminately. They believed their numbers would drown us."

She pointed a finger toward Sol.

"It was our Saviour who broke them. It was his blade that severed the neck of their Layer 4 warlords, his fists that crushed their line, and.... his blood that held the perimeter while the heavens tested my ascension."

The warriors in the square turned toward Sol, their eyes filled with a mixture of reverent dread and awe. Many of them had seen the butchery on the battlefield with their own eyes.

They had seen the headless corpses dragged back by the scouts, and many had seen the mountain of beasts slaughtered in the jungle earlier that morning.

To the Veynar, strength was the only law that never lied... and the man standing before them was the peak of strength.

"From this day forth," Veylara declared, her voice brooking zero dissent from the elders, "Sol stands as the Supreme Spear of the Veynar. His word on the field is my command. His authority over the garrisons is absolute. Any man, elder, or warrior who questions his blade questions my throne."

Elder Harkan gave a fierce, savage grin from the front row, thumping his spear butt into the ground in violent agreement.

The other elders, even those who still harbored secret bitterness toward an outsider gaining such immense power, kept their mouths shut tight.

After seeing Veylara’s fifth layer, arguing about tribal lineage was a quick way to be tossed to the next realm.

Sol merely gave a faint, sardonic nod, uncrossing his arms. "I graciously accept your kindness, just don’t expect me to toil any harder."

A ripple of nervous, appreciative chuckles drifted through the front-rank veterans. Only Sol could speak to the absolute ruler of the north like she was a comrade at a campfire, and only Sol could get away with it without a spear through his gullet.

Veylara’s lips twitched, but she maintained her sovereign composure.

"The feast will resumes," Veylara ordered, turning back toward the assembly. "Clean the weapons. Tend the wounded. Distribute the captured Coalition resources to every hearth. We will hold another day and night of celebration.

No one dared to reject and her arrangements were according to their wishes too, last night they had been interrupted, and today with another explosive announcement they really couldn’t suppress their excitement and needed a vent.

With a final, sweeping glance over the square, she turned on her heel, her tunic swishing as she strode back into the Great Lodge, High Shaman Zephyra gliding silently in her wake.

But before stepping inside, her eyes drifted back toward the stairs, catching Sol’s crimson gaze one last time. A subtle, almost imperceptible nod of her chin signaled him to follow.

On the other hands, the Great Square erupted into a chaotic, joyous frenzy once more. Warriors slapped each other’s backs, hunters dragged out fresh barrels of fermented juices, and the camp began to organize for the greatest celebration the northern basin had ever seen.

Sol snorted, pushing off his back heel and rolling his shoulders.

"Looks like the Chief wants a private audience," Sol muttered, stretching his arms.

"Don’t do anything stupid in there," Kira whispered, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, though her cheeks carried a faint dusting of red as she recalled the state her mother had returned in. "Even though the elders are already terrified of her. If you start disrespecting her in front of the council..."

"Kira," Zeyra interrupted with a dry, knowing smirk, leaning on her spear as she watched Sol walk away. "I think the only person in this entire world your mother answers to right now is the man walking up those stairs. Let him go."

Sol climbed the broad wooden steps of the dais, ignoring the fearful, wide-eyed stares of the two guards stationed at the entrance. He shoved the heavy fur drape aside and stepped into the dim, cedar-scented interior of the Great Lodge.

The council hall was vast, supported by thick pillars of blackened ironwood carved with the likeness of roaring beasts. At the far end of the room, upon an elevated stone platform covered in thick white mammoth furs, was the high seat of the Veynar.

Veylara was already standing near the hearth, leaning one hand against the rough stone mantle, staring down into the crackling embers. The sovereign coldness she had worn before thousands had peeled back, revealing the exhaustion etched into the lines of her jaw.

Looking at it, it really seemed like she had trusted him fully, after all this was the first time she had shown such vulnerable side to him, otherwise she always had that cold, high and mighty look.

Beside her stood High Shaman Zephyra, calmly pouring hot water over crushed herbs in a carved wooden bowl.

The door fell shut behind Sol, cutting off the noise of the bustling square outside.

"Quite a performance out there, Chief," Sol drawled, strolling down the center aisle without any hint of hesitation. "Sovereign of the Fifth Layer. Got a nice ring to it."