Chapter 689: Outsiders Will Come Sniffing Around

"Ahem."

Zephyra’s dry, rattling cough tore through the hall like a sudden gust of winter wind. The High Shaman had her knuckles pressed against her mouth, her milky eyes politely fixed on the cedar ceiling beams, though the wide, wicked smirk cutting across her face was impossible to hide.

"Pardon an old woman’s throat," Zephyra murmured with mock innocence, taking an exaggeratedly slow sip from her steaming bowl. "The morning air inside the lodge is rather... stifling."

A brilliant, burning crimson flared instantly along the elegant curve of Veylara’s neck, rushing straight up to the tips of her ears.

The newly crowned sovereign of the Fifth Layer... the terrifying apex predator who had just brought thousands of warriors and elders to their knees in the dirt... stood frozen in front of the hearth, one hand unconsciously lifting to brush her lips where his mouth had just been.

Her jaw worked for a second, caught between sovereign outrage and pure, flustered embarrassment, completely at a loss for words.

"You..." Veylara hissed, her voice dropping into a strangled whisper as she glared daggers at Sol’s smug face, though she couldn’t summon a single ounce of real anger to back it up. "Shameless brute."

"Takes one to know one, Chief," Sol chuckled, replying without any ounce of care, resting his hands comfortably behind his head as if he were basking under a summer noon rather than standing in the sanctum of a newly minted sovereign.

Veylara exhaled a sharp, shuddering breath, her fingers dropping away from her lips.

With the sheer willpower that had kept her alive through thirty winters of war, she forcibly swallowed the burning heat in her cheeks, banishing the flustered woman beneath the willows and letting the sovereign mantle settle back over her shoulders.

The softness receded from her posture, replaced once more by the calculated tension of an apex predator scanning the horizon.

"Then there are the southern borders," she continued, her voice regaining its crisp, gravelly cadence. Her eyes narrowed, twin pools of sapphire fire reflecting the dancing flames of the hearth. "Given the commotion of that essence storm and the literal breaking of the sky last night... the tremors we caused didn’t stop at our tribes.

The spiritual shockwaves must have traveled far and wide. Beyond this region, the other nearby tribes and even the southern domains must have noticed last night’s phenomena.

The heavens don’t scream without drawing the eyes of wolves. I think soon enough, many outsiders will come sniffing around."

"So you gave me a fancy title to make sure I do the heavy lifting," Sol said, eyebrow cocking with dry amusement. "Supreme Spear. Sounds like you just painted a massive target on my chest so you don’t have to get your own hands dirty."

"You already painted that target yourself when you took those Layer 4 warlords down," Veylara countered smoothly. She didn’t shrink away from him this time; instead, she took the initiative to step right back inside his reach, closing the distance until the intoxicating scent of sun-warmed cedar and ripe, mature heat drifted off her body in waves.

"The warriors revere you. The elders fear you. If I march our spears under my name alone, it looks like conquest. If they march under the Supreme Spear who broke the Coalition, it looks like an inevitability."

She reached out, her calloused fingers lightly catching the edge of his leather tunic, lingering right over the steady, volcanic pulse of his sun core.

"Besides," she added, her voice dropping so low that even Zephyra pretended to be intensely fascinated by the herb leaves floating in her bowl, "I don’t trust anyone else to watch my back while I bend this land to shape. You wanted a place to stand? You have the whole damn basin."

Sol looked down at her, taking her back into his arms without a shred of hesitation.

His palms wrapped around the beautiful curve of her waist, pulling her tightly against his chest once more, easily reading the unspoken truth behind the political maneuver.

She wasn’t just assigning military command; she was locking their fates together in front of the entire world.

By naming him the supreme authority, she was telling every clan from here to the southern mountains that striking at one meant fighting both.

"Fine," Sol grunted, his hand resting casually on the softness of her hip, ignoring the faint, subconscious warning hum of her core. "I’ll keep your border secure, Chief. But don’t expect me to sit through three-hour council meetings listening to old men cry about rations."

"Deal," Veylara whispered, a wicked, genuine smile breaking across her face before she stepped back, picking up her bowl once more to mask the redness on her cheeks and ears.

Internally, his senses dipped for a brief second into the deep, silent expanse of his spiritual sea.

Orphos was still there, slumbering peacefully beneath the dark surface of his mind, digesting its stolen feast.

Two to three months, Sol thought.

That was the approximate time he had calculated to fully replenish the compass’s origin force. It made sense; after all, there couldn’t possibly be another war anytime soon that would serve up thousands of fresh, high-tier souls on a silver platter like the Coalition had just done.

The northern basin was bled dry. Unless an army dropped straight out of the sky, the artifact would have to take its sweet time absorbing the ambient essence and refining the residual death already trapped in its gears.

Sol’s eyes drifted past the massive timber beams of the lodge, gazing out through the high smoke-slits toward the soaring, sunlit canopies of the Great Orrath.

Three months weren’t exactly long, but they weren’t short either. A lot could happen in three months. An entire empire could be forged from the ashes. A whole world could be claimed, and a new path could be carved straight through the stars.

Or, Sol considered with a slow, wicked grin tugging at the corner of his lips, he could just kick back, let the tribe run itself, and finally enjoy a few months of good food, cold brew, and fucking around with the most beautiful women in the tribe.

"What are you smiling at?" Veylara asked, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at his expression, her womanly senses telling that he must be thinking about other women.

"Just thinking about the workload, Chief," Sol drawled, reaching out and casually tapping the side of her hip with the back of his knuckles. "Go drink your soup. We’ve got a whole feast to waste."

A.N: Guys, it’s almost the end of month and we still haven’t received any super gift or extra support? Believe me now is the time we need it most.

As calculated by our stats, we will be getting just half of last month’s already low income. So, I’d be extremely grateful if you big bosses could have some mercy on this poor author and reward generously.