FREE USE in Primitive World

The moment his hand made contact, Sol’s mind blanked for a fraction of a second.

Soft.

Elastic.

Firm.

The sensation of her breast under his palm was impossible to ignore. Warm flesh yielded slightly beneath his fingers before pushing back with healthy resilience.

Even through the thin, sweat-damp fabric of her garb, the shape and weight of it registered with perfect clarity.

He could swear that it wasn’t intentional, he coughed once, forcing his thoughts into line.

I’m a doctor right now. She’s a patient. Nothing more. Nothing less.

He repeated the words in his head like a mantra, trying to focus entirely on the flow of poison and the structure of her veins.

Yet his hand remained where it was, and almost without conscious decision, his fingers gave the soft mound a small, testing squeeze.

The flesh compressed beautifully under his grip before springing back.

Sol’s ears heated slightly. He immediately clamped down on the distraction and activated his power.

He didn’t waste time attempting a standard essence injection. Having just purged Zephyra, he knew the routine.

FREE USE: PURGE.

Sol opened his chest hollow, channeling that same absolute, reality-overriding mental authority into her body. The moment his Free Use power entered her body, it didn’t negotiate with the poison... it seized it.

SQUELCH!

The dark purple veins tracing up her forearms and neck violently reversed trajectory. The toxic resin was forcibly dragged out through her skin, coalescing into a shimmering, pitch-black sphere of sludge that floated an inch above Sol’s open palm.

CRUNCH.

Sol closed his fist, crushing the black resin into microscopic ash with a flicker of force, letting the dust scatter into the mountain wind.

The moment the fiery grip on her core shattered, Veylara’s sun core flared back to life like an exploding furnace.

A sudden, radiant wave of golden heat erupted from her body, blowing the limestone dust away in a wide circle.

She gasped a deep, violent breath that filled her lungs with clear air... and her eyes snapped open fully.

For a second, she simply stared up at Sol, still feeling the lingering pressure of his hand on her chest.

A faint flush crossed her cheeks as awareness returned.

Even in her weakened state, the Warchief’s sharp mind was already working. Her deep blue eyes narrowed slightly as she looked at him.

"...What... was that power?" Veylara asked, her voice low and slightly hoarse. "The way you tore the poison out... it didn’t feel like any essence technique I’ve ever seen. What did you do?"

Sol’s expression remained calm, but internally he immediately shut the door on the real answer. There was no way he was going to explain Free Use...at least not now.

"It’s nothing special," he said evenly. "Just a technique from my homeland. Effective against certain types of toxins, that’s all."

And as he spoke, he deliberately tightened his grip.

His fingers sank a little deeper into the soft, elastic flesh of her right breast, giving it a firm, unmistakable squeeze.

Veylara’s eyes widened. A sharp, involuntary gasp escaped her lips as the sudden pressure sent a jolt through her still-sensitive body.

The question about his power seemed to scatter from her mind entirely.

Her cheeks darkened further, and for a moment she could only stare up at him, caught between residual weakness, surprise, and the very clear sensation of his hand.

She didn’t ask again, maybe the distraction worked or maybe she knew not to push it further.

After a brief pause, she simply gave a small nod, as if accepting his vague explanation just so the current situation could end.

"...You can remove your hand now," Veylara said, her voice low and slightly hoarse.

Sol coughed hard, ears burning, and hurriedly pulled his palm away as if the contact had suddenly become scalding.

"I was just checking for residual poison," he said quickly, the excuse sounding thin even to his own ears. "Making sure nothing was left near the core pathways."

Veylara’s deep blue eyes studied him for a moment longer. A complicated mixture of gratitude, residual pain, and faint amusement flickered across her face, but she didn’t call him out on it. Instead, she rolled onto her side and pushed herself up with both hands.

"High Shaman... the loyalists..." Veylara choked out, her voice raspy as she looked around frantically.

Then, her eyes took in the full situation of the battlefield.

The Coalition army was completely crushed. Their surviving warriors were kneeling in the dirt, faces pressed into the mud, bound and helpless.

The grand chieftains who had terrorized the region were reduced to headless, withered husks. And Thorne’s traitorous lineage was wiped out to the last man.

Veylara’s gaze finally landed on Sol. She looked at the cracked black armor, the blood-soaked sapphire blade resting by his side, and the sheer, quiet exhaustion settling over his frame.

The proud Warchief slowly pushed herself up to her feet.

She didn’t offer a dramatic hug like Zephyra, but her deep blue eyes held a profound, unshakeable weight of respect that ran deeper than words.

She brought her right fist to her chest, slamming it against her armor in the highest formal salute of the Veynar clan.

"You saved my life, Sol," Veylara spoke, her voice carrying a heavy, golden resonance that echoed across the valley. "You saved my people from total extinction. As long as the Veynar stand upon these mountains, our spears, our blood, and our loyalty belong to you."

Commander Thauren and the surviving Veynar veterans immediately followed suit, slamming their fists against their chests in unison, their shouts echoing off the battlefield.

Sol simply nodded, a faint, tired smirk appearing on his face. "Keep the speeches for later, Warchief. We still have to clean up the aftermath and prisoners to manage."

He turned around, taking a slow step toward where Kira and Zeyra were standing.

Now that the adrenaline of the continuous slaughter was fading, the heavy, bone-deep toll of maintaining dual spirits at Layer 3 Peak while driving his Free Use power to its absolute limits was finally crashing down on him.

His vision blurred for a fraction of a second, the world tilting as his boots heavy-stepped on the uneven stone.

"Sol!" Kira gasped, rushing forward to support his left arm, while Zeyra quickly stepped up to catch his right.

"I’m fine," Sol rasped softly, though he allowed them to steady him.

He looked down at Zeyra’s twin daggers, which were still tucked securely into his belt, coated in dried Layer 4 blood. He unbuckled them and handed them back to her.

"Thanks for the loan," Sol whispered. "They served their purpose."

Zeyra took the daggers, her sharp eyes searching his cracked visor before she gave a quiet, rare smile. "You didn’t break them. I suppose that’s enough of an apology for taking them without asking."

Sol let out a raspy, quiet laugh, leaning slightly against a stone debris as he looked back over his shoulder. The sun had almost dipped behind the peaks, casting long, crimson shadows across the blood-stained valley.

The war for the Veynar valley was officially over.... and in the ashes of the Coalition’s defeat, a new, undisputed terror had been born.

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