FREE USE in Primitive World

Veynar guards swarmed into the grand hall, their movements brisk and practiced.

Hemp ropes bound the thirty-nine kneeling Zharun warriors securely, as they surrendered without any resistance, their weapons kicked aside and stacked in a clattering pile in the center of the chamber.

Outside, the sounds of fighting were dying down, replaced by the organized cadence of Veynar patrols securing the streets, extinguishing the rogue fires, and corralling the remaining population into the central square for better management.

Sol stepped over the body of the axe-wielder, casually shaking his hand to flick off a drop of blood. His crimson eyes swept past the groveling Captain Barkan, focusing entirely on the rear of the Great Lodge.

At the back of the dirt dais, behind the cracked throne, stood a low opening carved directly into the mountain wall. A thick, heavy slab of rough grey stone sealed the dark tunnel, wedged tightly into place with heavy timber logs and wedge stones.

"Looking for their treasury?" Veylara asked, stepping up beside him. She planted the butt of her spear against the stone, her sharp eyes following his line of sight.

"Something like that," Sol replied, his voice a low rasp. "Seeing how they put so much effort, they must have something hidden down there. I want to see what they were hiding."

Zephyra glided onto the dais, her robes swaying gracefully. Her white eyes scrutinized the runes above the archway. "The Zharun lineage is also quite old, If something important exists, it will be kept in the chief’s private sanctum."

"Let’s see what the snake was hoarding," Sol said.

He approached the stone slab. Instead of bothering to pull away the timber wedges by hand, Sol placed his right palm flat against the cold, rough rock. His core flared subtly, and he drove a concentrated pulse of essence straight into the stone.

CRACK-THUD!

The wooden wedges snapped like dry twigs under the invisible prssure, and the massive stone slab was shoved backward with a heavy scrape, revealing a dark, downward-sloping tunnel leading deep into the mountain.

A cool, stale draft washed over them, carrying the scent of dried hides, bundled herbs, and the distinct, musky smell of cured meat and animal fur.

"Kira, Zeyra, keep watch with Thauren on the hall," Veylara ordered, gesturing to the guards securing the prisoners. "Sol, Zephyra, with me."

Kira gave a small nod, her hand resting naturally on her hunting bow, while Zeyra kicked a discarded Zharun blade out of her path, her sharp eyes scanning the bound captives with cold vigilance. "Don’t take all the good loot for yourselves," Zeyra murmured towards Sol with a faint smirk.

Sol chuckled quietly and stepped through the threshold, descending into the dark tunnel.

A few dozen paces down, the narrow stairs opened into a wide, cavernous underground chamber. Pale-green luminescent moss clung to the ceiling in uneven patches, casting a dim, watery glow over the space. Rows of woven storage baskets lined the walls.

Piles of cured beast pelts were stacked with careful order. Racks of spears and short blades stood against one side of the chamber, while large clay jars filled with dried meat and rendered animal fat occupied the other.

At the very center of the cave stood a flat stone slab used as a table.

Resting atop the slab were a thick set of heavily weathered, beast-hide scrolls bound in simple leather cords.

Sol walked over to the slab and picked up the largest scroll, unrolling the stiff leather across the stone slab.

He leaned in, his crimson eyes scanning the densely written crude, hand-painted charcoal drawings and carved symbols with intense focus, expecting some kind of profound tribal secret, a sealed technique, or at least an essence-related inheritance.

...Only to blink in mild disbelief.

The scroll didn’t contain some grand, mystical soul-binding array or esoteric cultivation method. It was literally just a detailed handbook on hound breeding.

It had crude drawings showing which cuts of raw meat kept the hounds calm and obedient, how often to take them out on runs so they didn’t grow restless and bite the handlers, how to rub their coats with crushed bitter leaves to keep ticks away, what specific wild roots helped their stomachs digest hard bone chunks, and basic training steps to teach them how to sit, stay, track blood trails, and not attack their own clan members.

Sol stared at the hide for three long seconds, a completely flat, deadpan expression settling over his face.

This... is literally just a dog-training manual, Sol thought, an exasperated sigh escaping his lips.

To him, this information was practically useless. With his Free Use power, he could simply inject his absolute mental authority directly into a beast’s nervous system, forcing it into total, unquestioning obedience in a fraction of a second.

He had zero need to spend months feeding a hound special wild grasses just to get it to wag its tail and not bite his leg off.

Beside him, however, Veylara leaned over the scroll with an entirely different reaction, her deep blue eyes widening with genuine, breathless awe.

"By the ancestors..." Veylara whispered, her voice tinged with immense reverence as she traced the diagrams with a careful finger. "This is centuries of accumulated Zharun knowledge! The exact feed ratios, the seasonal breeding cycles, the methods to make them loyal to their handlers from birth... With these records, anyone could establish their own permanent beast cavalry! This is worth more than a whole winter’s worth of hunted meat!"

Sol looked at Veylara’s overjoyed expression, then back down at the simple dog-care scroll, letting out a quiet, amused chuckle.

"Well, if you say so," Sol rasped, rolling the leather back up and casually tossing it into her hands. "Take it. It’s all yours."

Even though it was useless to him, he knew Veylara was right from a tribal perspective. For regular tribespeople who lacked broken mental abilities like Free Use, this kind of systematic, generational knowledge was invaluable.

It would allow the Veynar to easily domesticate, breed, and maintain whole packs of ferocious hounds without worrying about them turning on their masters.

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