CHAPTER 91: CHAPTER 91: HE WAS WEAK!

"Get him!" Vurok cheered.

A kick slammed into his ribs. Another fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head back. Sol tasted copper. Then from then on, fist and kicks rained down like hail, but he still didn’t fight, didn’t scream, didn’t even struggle. He accepted the blows to his back, his shoulders, his ribs, and his legs, focusing only on curling tighter, protecting his skull and torso.

It was brutal. They didn’t hold back. They kicked him like a dog in the street. kicks slammed into his back, his thighs, his arms. He felt his bones groan, a sharp, hot spike of pain spreading throughout his body.

Endure, Sol told himself, gritting his teeth, focusing inward, wrapping the Ash Gray energy around his internal organs like a shield, letting the surface take the damage. Let them vent. Let them think they won.

"That’s for the punch!" Vurok shouted, delivering a heavy kick to Sol’s spine. "That’s for the soup! You think you’re special? You’re nothing! You’re dirt!"

Sol grunted, and couldn’t help coughing due to the impact. He lay still, twitching slightly, playing the part of the broken man perfectly.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the blows stopped.

Sol lay in the dirt, bruised, bleeding, and gasping for air. He didn’t move.

Vurok stood over him, panting from the exertion. He looked down at the crumpled form of Sol and felt a rush of supreme satisfaction. The fear from earlier was gone. The waste was just a waste again.

Vurok gathered a mouthful of saliva and spat. A glob of spit landed near his face, mixing with the blood and dirt on the ground.

"See, boy?" Vurok hissed "You are just weakling. You always were. You dare to confront me? If you try to act like a Chief again... next time it won’t be just you. It’ll be your cousins too."

He kicked Sol lightly one last time in the ribs, eliciting a choked, wet gasp of pain.

"If I hear even a whisper of disrespect, or if I see one sign that you told anyone about this... they will find the girls by the river, with their throats ripped out. Understand? Now, crawl back to your soft bed, and forget you ever saw me."

"Let’s go," Vurok ordered his men. "I’m hungry."

With a final, cruel laugh, Vurok and his lackeys turned and swaggered away, their heavy footsteps receding into the night. They left behind only the heavy silence, the scent of fresh blood, and a young man broken on the floor.

Sol waited until the silence returned, deafening and vast.

He lay there for a long minute, staring at a pebble next to his nose with his one good eye. The pain was blinding. His body was a map of agony.

But deep inside his chest, the Ash Gray energy was swirling furiously, already knitting the groaning bones and soothing the bruised flesh.

Sol’s finger twitched. Then his hand.

He pushed, inch by excruciating inch, until he was leaning upright against the wall. His head swam, and his vision was blotched with red and black, but the moment he was vertical, the world sharpened.

He wiped the dust from his face and looked at the path Vurok had taken.

He tried to shake his head, but the movement sent fresh waves of searing pain through his neck and skull. His entire body screamed in protest, but the physical pain was secondary to the chilling, terrifying realization that had settled deep in his core.

He was weak.

Not physically, not fundamentally... he had that terrifying power... but strategically. He was an exposed point in a brutal game of survival, and Vurok knew exactly where to strike. The modern man in him had assumed rules, and thought that these primitive people were honest and simple, but now he realized that humans were still humans, no matter which era, and these primitive men knew there were none.

He finally understood the harsh, unyielding reality of this era. This was not a world of heroic standoffs or final, definitive battles. This was a world of survival calculus. His momentary display of terrifying, unknown power meant nothing here if he couldn’t use it. Vurok had beaten him, not with strength, but with leverage... the lives of the innocent girls.

"Accidents happen," Sol whispered, his voice a broken rasp that carried more menace than a scream. "You’re right, Vurok. Accidents happen all the time."

Sol’s mind, the keen, organizing intellect of the modern man, began to process the incident not as a personal failure, but as a strategic reconnaissance mission.

Vurok’s Strength is External: Vurok is a bully whose power stems from his leverage (the girls) and his perceived ability to commit ’accidents.’

The Only Vulnerability is Family: Vurok knows Sol cares for his cousins. Any direct retaliation now guarantees their deaths. Therefore, Sol must operate under the radar until the threat is neutralized.

The Goal is Isolation and Speed: Vurok must be removed swiftly and cleanly without raising tribal suspicion that could trigger any retaliation by the tribe. The girls must be out of danger the moment Vurok vanishes.

The Rule of the Primitive World:The world kills the weak. Dominance is the only law. He needed to use the world’s cruelty against Vurok.

Sol’s eyes, glinting with a reflection of the pale moonlight, didn’t focus on the blood-spattered dirt where he lay, but on the invisible path stretching out before him.

His modern mind, sharpened by the crisis, began to dissect the situation with cold, mathematical precision. He wouldn’t waste his time on a complex political plot that could unravel with a single word to the Elders. Nor would he seek the foolish, short-lived glory of a public duel. A duel would only draw Torak out of his council meetings, and fighting a Head Hunter head-on right now was suicide.

No. He needed something cleaner. He needed the chaotic neutrality of the jungle.

Vurok had threatened him with the wild; he had claimed that "accidents happen." It was only poetic justice that the wild would answer that threat. Sol needed the element of surprise and a single, isolated opportunity. He didn’t need to overpower Vurok in a fair fight; he just needed to create a situation where the environment did the heavy lifting.

He has to disappear, Sol decided. And it has to look like the forest claimed another victim. No witnesses. No bodies. Just bad luck.

With this chilling resolve settling in his core, Sol began the agonizing process of dragging himself out of the alley. Every movement was a fresh insult to his injuries, but the pain was welcome now. It was fuel. It wasn’t just suffering; it was fuel. It was the tuition fee for the lesson he had just learned about power in this world. It burned away the last vestiges of his naivety.

Deep inside, the Ash Gray energy swirled faster, responding to his determination. It rushed to the sites of impact, knitting bone and soothing flesh with a cool, numbing hum. He could feel it working, stitching him back together stronger than before.

He wiped the blood from his split lip, his gaze fixed on the darkness where Vurok had vanished.

His eyes burned with a cold, hellish light that had nothing to do with the moon. He wasn’t defeated. He was just getting started.