The Primal Hunter Chapter 1294 - Venusian Village

Jake, much like any rational person, held firm to the belief that words carried precise meanings and definitions. Therefore, when talk of a village reached his ears, he naturally pictured a certain image in his mind.

To be fair, his preconceptions were likely influenced by encountering these semi-tribal frog folk. Perhaps unfairly, but still, when the Shaman first spoke of the village, Jake had imagined a modest, cozy settlement housing maybe a few hundred of these frog-people.

Clearly, reality proved far different.

Beyond the hill, a sprawling valley unfolded before Jake's eyes, brimming with diverse semi-permanent dwellings of various kinds. Countless huts numbering in the tens of thousands dotted the landscape, alongside at least a thousand spacious yurts and even more modest tent structures. A conservative guess placed the population at several hundred thousand inhabitants.

Dominating the valley's heart stood the most striking feature: a grand lake cradling a massive wooden temple on stilts right in its center, connected by numerous floating walkways. Spanning at least five kilometers across, the lake hosted a temple roughly eighty to ninety meters wide and soaring a quarter-kilometer high, topped by a towering spire.

Around the lake's shores, vibrant reeds and water lilies thrived in lush clusters, their bright greens and pale whites standing out against the dark, chilly waters. Despite the pervasive toxic air, the area buzzed with life, frogs moving about in great numbers, particularly clustering near the lake.

Twisting paths wound through the tents and huts, adorned with vivid banners and woven mats that spoke of deep-rooted traditions. These frogs clearly possessed a rich cultural heritage, and in this flower-scarce, hostile environment poisoned by the air, any splash of color seemed precious and scarce.

The settlement felt utterly alien to human norms. Built for the much larger Venusians, the structures loomed comically oversized by Jake's standards. He was also struck by the wide variety in the frogs' appearances.

Scarce as colorful items were, the frogs themselves displayed a dazzling array of hues, from brilliant emerald to shimmering dusky blue-green, often marked by intricate skin patterns that left Jake unsure if they were innate or artificial. Body types varied between hefty, robust builds and slender forms, the slimmer ones frequently sporting ornate headdresses crafted from reeds and trophy pieces from slain beasts—likely symbols of prowess, since monsters gained no equipment benefits.

Glancing at the Shaman beside him, Jake now appreciated the expressiveness of these beings. Their large golden eyes brimmed with sharp intelligence, faces equipped with muscles for rich emotional displays beyond typical frogs. Webbed hands proved remarkably agile, as he observed villagers weaving nets, hauling goods, or expertly constructing new buildings amid the ever-growing village.

“Welcome to our humble home,” the Shaman declared, allowing Jake sufficient time to take in the sight. “The Oracle dwells atop the Life Pool, safeguarding the young and bestowing her blessings to nurture them into strong adults.”

“Life Pool?” Jake queried, arching a brow. He had anticipated something unique about that central body of water, shielded by a potent magical barrier that blocked any sense of its interior.

“The origin of all Venusians,” the Shaman replied. “Eggs are deposited in the Life Pool, hatching into tadpoles at the proper moment. They dwell within until maturity allows emergence, heralding a fresh generation.”

“Does it follow cycles?” Jake inquired, curiosity piqued.

“Yes, indeed,” the Shaman affirmed with pleasure, relishing the chance to share his people's lore. Viewing it as everyday knowledge, he saw no reason to conceal details. “Cycle lengths vary without fixed duration, though typically a decade passes from hatching to surfacing.”

Jake nodded, surveying the village a while longer. The Shaman granted more time before drawing his focus.

“Time to proceed inside. Though we can endure the outer world, the village offers greater comfort,” the Shaman stated, drifting ahead slowly.

Trailing behind, Jake and the five accompanying frogs crossed a vast invisible barrier enveloping the entire settlement. It yielded no opposition or scrutiny, yet its influence hit Jake instantly upon passage.

Within, the air turned far less aggressive right away. Visibility sharpened dramatically, and the mana permeating the space felt notably purer despite its toxicity—more refined. Acting as an energy filter and purifier, the barrier converted ambient power into a frog-friendly form, aiding their development simply by residence. This explained the prevalence of C-grade and higher auras from the village, though tadpole evolution at C-grade likely contributed too.

“Our Head Shaman erected the village barrier. Three leaders govern us: the Head Shaman, Village Chief, and Oracle, with the Oracle holding supremacy. The Village Chief manages daily operations and village matters, commanding warriors during major threats. The Head Shaman guides us shamans, communes with sacred spirits, and wields worldly forces. The Oracle links us to the Ancestral Village, steering our path forward.”

Jake nodded, once again astonished by the structured civility on display. These frogs teetered on the edge of enlightenment as a species—terrifyingly close. They might not mirror humans with class and profession, but could evolve like beastkin or scalekin with one. To Jake, they already seemed there.

Yet maybe barriers existed. Their monster traits might hinder a divergent evolutionary Path. Jake remained unclear on the monster-to-enlightened transition, increasingly doubting the term as these frogs appeared profoundly aware.

“Stay close as we enter to prevent mishaps,” the Shaman advised, guiding Jake to the village edge. They descended, the Shaman noting flight was discouraged inside, urging a walk instead.

Jake pondered retracting his scales but maintained them. The poisonous surroundings fueled endless toxin refinement via Palate, offsetting mana costs indefinitely. He folded his wings away, however, as they hindered navigation through crowds.

“As noted earlier, we all originated here. Though I aspire to visit someday, none of us have reached the Ancestral Village, but we've explored nearby settlements,” the Shaman elaborated amid stares from curious frogs as they traversed the paths.

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Jake drew plenty of stares, a tiny oddity amid giants. No one approached, thanks to his position beside the Shaman, flanked by the escorting frogs resembling guards, lending an air of formality to their procession.

During the walk, Jake experimented by focusing to disable Myriad Tongues, seeking the raw sound of frog speech. Effort yielded results as translated words dissolved into authentic village clamor—a choice he didn't regret.

Exotic yet recognizable sounds filled the air, their communication carrying a melodic quality: deep croaks blended with whistles and near-verbal tones, each inflection conveying distinct meanings incomprehensible without his skill.

This alien tongue defied comparison to any known language. Jake wondered how his voice registered to them via Myriad Tongues—did it mimic their croaks? Hilarious yet eerie. System magic's omnipotence was unquestioned, especially ignoring lip sync discrepancies...

Avoiding mental overload, Jake reactivated Myriad Tongues, restoring comprehensible chatter. He tuned out specifics but caught intriguing snippets revealing village life.

The Shaman pointed out landmarks and recounted history. Jake discovered their impermanent homes stemmed from the Corrosive Tide, periodic surges of ultra-toxic energy devastating all in path, including structures. Villagers retreated to the temple's central barrier for safety, sacrificing outer buildings.

Happily, Corrosive Tides struck only every decade or two, the last merely three years past. Or sadly, as Jake curiously yearned to witness one—yet rebuilding after periodic annihilation sounded dreadful.

“How strong are these Corrosive Tides?” Jake pressed. “And what causes them?”

Surprised by Jake's ignorance after casual mention, the Shaman tilted his head. “No such tides in your homeland?”

“None,” Jake confirmed, shaking his head. “But natural calamities abound there too.”

Jake recalled multiversal cataclysms erasing galaxies daily, or planetary threats like meteors and flares—why moon bases like Arnold's proved wise against solar whims.

“Fascinating,” the Shaman mused. “Tide potency fluctuates, from my knowledge, but the recent one could have slain me outright. Lacking leaders' shields, most or all would perish.”

That sounded dire. Seeking a Corrosive Tide suddenly seemed unwise... though temptation lingered.

“Their source eludes me—and everyone, truly,” the Shaman admitted. “Even the Ancestral Village knows not, per the Oracle. But their origin is clear: the ocean releases them.”

“The ocean, interesting,” Jake noted, following up aptly: “Where exactly?”

Giant lakes abounded, but none matched the described power; several lay en route here.

Puzzled anew, the Shaman shook his head. “Your origins baffle me. The ocean underpins all reality, birthing and dooming the world. Descend, and you'll reach it eventually—though I advise against it for our kind.”

“Got it,” Jake replied, curiosity intensifying dangerously. Warnings only fueled his urge to explore forbidden zones.

Assessing Jake's strangeness briefly, the Shaman refocused ahead. “Come, the Oracle senses your arrival.”

This piqued Jake's interest—no scans had detected it amid the gawking crowd, though underestimation of Venusian subtlety grew apparent beyond culture.

Nearing the central lake, potent auras mounted, keeping Jake vigilant. He hadn't pegged the initial Shaman, Virumancer, and Warriors as power pinnacles, but assumed top tiers—now questionable.

C-grades abounded, B-grades outnumbered them. Levels neared 400 swiftly, then a strong aura prompted Identify on a frog crafting monster-hide garb routinely.

[Venusian Artisan: lvl 411]

Jake could fell it, especially as a crafter, but forward auras hinted at escalation. Streets curved toward grander, color-rich tents as the lake loomed.

On a balcony, a slender Venusian conversed below, exuding might that drew another Identify.

[Venusian Mistcaller: lvl 465]

The interlocutor fared worse.

[Venusian Artisan: lvl 467]

At those levels... no contest, far too hazardous.

Unease crept in amid lethal foes, hundreds over 450 strong, in this isolated Minor World unbound by multiversal conventions.

Divine statuses like Viper's Chosen meant nothing here, gods unknown. Jake steeled himself, projecting greater authority—precarious if misstepped.

Silence dominated the trek, Shaman exchanging nods with superior B-grades, affirming his prominence. Notably, Shamans remained scarce.

At last, they hit a walkway to the temple, guarded by a burly warrior wielding the first metal weapon spied: a rough halberd humming with aura suited to its master.

[Venusian Warrior: lvl 488]

“Back so soon?” the Warrior rumbled coarsely, unlike the Shaman. “Who's the stranger?”

Pressure built toward combat instinct as eyes fixed on Jake.

“Oracle's invited guest,” the Shaman snapped firmly. “By summons.”

Chastened, the Warrior bowed deeply, voice suddenly elegant. “My apologies, enter swiftly and respectfully.”

“We will,” the Shaman affirmed, ushering Jake inward.

At the entrance, Jake sensed anomaly: no conventional door, but rune-etched magic laced with space affinity. A portal, verified as it parted to unveil a vast circular chamber of vibrant murals and decor. Yet details escaped him.

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