Ascension of the Primalist [A Tamer Class, LitRPG]

Nine years later…

Crouched in a bush, Seth carefully pushed a branch aside, an arrow gleaming at the end of his bow. His golden eyes scanned the ground, and with every step, he made sure to avoid dry twigs, wary of making any noise. He couldn't afford to come back empty-handed. Not today. Not two hunts in a row.

As he inched forward, a soft burbling reached his ears. The sound was barely audible, buried under the rustling of the leaves and the crickets' chirping. A stream, he realized.

The perfect place to find animals.

Gradually, the thickness of the foliage decreased, allowing the sun's rays to pass through and reach his short, black hair. The moment he arrived at the end of the cluster of bushes, Seth narrowed his eyes to peer around, looking carefully left and right.

Nothing. Not a single animal in view.

Seriously, how can I be this unlucky, he sighed inwardly, lowering his bow. A single catch wouldn't have made much of a difference, but at least he wouldn't have to take from his reserve to eat again—especially with the tax collector expecting payment tomorrow.

Just as Seth was about to turn and leave, something caught his eye.

A hare.

It was right next to the stream, dipping its head to drink at its edge as the small beast's silver fur swirled in the wind, shimmering with jade-like tints that gave it a baffling look—one that could only be conferred by aether. Only the mystic energy's properties could make something so distinct and beautiful.

Yet he was miles away from the Wicked Forest. Why would an arcane beast enter an area with almost zero aether density? Sure, carnivorous beasts sometimes came to hunt easy prey, but this was a goddamn hare, not a wolf.

Seth's gaze lowered toward the tip of his arrow. Can I kill it?

Some arcane beasts had the same Toughness as normal humans, so theoretically he could. Theoretically.

No one from Sunatown had ever tried to slay one—or had survived to share their attempt. Running away was the best—and only—option when encountering one. But despite knowing that, Seth couldn't shove the idea aside.

If he succeeded, his life could change forever. Sericar had told him that some arcane beasts were so rare that even if they were weak, their corpses—specifically the precious gem inside their chest—could still be sold for a copper. Since each of those was worth a hundred common coins, the payout could sustain him for years... or allow him to buy an awakening stone.

He couldn't let such an opportunity slip by.

With his current rate of earning and the suffocating Faertis tax, it would take him at least two more years before he could afford even his first stone; three if he counted the fifty percent extra tax to just use it. And even then, the odds of becoming a Wielder would be almost nonexistent. Awakening with a single stone was unheard of. But it was still the chance of a lifetime.

How many times had he dreamed about that? Being a Wielder would free him of both the endless hunting days and the financial shackles binding him to this place. After making sure no one in Sunatown would starve again, he could finally embrace the life of adventurer, earn a good living, explore the world and—finally—take it easy.

Seth had to accept some risks. What was the worst that could happen? He missed—which was extremely rare—or his arrow didn't penetrate the aether-enhanced fur. Then what? That little hare would simply run away into the undergrowth, and he would just go back to hunting normal animals.

There's simply no reason not to take this chance, he realized, making up his mind.

Seth's fingers itched as he slowly drew back his bowstring and zeroed in on the hare. It was still peacefully drinking—a stationary target. Waiting for the wind to slowly die down, he visualized the shot over and over in his mind. Every fiber of his body had started tingling with anticipation when the small breeze finally stopped hitting his cheek.

Now.

Seth let his arrow loose, watching as it soared across the open field, flying directly toward the hare's head, ready to claim its life. A grin unfurled across his face. Right on.

But then, in a flash, a vortex of air appeared around the creature, rapidly expanding into a tornado, shattering everything in its path—rocks, grass, trees… and his arrow.

The blast of wind spread and hit him, forcing Seth to lean forward and shield his face with both arms. Instantly, a searing pain sunk into his forearms, as if thousands of boiling-hot knives were slicing through his skin, slowly peeling it layer by layer. He screamed and dug his boots into the ground. Freaking hell!

The wind battering him, he struggled to stay on his feet, his hands desperately searching for something to grab onto—without success. About to fall backwards, Seth shut his eyes and braced himself.

Then, it stopped.

The violent and powerful wind vanished, dissipating into the clearing's ambient trees. Hot blood dripped from Seth's shredded forearms, slowly pooling onto the ground.

What the hell was that? he thought, raising his head.

In front of him, the hare seemed to stand at the same place it had been, but it was hard to say—all the lush grass and bushes around it had been replaced by a large barren crater. The nearest trees had been knocked down, roots ripped from the ground, and the rocks bordering the stream were now all scattered, some more than a dozen yards away from their initial location.

What kind of spell could cause such destruction? It would probably be best to leave before—Shit.

Seth rolled to the left, dodging a blast of wind hurtling his way. As he sprang back to his feet, a thunderous crash echoed, followed by a series of sharp cracks that made him glance over his shoulder—the massive oak behind him had begun toppling over onto the neighboring trees, two-thirds of its trunk completely destroyed.

Seth snapped his head the other way.

Dirt was whirling around the silver hare as if it was standing in the middle of a small tornado. The beast's red eyes were gleaming, staring at him from within the spinning dust. Seth's stomach tightened in knots, and intense fear crept up his chest. A single thought prevailed in his mind.

Run.

With a burst of adrenaline, he turned and broke into a sprint. Branches struck his large body, scratching his skin and clothes—but he couldn't care less. Barely a few steps later, a deafening bang erupted from behind, shaking his bones and ringing in his ears. As he dared to look back, Seth saw the silver hare now a few steps away, standing amidst a new smoldering crater, surrounded by unrooted oaks and pine trees. The air in front of the beast seemed to blur and condense into a small veil of mist, before shrinking vertically.

Looks like it's being compressed into a thin… blade!

Seth dove to the ground, and the wind whipped past him before slicing an enormous rock in half.

"Holy shit!"

Without hesitation, he stood up and dashed away once again. Driven by fear, he weaved through the dense forest, ducking down in the undergrowth almost every dozen yards to dodge the deadly blasts. The blurred trees on each side were getting cut or smashed into thousands of tiny pieces left and right. Probably two different spells—and two different ways of dying.

Seth kept running for what felt like an hour, the wind lashing his face, and his heart pounding in his ears. With each breath he took, his throat grew more dry and his lungs felt like they slowly turned into a desert, scorching and searing upon contact with the air. The dull thuds of the falling trees had ceased for quite some time, but his body still refused to stop its sprint. Eventually, his legs gave out and he collapsed to the ground, drenched in sweat.

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For several long minutes he strained his ears, trying to catch any suspicious noise. Yet all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and winces every time a breeze brushed against the raw skin of his injured arms.

The hare had probably concluded he wasn't worth the trouble, which made sense. Even if the arcane beast had been a carnivore, his muscular six-foot-two body wouldn't have been a tasty meal. After all, it didn't hold a single drop of aether.

With a loud sigh, Seth leaned against the pine tree behind him.

"Time to head back home."

Seth rubbed some of the dry blood off his forearms as he emerged from the forest. People would be terrified if they saw him in such a state, so it would be best to pass by Marcus' shop to clean himself up before crossing the town. The Alchemist wouldn't give a damn about his arms and would certainly not tell anyone—that old bastard wasn't much into small talk, gossip… or any basic social activities whatsoever.

The high wooden walls of Sunatown began to appear on the horizon. For years, that thirty-foot-tall structure had made the few thousand citizens inside feel safe, Seth included. Not anymore. That hare could slaughter all of them without any real effort.

Who would stop it?

Non-Wielders were no match for arcane beasts. He had trained for nine years to awaken as a Warrior, and he was now one of the best fighters in town. And despite that, he still had to run for his life.

Some people would argue and say the town had two Wielders to defend them, but Seth saw things differently. First, Marcus as an Alchemist would be no match for an arcane beast. Non-combat classes were sure useful to earn coins, but they didn't bring much to fight. So, the only one who would stand a chance would be Vandric, the town's Priest. Yet the man was one of the biggest cowards the world had ever seen. There was no doubt he would hide in his house even if the beast was butchering people right outside his door.

As Seth reached the east gate, he hid his wounds from Rick, the young kid who fancied himself as a watchman, and smiled. "Good afternoon, Rick."

"Good afternoon, Seth!" the youngster exclaimed. "How was the hunt?"

"Could have been better," he answered, turning around and keeping his arms behind his back while passing by. "See you tomorrow!"

"Better luck next time. See you tomorrow!"

After nodding at the kid, Seth continued on his way. Even if all citizens were paying a monthly tax to the Faertis House for the land—on top of the forty-percent selling tax—those crooked nobles still didn't assign any real watchman to defend their town. They just don't think our lives matter.

Seth made his way through the narrow alleys between wooden houses and shops, avoiding the main streets. In the end, the trip took him twice the usual time, but he reached Marcus' potion shop without anyone catching sight of his wounds.

From the outside, the building looked gloomy, dark, and unwelcoming with the discolored timber planks that made up most of its outer structure and the small, stained windows. As he entered, Seth was welcomed by the usual dust falling from the doorframe and a strong scent of iron. Blood.

The smell was new, but the gruesome interior was the same as the previous month. Wooden beams supported the upper floor with small, molten candles hanging from them. Different potions filled the shelves, their bottles varying in color and form, the majority of them covered in a layer of grime and dust. The only clean ones were the bestsellers: the Growth Accelerators, Basic Medicines and Pure Alcohols—everything the citizens of a farming village like Sunatown needed.

"What are you doing here?" the old Alchemist growled from behind the counter. The man's long white clumpy hair was almost as poorly groomed as the moth-eaten black robe draping his slender frame.

"I know our next appointment should be in, um—"

"Three days," Marcus interrupted.

"Yeah, exactly!" Seth exclaimed before moving closer. "But that's not why I'm here. I just need a tiny favor."

The old man's eyes narrowed as he turned around to arrange potions filled with red liquid on a shelf behind him. Two crimson words were painted on the labeling wooden sign: Baiting Potions.

That explains the smell, Seth thought.

"What do you want?" Marcus asked, without looking at him.

"Not much," he answered. "Just the extra clothes I hid in your store and the sink to clean up my arms."

"Sure, you can use—wait, you hid what in my store?" Marcus exclaimed, spinning around.

"Extra clothes. In case I needed to change after a hunt."

"And why can't you change at your house? Like you do every day," the Alchemist asked with a grunt as he opened the counter door, nodding toward the back of the store.

"I can't let people see this," Seth said, showing his forearms. "Everyone would freak out."

Marcus' eyes widened. "What in Gaia's name happened?"

"I got attacked by an arcane beast," Seth answered while making his way to the worn sink and taking off his torn shirt. "Well, technically, I attacked it first."

"Great idea." Marcus rolled his eyes and shuffled toward the store's entrance. "You're lucky to be alive."

"I know," Seth sighed, wincing slightly as he scrubbed his arm with the soap. "I just thought I could get some easy coins. I can't make any decent earnings with the stupid Faertis tax."

Marcus closed the shop's door before grabbing a Pure Alcohol Potion on the way back. Reaching the counter, he popped the cap off and poured a few ounces into a half-full teacup.

Seth grimaced. Tea and alcohol. Why am I not not even surprised?

The old Alchemist took a sip as he settled into his seat. "So, which kind of beast was it? You'll have to warn the citizens that it's roaming around."

"What difference would it make?" Seth asked, barely glancing up while rinsing off his wounds. "Even if they tell the Faertis, they won't send a single Wielder to protect us."

"Maybe not, but at least people could prepare."

"Prepare for what? A miserable death?" Seth muttered, staring at his arms before splashing his face and turning down the water. "That thing could kill them in half a second."

Marcus' eyes narrowed and his voice sharpened. "Watch your tone, boy."

"I have some of the highest attributes here outside of you and Vandric, and I barely escaped alive." Seth threw his arm into his clean shirt's sleeve and forced each of the buttons into their hole.

He had trained for years, pushing his body to the limit every single day, yet in the end it had all been for nothing—his mother had still died, and he'd still had to run away from a freaking hare.

"Don't get full of yourself," Marcus retorted. "Attributes aren't the only things that matter. Who cares if you have great Strength and Agility if you don't know how to fight?"

"I do know how to fight," Seth hissed. "That hare was just too damn strong."

One of Marcus' eyebrows raised. "A… hare?"

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Seth muttered, standing in the doorframe. "I nearly got killed by a beast smaller than a dog."

"All those muscles and you had to run from a Cottontail," Marcus chuckled, a mocking smile on his wrinkled face.

"It was a hare, not a damn rabbit," Seth grumbled. "And you should have seen its spells. It summoned tornadoes that destroyed everything nearby, blasts of wind that shattered trees, wind blades that cleaved freaking rocks in half."

Marcus' eyes widened for a brief instant. "What did it look like?"

"Like every hare out there... except for the green tints in its silver fur."

The Alchemist's face almost instantly hardened. "Let's hope it doesn't attack the town. It would wipe us off the map."

"See! I didn't run for—wait, do you know what that thing was?"

Marcus nodded, taking another slow sip. "It was probably a Tempest Hare. A high-Arcane Power species. The worst possible enemy for a village with no real combat Wielder like Sunatown. But luckily, those things are usually pacifists. The one you encountered shouldn't hold a grudge, so we should be safe."

Seth's frustration almost all disappeared with the Alchemist's words. A high-Arcane Power species. No wonder he couldn't fight back. If only he had known what it was beforehand, he wouldn't have taken that shot.

Maybe today will be different, Seth suddenly thought, grabbing the quill on the counter and a piece of parchment next to it. "How high is the Arcane Power of the weakest Tempest Hare? What's their most powerful spell? What Tier can they reach?"

"Nope, I'm not your personal encyclopedia," Marcus answered, but then a sudden spark flashed in his old eyes, and the Alchemist immediately pivoted on his heels, walking toward the back store. "I almost forgot."

Seth scowled. "Oh come on, Marcus. How am I supposed to learn about them? It's been years since a traveling merchant had a book about arcane beasts. I can't just wait forever!"

Marcus' voice came out from between two large shelves, "Stop complaining. You're seventeen now. You should be able to—"

Two loud thuds cut off the Alchemist mid-sentence as Seth shut his eyes and exhaled loudly through his nose. Seventeen years old.

From now on, with each passing day, his chances of getting into Trogan Academy would grow thinner and thinner. Even if by some miracle he managed to become a Wielder in two or three years, it would still be too late. It was an elite school. No seats for late bloomers who couldn't awaken in the following year after turning seventeen.

Taking a deep breath, Seth glanced at the ceiling. Since his mother's death, his goal had been to use the academy as a means to grow stronger and earn enough coins to live an easy life; stop the constant hunting and buy a secluded house, away from all the nobles and their bullshit. But it was time to face the truth: there was no way he could get the copper coin for an awakening stone. Especially if the rumors about the Faertis raising taxes again next month were true.

"Stop making such a face and open this," Marcus said, brandishing a wooden box as he approached Seth. "Your father wanted me to give it to you on your 17th birthday. I'm two days late, but who cares?"

The box's cover was magnificently carved with a young woman's face: long curly hair, a delicate jawline, deep eyes and a shy smile. It took Seth less than a second to recognize her—the only woman he had seen nearly every day of his life. His mother. She looked twenty years younger and far healthier, her disease having not yet taken away her beauty.

Seth's hand brushed the cold oak as tears welled up in his eyes. Memories of her flooded his mind—her love, her warmth and the broad smile she exuded even in her worst moments. It had been seven months, and yet that tightness was still there in his chest. He had failed her; a son should be able to help his mother.

Shaking his head, Seth pushed those thoughts aside. His father had prepared a gift for him before dying nearly a decade ago. I should focus on that.

Carefully, he pushed the lid up and opened the box.

His breathing stopped.

A transparent crystal ball was nestled inside, squeezed between an old scroll and a thick leather book. The flickering candlelight of the shop glimmered on its surface as Seth stood motionless, mouth agape, unable to utter a word, a lump stuck in his throat. How many times had he dreamed of getting one of those?

An awakening stone.