Ascension of the Primalist [A Tamer Class, LitRPG]

"Don't get ahead of yourself," Marcus said, placing his teacup in the sink. "Most people need seven to ten stones to ignite their Well."

Seth already knew that, but he didn't care. He would think about a plan B if, and only if, it didn't work. Tonight, he could be a Wielder!

The crystal ball twirled leisurely between his fingers, shining under the nearest candle's light. His father had clearly held a different opinion from Seth's mother who had always told him to not waste coins on awakening stones. "Do you think I'll awaken as a Warrior?"

"Can't say," Marcus answered with a shrug. "But our Path pretty much determines our class, so since you're built like a bull, you probably will."

Seth's lips tightened and turned into a thin line. The Path. The destiny people choose for themselves, the route they shape with each step and each breath, from insignificant daily choices to incredible accomplishments; every interaction one had with the world's aether impacted who they were and what they would become. That didn't matter much for broke, unawakened commoners like him, but it did for Wielders.

And now… that could change.

A broad grin split Seth's face in half. Being a Warrior, fighting arcane beasts, selling their beaststones for tons of coins, and moving far away from the nobles. It could now all come true.

"If by some miracle you succeed, please, for Gaia's sake, use the scroll inside so I don't have to Identify you," Marcus added as he sat back behind the counter.

Seth retrieved the old scroll from inside the box. Its seal was brown and rusty, like a farming tool that had been left out in the rain too many times, but the magnifying glass etched in the middle gave it a distinct look. It was obviously meant to do more than just seal the parchment—

"An Identify spell-scroll!" he muttered.

Seth's stomach tightened. Even though it was a basic spell and only one awakening stone, his old man had probably scrimped and saved for years and years to afford them.

"If you want to stare at it for hours, do it outside of my shop," Marcus said with a loud sigh. "Your face is ruining my tea."

Seth tucked the scroll and the crystal back into the wooden box, then smiled. "Is it really tea if you put Pure Alcohol in it?"

"That's your fault. I cannot endure you without an ounce or two."

"Or three," Seth retorted.

Marcus dismissed him with a flick of his hand. "You better get out of here before I kick your ass."

"Fine, I'm leaving," Seth answered with a laugh, throwing the gift box under his armpit. "Next time you see me, I'm gonna be a Warrior!"

"Yeah, sure," Marcus muttered with a shake of his head while Seth bounded out of the shop.

Seth darted down the street, dodging people left and right, causing a few of them to curse at him.

"Bloody hell, Seth! Look where you're going!"

The excitement rushing through Seth's veins and flooding his heart kept him from glancing back. Houses blurred on both sides as he flew across Sunatown, wind whipping his black hair out of his face and his heavy breathing muffling most of the grumbles.

Reaching the end of a dirt road, he came to a halt in front of a lonely house; well, with the stacked logs that served as walls and the marble stone pillars at the corners, it looked more like a hunting cabin than a house.

Seth barged inside without wasting any time.

The entryway and living room were filled with paintings of stunning landscapes, from majestic rivers and forests to bustling cities, but as always, it was the simplest one that made him stop for a second: a portrait of two adults and a child in front of a house. His father, his mother and him, back when he was eight.

Despite Seth's and his father's golden eyes, it was his mother's smile that stood out the most from the painting. Leaving their remote house in the middle of the forest and building Sunatown from nothing had brought her so much joy.

As Seth looked around at the grime covering the floor, he realized just how much he had neglected the house since her passing. Even though it was hard for him to remain inside, he knew he should make an effort to clean up. Tomorrow, he told himself before heading upstairs.

His room, despite containing the bare minimum, was still a complete mess: an unmade bed, a broken chair he hadn't yet repaired, and an old wooden desk cluttered with sketches of hunting techniques and detailed notes on animal behavior.

One small piece of parchment at the top stood out from the others; it was yellowish, moldy, and charred around the edges—the trademark of Marcus' scrolls. Seth had needed to beg the old Alchemist for five whole minutes before the man had finally cast Identify on him and written his attributes down on the parchment. According to Sericar, that spell had originally been created for people to compare and track their own progression in terms of physical abilities, but over the decades and centuries it had become more complex and served now many other purposes.

Seth picked it up and looked at it for the third time that day.

Back then, Marcus had mentioned that most adults had only four or five points in each physical attribute, placing them within Rank 2, which ranged from eleven to twenty total attributes. At first, being above average had made Seth feel proud, but having no number on the right column had soon started to depress him.

Things are about to change, he thought, gazing out the window at the two moons rising above the wall of Sunatown in the distance. Let's do this.

After loosening the cord tied to his bed frame, Seth lowered the lantern hanging from the ceiling before lighting it and pulling it back up. Then, he retrieved the awakening stone from the wooden box and lay down on his bed.

Two years.

That was how long it would take him to earn the seventy common coins he needed to buy another stone to get another chance if he didn't awaken with that one.

I can't fail, he thought as his heartbeat quickened. Not if I want to get into Trogan Academy.

Seth took a few deep breaths and stared at the ceiling, trying to calm his mind. He had pestered Marcus and Wandering Merchants countless times to explain how to use stones—even though it was fairly simple and he'd already known every step by heart.

First, squeeze it in your hand. Then, focus on the inside. When you sense a tiny bit of aether, pull it toward your sternum. Finally, hold it there as long as possible to ignite your Well.

After repeating the instructions a dozen times, Seth felt ready and closed his eyes. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. He couldn't fail.

Squeeze it.

His fingers closed around the awakening stone, pressing down onto its hard surface as if trying to break it.

Focus.

All his attention moved onto the crystal ball in his palm and everything else around him blurred away, just as it did when he aimed with his bow. He searched for the slightest change in the orb. Anything. Seconds turned into minutes, yet he remained focused.

Finally, it appeared.

A flicker. Soft and warm, like a tiny flame was dancing in the middle of his palm. It was what he had been waiting for: aether.

Pull it.

Seth tried grabbing the thing and dragging it closer to his chest with his mind. But to his surprise, each time he pulled, a small amount of the aether-flame vanished like smoke in the wind.

A wave of dread immediately crept up into his chest and washed over him—if he continued to do the same, the thing would all disappear before even reaching his elbow... along with his dreams.

He had to be gentle. Guide it without force. As if he was capturing a wild beast.

Don't fight it. Make it think it's the boss, that it's the one leading you.

The moment Seth gave some freedom to the tiny flame, it began moving in all directions, but slowly it drew closer to his chest in a chaotic yet controlled dance. Several tense minutes later, the aether finally reached his sternum, where it settled right between his ribcage and his pounding heart.

Keep it.

Seth threw every ounce of body's energy into the small fire with a single goal in mind: turning it into a blazing inferno that would pierce the sky. In no time, it grew and reached the size of his fist, burning bright and hot, sparking smaller flames throughout his body and transforming his insides into one large, raging wildfire. Anyone would have expected such a process would be painful, yet it was quite the opposite—it was warm and comforting, like being wrapped in a blanket on a cold night.

Seth gradually lost himself in the soothing heat, and time passed without him realizing it. When he began to notice the intense stiffness in his joints, he tried to move his hands and feet but couldn't—it felt as if his entire body had been set in stone.

How much longer do I have to keep—

Something cut his thought short. The flame is gone.

Yet he could still feel aether swirling vividly in front of his heart. No matter what he thought about, it didn't budge. It remained dense and strong.

"I did it!" He winced, stretching out his arms and legs before laboriously sitting down. He was now a Wielder. His life had just changed forever. "I'll make that hare pay for—wait, my class!"

Seth reached for the wooden box beside him, snapped it open, and pulled out the Identify spell-scroll. He then examined the old parchment and the rusty seal, his fingers brushing the engraved magnifying glass.

Learning spells was normally a long, arduous process. Wielders needed to first understand the theory behind shaping aether into the desired form, such as a fireball or a wind blast, then practice tirelessly on a daily basis for months—or even years. During that time, the repeated flow of aether would slowly carve out specific pathways, known as grooves, that would allow Wielders to perform the task more efficiently and quickly. Once fully developed, these elaborate and complex formations of grooves were what people referred to as spells.

However, over the years, the nobles had invented a way to skip this laborious task: spell-scrolls. Crafted by Scribes and Scholars, these scrolls were single-use items that could instantly imprint these grooves into a Wielder's Well and aether channels. Not only did it save a tremendous amount of time, it also ensured that those newly carved pathways were optimal—one of the best, if not the best, routes aether could take, which would allow them to cast stronger spells with less aether.

Unsurprisingly, these scrolls became a luxury available only to the nobles due to their exorbitant price. And yet somehow, his father had managed to get one for him.

Thanks, father, Seth thought, breaking the seal of the spell-scroll.

Unrolling the parchment, he quickly went through the three short paragraphs of instructions it contained. The first one explained how to carve the spell into his Well by crushing the scroll in his hand, while the second and the third briefly described how it would allow his right eye to see through the aether of his target, transposing it into numbers and words that would appear in his field of vision.

Alright, let's do this.

Seth's hand pinched the bottom of the scroll, causing it to disintegrate in a cloud of blue particles. Almost instantly, aether surged into his palm and streamed into his chest. In mere seconds, it etched deep, intricate grooves inside his Well, then branched out into his aether channels and rushed toward his eyes. The sensation was intense—as if his very soul was being rewritten—and yet the pain wasn't really that bad.

As the grooves solidified, Seth could easily feel them shimmering within himself like illuminated paths on a dark night. Pushing aside his amazement, he channeled aether from his Well into the freshly formed pathways, ready to cast his first spell.

To Seth's dismay, the grooves, despite being well-defined, still allowed him to make mistakes. In the end, it took him great focus and six attempts to properly guide and shape the aether through the complex labyrinth before finally being able to direct it to the back of his right eye.

Quickly straightening himself up, Seth squinted at one of his hands.

Seth skimmed through the lines of text that appeared in the corner of his vision; almost instantly, his heart plummeted.

Primalist.

The worst possible combat class. A class that was supposed to help Wielders survive in the wild and turn them into jack-of-all-trades but in reality gave next to nothing—on top of being the most difficult one to Rank up.

All Wandering Merchants Seth had encountered had only laughed about that class, telling everyone how they had to train ten times harder than others just to gain a single attribute. In Seth's experience, it had gotten to the point people who had been awakening that class considered it as a punishment of the Gods for their negligence toward their Paths.

Goodbye, wealth. Goodbye, peaceful life.

Becoming a successful adventurer with that lackluster class? Not a chance. At best, he might get into one of Trogan's common schools that focused on the non-combat classes like Farmer and Alchemists. But even that seemed…unlikely. The reputation of Primalists was just that bad.

Seth desperately rubbed his eyes as if by some miracles it would change his class.

But it remained the same.