Ascension of the Primalist [A Tamer Class, LitRPG]

Seth woke up to a symphony of birds chirping outside and the sun, already high in the sky, gleaming through the window. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he swung his legs over the edge of his straw-stuffed mattress. The previous night had been so emotionally draining that he had apparently overslept. At least the clenching frustration in his stomach had faded away a little.

His class couldn't be changed even with all the money in the world, so he could only make the best out of it. It was still better than nothing.

After going down the stairs, he moved through the small kitchen, his body operating by muscle memory when he lit the fireplace and set a pan on the steel sheet just above. He dropped in half a dozen eggs, letting them sizzle, then turned to the bread. Instead of holding it over the flames, he used the hot coals, nestling the rough loaf near their glowing heat to toast it more evenly, avoiding the risk of charring. Once everything was cooked, he piled the food onto a plate, sat at the table, and began to eat.

When he bit into the food, his fingers rubbed the outline of a small, velvet pouch next to a pile of worn clothes on the table. With a sigh, he turned it upside down and a necklace fell from the inside. Hanging from a silver chain, two small lustrous, bluish teardrops shone under the sunlight coming through the windows. A gift from his mother on his sixteenth birthday. He could still remember the broad smile on her face when she had handed it to him.

Mael will laugh his ass off again if he sees me wearing it, he thought, yet he still slipped the necklace over his head, giving in to the guilt. My mother's gift shouldn't accumulate dust.

After finishing breakfast, Seth cleared the table and carefully put on his hunting gear, mindful not to rub the blood-caked wounds on his arms. There was no way he would wait for them to heal—he needed to see how hard increasing his attributes as a Primalist really was.

As Seth strode toward the east gate, he noticed a few kids staring at him as usual. Even though his gear wasn't flashy, it still made him stand out in a town of farmers. The shoulder pads of the hooded brown leather jacket were considerably damaged, with small fragments flaking away, while the dark pants bore dirt stains still clinging on the knees despite numerous washes. The arrow-filled quiver and the bow on his back swayed with each step, unlike the ten-inch hunting knife strapped firmly to his thigh.

As he passed by Marcus' store, a young man with a blond ponytail reaching the middle of his back and striking blue eyes emerged, two potions in his hands. Mael, shit.

"Hey, Seth!"

I can't tell him yet, Seth thought. Not until I figure out just how bad this class is—I don't want any pity. "Hey, what brings you here?"

Mael showed the two Pure Alcohol Potions. "My old man ran out last night. You know him. Can't live a single day without it."

"You should kick his ass and tell him to get them himself," Seth replied scornfully.

Everyone in town agreed that the drunkard deserved a massive beating—and not just once. The man had struck Mael and his mother many times in the past, and each time he had blamed the alcohol for his actions like a coward. No one in town, including Seth, would have tolerated the man's behaviors for so long if he weren't the size of a bear.

"Asshole, you know I'd be the one getting my ass kicked," Mael laughed. "He's twice my size!"

Seth smiled while grabbing his friend's shoulder. Although Mael wasn't particularly short, he barely reached Seth's chin. "I thought being courageous was your Path?"

"There's a difference between being courageous and stupid!" Mael exclaimed. "I'll take him on next year. His size won't matter when I'm a Wielder."

Seth frowned. "Will you have enough for the stone by then?"

Ever since Seth had known Mael, the young man had always harbored a single goal: becoming a Wielder and getting into Trogan Academy. In contrast, Seth had only begun pursuing that path after his mother's death a few months ago, and for a very different purpose. While Mael was aiming for an officer position in Kastal's army, which would be granted to him upon graduation, Seth had viewed the academy as a training ground to grow stronger before joining the Adventurers Guild. His whole plan had been to earn money through the guild's assignments, pay off the academy's leaving fee to avoid military duties, and then buy a nice house away from all the nobles' nonsense. But, this Primalist class now definitely changed things.

"Yes," Mael answered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Sorry to break it to you, brother, but I'm making far more at the forge than you do hunting. I'll have enough in a month or two. I don't sell anything, so I only pay the land tax."

If only you knew, Seth thought. His friend had no idea how expensive his mother's treatments had been—if Mael did, he would have quit his job and started hunting too. Without the medical expenses, Seth could have bought at least two awakening stones by this point. And even more without those damn taxes.

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Suddenly, Seth's heart skipped a beat. "Shit! The land tax!"

Mael's lips awkwardly pressed together. "Don't tell me you forgot again?"

"Yeah, damn it!" Seth muttered before clapping Mael's shoulder. "I've got to go! See you later!"

Without waiting for a response, Seth spun around and burst into a sprint back to his house, his jacket's hood flapping behind him and the arrows rattling in his quiver. He had to get there before the tax collector.

The Faertis House's lackey wasn't particularly forgiving, to say the least. Last time Seth had forgotten to pay the land tax at the central market, the man had punched him so hard in the gut that he had ended up vomiting for nearly ten minutes.

Seth skidded to a halt in front of his house, barely taking the time to catch his breath before dashing inside. The door creaked open, and he kicked off the mud covering his boots against the doorframe before striding to the kitchen. Dropping to his knees, he removed a loose plank in the corner of the room and grabbed the small pouch underneath.

Less than a minute later, Seth put the floor's plank back in place and started counting the coins inside, a sharp knock echoed, making him freeze in place. His heart instantly leapt into his throat, and his stomach clenched.

Here it comes.

Seth's fingers tightened around the pouch as he approached the door, hesitating for a brief moment before turning the handle. Pulling it open, he came face-to-face with a large man dressed in the purple and black of the Faertis House, the house's emblem—a black lion on a white shield—proudly displayed on his chest. The man's face was stern and grim, his cold eyes fixed on Seth with a look of disdain.

"The land tax," he said, extending his hand.

Coins before the punch, Seth thought, remembering all the times he'd lied to the man about how much he'd sold at the market just to dodge part of the selling tax. Meat from several hunts, a bundle of fox pelts, deer antlers, whatever he could scrape together. Desperate, foolish efforts to save a few measly common coins for his mother's treatment.

On the few occasions the tax collector had caught him, the beatings had been brutal.

Even so, if his mother were still alive, Seth knew he'd do it all over again without even a second thought.

Suddenly, the expression of the man from the Faertis House changed. A sneer curled his lips, and a flare of interest flickered across his face. Then, a cold sensation bloomed in Seth's chest—more precisely from his Well—and then spread throughout his body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. This wasn't fear. It was something else. Something was scrutinizing his Well. Identify, probably. Shit.

"Oh, so you've awakened, have you?" the man chuckled. Then his tone shifted, and his eyes turned frigid again. "I hope you did not forget about the awakening tax?"

"No, sir, I didn't," Seth mumbled, reaching into his pouch and pulling fifty-three common coins out, leaving a mere a dozen inside. "Three coins for the month's land tax and fifty for the awakening tax."

The tax collector didn't take the money, and let out a low, grating chuckle instead. "Fifty coins? Are you playing me for a fool, boy? It's fifty common coins per awakening stone, not fifty for the whole process." His eyes narrowed, then in a flash, grabbed Seth by the collar, lifting him from the ground with surprising force—a strength no man should have. "I remember you. Always short-changing the market tolls, weren't you? Hiding a few pelts, claiming you sold less than you did. You scraped and lied for every last coin for your dying mother, and all that pathetic cheating did nothing for her in the end. Did it?"

The words struck Seth like a physical blow. Guilt washed over him, hot and suffocating—not for the lies, no. But for failing his mother. Failing as her son. He could still see her face, drawn and pale, and hear her labored breaths.

"I awakened with—only one s-stone—sir," Seth said between gasps, the man's hand squeezing his throat. "I had some—"

The tax collector hurled him out of the house before he could finish. Seth hit the ground hard, skidding several feet and groaning as pain lanced through his side. The nobles' lackey let out a laugh. "One stone? I'm supposed to believe you're some kind of prodigy? You, a commoner? Gaia would weep in shame if I let myself fall for your lies again."

Seth struggled to stand up, his back and head aching from the impact. Once he managed, he wiped blood off his lips. He wasn't foolish enough to think he was a prodigy. It was obviously the stone that his father had given him that was special, not him.

"I swear, it's true—"

"One more word and I'll execute you," the tax collector spat, his face contorted as he unsheathed the glistening silver sword hanging at his hips. For half a second, the air seemed to shimmer with heat around the blade, then flames appeared, dancing and swirling on the polished metal's surface.

As the tax collector turned toward his house, Seth's hand instinctively reached for the hunting knife at his thigh, but then stopped—fighting against that man would be absurd. Between the look in his eyes and the raw power emanating from him…. That's not a fight I can win.

With a swift and casual slash, the tax collector drove his flaming blade into the wooden walls of Seth's house. Immediately, fire erupted, crawling up the timber and spreading with unnatural speed, devouring everything in its path.

Seth's throat tightened as he stumbled back, watching helplessly his childhood home being consumed by the conflagration. There was nothing he could do.

The tax collector sheathed his sword, pointedly ignoring the sea of flames next to him. "Let this be a lesson to you and the rest of this miserable town," he said, gaze piercing through Seth. "Lying to the Faertis House comes with a price."

With a disdainful smile, the man then turned and walked away as Seth stood in front of fire, the heat searing his face and the acrid smell stinging his nose. The moment the tax collector's silhouette disappeared at the end of the street, Seth immediately sprang to his feet and dashed into the burning house, desperate to save whatever he could.

Heat and smoke assaulted him while he plunged into the flames, holding his breath. Rushing in the kitchen, he grabbed a large leather bag and stuffed the family pictures in the living room inside, blaze licking at his back. His heart pounding, he then sprinted to his room, where the scorched wood crackled and popped beneath his feet. The door, engulfed by the fire, made him hesitate for a split second, but then he kicked it open. Inside, he snatched up his father's gift box and shoved it into the bag before rushing to the front door as the flames closed on him and burned his exposed skin. Bursting out of the house, he stumbled and fell to the ground, coughing and gasping for air.

Seth clutched the bag in his hands and looked back at the house, now fully engulfed by the flames; for a moment, he was paralyzed, unable to tear his golden eyes away from the gut-wrenching sight. The roar of the fire seemed to mock him, laughing at how powerless he was. His nail dug into the hard leather as he watched the tax collector's spell ravage the cabin, reducing every memory of his parents inside to ash.

That bastard's going to pay.