Ascension of the Primalist [A Tamer Class, LitRPG]

Early the next morning, Seth returned to Sunatown and bought another stickleback trap along with a few dozen arrows from a traveling merchant at the market. Normally, he would have bought them for a better price from Renwal, the town's blacksmith, but chances were the man would try talking about the tax collector burning down his house—plus, there was the risk of running into Mael there. And Seth wasn't in the mood for that.

As he wrapped up his purchases, his mind drifted back to the events of the previous night. Even though he had survived the creation of the core, Link was still useless right now—and it would stay that way until he found a partner.

Partner. Why that damn word?

It didn't sit right with him. The instructions were clear: forming the bond required consent. So why not just say 'person'? It wasn't like an object, a weapon, or even a beast could agree to something like this. Consent implied intelligence and awareness—qualities only a human could possess. Maybe the author of the instructions was trying to be poetic, like saying 'enter the eternal sleep' instead of just dying.

Then why did my father insist on telling no one? I can't make the bond without informing the other person. It doesn't add up.

As Seth rubbed his face, he noticed a hooded man with a messy black beard standing between the market's central fountain and one of the few already open homemade stands. His outfit was quite eye-catching—a wrinkled red tunic stained with dirt, boots so worn out that two toes stuck out, and a sheathed sword at his belt adorned with a gleaming blue gem. Only one group of people would wear such ragged clothes while wielding such a magnificent weapon: Wandering Merchants—those who had awakened the Merchant class and decided to travel the world to make the best out of it.

The man pulled back his hood, revealing long black hair badly in need of a cut.

Sericar.

The grin on the Merchant's face and his enthusiastic wave made it obvious he didn't know about what happened to Seth's house, which was a relief—but there was something else behind that joy. The way his eyes roamed over Seth, the wider-than-usual smile stretching his face. Shit. He knows.

"Hey, Seth! When did you—" the man began before stopping abruptly when he saw Seth's threatening glare.

"Hey, Sericar! How are you doing?" Seth said. Then, leaning toward the man's ear, he continued, "Nobody knows, so please keep it a secret for now."

The Merchant smiled then put a finger onto his mouth. "My lips are sealed, lad!"

Seth let out a heavy sigh, reassured. Sericar was a man of his word. Even after nearly ten years of visiting Sunatown for Marcus' potions, the Merchant had always honored his promises. On top of that, he never failed to spare half an hour to answer some of Seth's questions. For a man whose time was worth many coins, that meant a lot.

After glancing around, Seth lowered his voice and asked the question running through his mind. "Why didn't I feel it when you Identified me?"

Sericar chuckled and patted Seth's back. "Lad, I'm a Merchant—that's the spell I use the most. You didn't think I'd use the basic version, did you?"

"The basic… version?" Seth asked, frowning.

"I don't use Identify, but Advanced Identify," Sericar answered as he took a purplish jewel out of his pocket. "With the basic one, I'd never be able to see through stuff like this."

Seth filled Identify's grooves and examined the small gem.

"Um," he mumbled before pointing at the jewel. "So, if I ever find something like this, I'll need to ask a Merchant to Identify it?"

"No," Sericar answered, shaking his head. "It'd be better to ask a Jeweler or another non-combat Wielder who handles the item on a daily basis. They all use a version of the spell that shares what they see, so the customers can also see the item's properties. Merchants don't do that—it's bad for business. They prefer buying rare stuff at half the price because the seller has no clue what they have in their hands."

Seth's face tightened. Such a favor from a Wielder would obviously cost a fortune—like Vandric's treatment for his mother's pain. The Priest had made him pay for each minute at her bedside, as if the price of his treatment weren't enough.

"And even as a combat Wielder," Sericar continued, "you'll need to learn more advanced forms of Identify eventually. Or else you'll never know who—or what—you are fighting."

"Huh? What do you mean?"

"Try to Identify me," the Merchant answered.

Seth glanced around, double-checking that no one was watching them then slowly built the spell in his eye as the bearded man waited patiently.

Seth blinked several times. "I can't even see your name."

"That's because of this little guy," Sericar said, pulling down his tunic's collar to show a necklace underneath. "Concealment artifacts like this are pretty common in a city like Trogan, especially among the nobles. Most are used to hide attributes. It's also the same for arcane beasts, enchanted gears, and artifacts. The aether inside them can create some kind of barrier that blocks you from Identifying them. Depending on their Rank, though, that barrier can be pretty weak."

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During the skirmishes of Trogan Academy's selection, I'd likely face nobles wearing those, Seth thought, rubbing his face. Without the ability to see their attributes, coming up with any sort of plan beforehand would be nearly impossible. Just one more unfair advantage among a thousand others.

"How can I breach a concealment barrier like yours?" he asked, pointing at the necklace. "In case I need to."

"You can't. Sorry, lad. Identify is only a Copper spell. There's a limit to what it can do."

Seth sighed. "Practicing casting it feels like a waste of time now."

"It isn't," Sericar answered. "It has limits, sure, but it's still extremely useful while Copper. And eventually, you'll be able to upgrade its Tier."

"Upgrade its Tier?" Seth repeated with a frown. "What do you mean?"

"It's one of the few spells with an existing upgrading spell-scroll," Sericar explained. "With one of those, you can build new grooves on top of the old ones and raise it to an Iron spell."

"Can't I just modify the grooves by myself by casting the new one thousands of times?" Seth asked.

"No, you can't," the Merchant laughed. "Some spells like Identify aren't rare or powerful but are so damn complex that you'd need to be a Scholar with a decade of theory knowledge under the belt to even think about modifying them."

"Great," Seth sighed. "And I guess those upgrading spell-scrolls are hard to find?"

If they were just expensive, he could still hope to save up enough coins to buy one eventually. But if they were rare, he might as well forget about them—the Faertis House, or any nobles in general, would never let a commoner purchase one of those.

"Mmm, that depends on where you search," the Wandering Merchant answered. "In Arthuri, yes, they're probably hard to come by with the Faertis controlling most of the Iron and Silver spell-scrolls. But in a city like Trogan, you should find plenty of them. If you're having trouble, just have Marcus send me a message once you hit Iron. I'll help you out."

"Thanks, Sericar, but I don't think that'll happen anytime soon," Seth said, forcing a smile. Reaching Rank 21 when it had taken him two weeks just to gain three attributes was beyond delusional. "You saw my class. Getting attributes is pretty much impossible."

"Yeah… I know." The man pursed his lips together behind his long beard. "But if you get into Trogan Academy, I'm sure you'll find a way with their resources and the instructors. "

Seth rolled his golden eyes. "And how am I supposed to get in? If I go to the selections and try to compete there, I will get my ass kicked."

"Not if you go to the first one this weekend at Arthuri!"

"Huh, why?" Seth frowned, taken aback. "It makes more sense to go to the last one. I'll be stronger by then."

Sericar shook his head. "Everyone else will also be stronger, and you can't progress as fast as them. The longer you wait, the wider the gap will get. Plus, the moment students register, their Ranks are being recorded, and rewards based on those will be given once they get to the academy. Most participants who wait until the last selection aim for the top prizes—there's two months between the first and last one, which is enough time to climb several Ranks. Hate to say it, lad, but you can't compete with them. You'd be better off going to the first one and hoping to beat a few others who've just awakened like you."

Seth kept his expression neutral, yet the words stung even if he knew that the merchant wasn't wrong. All his years of training and hunting had given him decent starting attributes, but within a week or two, those efforts would all mean nothing. If he wanted to keep his chances of entering the academy alive, he would have to swallow his pride and go to the first selection.

Sericar continued before Seth could answer anything, "But I still think you should give it a try. You could learn so much at the academy. How to craft spells, how to improve them. Same with aether manipulation and sensing. You'd learn about the Path and how it affects you as a Wielder. You'd also get the chance to pick up advanced combat techniques and gain fighting experience—not just with a bow, but with swords, axes, spears… and, more importantly, to learn how to defend against them."

Seth hesitated, his hand drifting up to run through his black hair. The truth was, he didn't know much of anything about the Wielders. Not really. Not beyond the scraps he'd picked up from travelers or what little Marcus had told him. If the academy could teach him all that… if it could help him grow…

"You're right," Seth finally said, rubbing his head. "I'll go to the first one and give it a try."

"That's fantastic!" Sericar exclaimed. "I'll let Renwal know—he's making the trip this weekend and I'm sure he'd love the company! Oh, and don't worry, I won't say a word about your awakening. I'll say you… just want to go see the selections! Those are always fun to watch, I'm sure he won't suspect anything!"

Seth nodded, biting his tongue. "Great."

"I need to get going," Sericar said, clapping Seth's shoulder. "If we don't see each other before you leave, good luck. I'm sure you'll do great!" The Merchant took a step back, preparing to turn before halting. "Oh, by the way, does Marcus know yet?"

Seth shook his head, frowning. "No, he doesn't. Why?"

Sericar grinned. "You should go see him. And ask for the red ones—I'm sure he'll give you a great price."

"Thanks, Sericar, but I—wait, what?" Seth blinked in confusion while the Wandering Merchant was already walking away. He then glanced around nervously before shouting, "What do you mean, the red ones?"

Sericar looked back and gave him a wink. "Go see him. Trust me."

For a moment, Seth stood still and watched the man's back in the distance. The red ones? The old Alchemist had a few items useful for hunting, like Baiting Potions, but why would he need them? It didn't make any sense.

Great. He'll be so pissed to see me again.

Seth paused for a moment in front of Marcus' shop before taking a deep breath and stepping inside.

The old Alchemist appeared in the doorframe of the back room and grimaced. "Not you again."

"I don't have any herbs, but Sericar told me to—" Seth began, only to be cut off immediately.

"Nope."

"You don't even know what I was going to ask!"

"Let me guess," Marcus answered as he sat behind the counter and folded his arms. "You want free potions. The kind that'll help you hunt arcane beasts, so you can gain enough attributes to pass the Trogan Academy's selections and eventually get your revenge on that tax collector."

"No, that's not what—" Seth paused, snapping his head toward the old Alchemist. "Wait, what does hunting beasts have to do with me gaining attributes?"

Marcus let out a long, and exhausted sigh. "Elementalists progress the most by using or controlling the elements, Guardians by taking hits and protecting themselves and others, Warriors by using their muscle and weapons, Rogues by being fast and deadly, Priests by healing and strengthening people. It's all about pushing the limits in what they do best."

"And that's why I've been training in the forest for days." Seth slumped into one of the chairs. "I don't see your point."

Marcus frowned in an overly dramatic way. "Did Primalists become experts in training in the forest without me knowing it?"

"No, they're good at surviving in the—"

Seth froze as his own words hit him.

Primalists didn't just live in the wild—they survived in places where others couldn't. Places where danger was constant, where predators lurked at every corner. A place like the Wicked Forest.

"And that's why you don't see a lot of Primalists around in cities," Marcus added, standing up. "They're all either out there somewhere dangerous, or they died."

Before Seth could say anything, the old Alchemist disappeared into the back of his store. He returned a few seconds later with a leather pouch and let out a loud sigh as he handed it to Seth.

Seth opened it and found six red vials and one green, each about the size of a finger, strapped neatly inside. He immediately channeled aether into Identify's grooves.

"The green one is your safety potion," Marcus said, crossing his arms once more. "Use it to flee if you're about to get killed. The red ones are for your wounds. But don't expect them to save your ass right away if you're seriously injured—they take time to work. Oh, and don't give them to anyone who's not a Wielder. Instead of healing them, the potion will just make them throw up for days."

"Thank you, Marcus," Seth mumbled, his fingers lightly brushing each of the vials. Uncommon and Rare. These were definitely worth a small fortune. "How… uh, how much do I owe you?"

"Nothing," Marcus said, sitting back on his stool with a yawn. "Just make sure to bring me any Rare herbs or flowers you come across."

"Will do," Seth answered, fastening the potion pouch to his belt. "Any great advice for out there?"

"Yeah," Marcus grumbled. "Try not to die. At least not until you've brought back enough flowers to cover up for those potions."

Seth smiled and turned toward the door. "I'll do my best."