Ascension of the Primalist [A Tamer Class, LitRPG]

(This is an extra chapter, make sure you read the previous one first!)

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Seth limped forward in the dark corridor leading to the coliseum's open arena, every step causing sharp jolts of pain through his broken left arm, which dangled helplessly at his side. He had tried to immobilize it with his other hand, but the last two grotesquely contorted fingers refused to clench his shoulder. Blood kept dripping from both the battered digits and the mangled mess that was his nose, staining his leather armor. Despite having taken a potion, it would need an hour to heal injuries like these, and he was already late for his fight.

A few steps ahead, the coliseum was buzzing like a hive, and Seth could already see some of the thousands of spectators chatting as they waited for his fight. Noble sat in the first few rows, all dressed lavishly, the gold and jewels of their garments shimmering in the sunlight. They kept their chin high as proud peacocks, smiling with arrogance while barely hiding their disdain whenever their gaze fell upon poorly dressed commoners crammed in the stands above. Clearly, if it was up to them, all that vermin wouldn't have been allowed to attend the matches at all.

As Seth stepped onto the clay of the arena, all gazes moved to him and the whole building fell into a deep, suffocating silence. Not a single word or whisper came. Among the crowd, Seth found Elena, Devus, and Jenna at their usual location on the left, their faces distorted by shock and horror. The noblewoman and the Warrior jumped to their feet in obvious rage and glared at Lucius, who stood in the middle of the ring with his usual arrogance, draped in a majestic purple-and-black robe. Behind Elena, Renwal's and Mael's faces showed barely any surprise or anger and were instead filled with sadness and a resigned acceptance—like all those of all the commoners around them.

This was their fate. The punishment that was waiting for them if they dared climb too high. The message was loud and clear: stay down, bow to the Houses, and don't ever think about defying them.

High up, behind the railings, Seth then noticed a group of seven figures standing together. They were too far away for him to see their faces clearly, but he immediately recognized Lyria's long blond hair and Professor Reat's black ponytail. Both of them, along with who seemed to be Orwen, Drack, and Krystel, were looking at Seth, while the two smaller figures at the extremities were flailing their arms, gesticulating in all directions: Yline and Toren.

Even from this distance, Seth could feel their anger. They probably didn't appreciate that someone from the Faertis House had beaten the shit out of their new recruit before his fight. But what could they do about it without any proof?

Captain Michaelson stepped forward with widened eyes, his stern demeanor quickly replaced with deep concern. "Kid, what happened to you?"

Lucius smiled on the other side. "He probably fell out of his bed this morning."

'I swear I'll rip his throat!' Nightmare growled from within his necklace.

"Yeah, I fell from bed." Seth spat blood onto the ground, glancing at the noble then at the captain. As if telling him would change anything, he thought before shifting his attention to the spectators behind.

His golden eyes landed on the distant stand near Director Ryehill, where those of the Faertis House sat proudly. Among the dozen laughing men and women, Seth easily recognized Sergeant Faertis, as well as Lucius' two other brothers, who were also instructors at the academy. Then, his gaze locked onto the central figure next to them with long blond hair emanating a threatening aura: Lucius' father, the head of the Faertis House. That man was the reason behind nearly all the suffering around Seth.

The noble had crushed everyone's spirit in Sunatown with suffocating taxes, let one of his lackeys turn Seth's house into ashes, and given Lucius the means to shatter Renwal's arms for no damn reason—on top of allowing another son sell young Wielders like livestock to beasts for enhancers.

"Whatever happened, you're in no condition to fight," Captain Michaelson said, breaking Seth's chains of thoughts. "Lucius wi—"

"No, I can fight, sir," Seth said, interrupting the man while bowing his head. "One arm is more than enough."

Lucius' face flushed red, and veins bulged from his neck. "You little—"

"Enough!" the captain snapped before turning to Seth, looking at him from head to toes, stopping a few seconds on his broken arm. "You're sure? It will just make your injuries worse."

"Yes, sir. I'm sure."

The man sighed heavily, shaking his head. "As you wish."

"Thank you, sir."

The captain extended his arm to give him a Protecting Belt, and a troubled frown creased Seth's forehead. He glanced down at his mangled fingers and closed his eyes briefly, knowing exactly what he had to do. Every fiber of his body screamed in protest, but with a deep breath, he bit down hard on one of his broken fingers. The next second, he pulled and yanked it back into place with his jaw.

A surge of pain shot through Seth's arm, forcing him to grit his teeth to muffle a guttural scream. Then, he repeated the process once more with the second finger, causing a grunt to escape his lips. Even after getting burned alive hundreds of times by One-horned Imps and getting slashed many more times by Gnolls over the past week, this shit still hurt like hell.

Gritting his teeth, he then took the belt from Captain Michaelson with a shaky hand.

Blood trickled down from Seth's mouth as he fumbled for a few seconds with the defensive artifact before finally securing it at his hips and heading to his side of the arena. Even though his legs hadn't sustained any serious injuries, each step still sent pain rippling through his broken arm and shattered nose. The moment he reached the white cross painted on the ground and turned, his eyes fell once more on the stand occupied by the Faertis House.

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They all sat there, full of arrogance and pride, convinced that they were untouchable, apex predators that should be feared by all—but were they? Could they jump into the ring and kill him for what he had done to the Black Hounds?

No, they couldn't.

The director and the Champion of Chaos wouldn't let that pass. Beating him before his fight was likely the limits of what they could do without facing real consequences. Their power wasn't infinite or absolute.

Seth's golden eyes locked on Lucius.

Whatever happened in this ring, the only thing the Faertis House could do was watch. A disdainful commoner could beat and crush their own kin, and at the moment, they couldn't do a single thing about it.

I'll still have to bow to them for years, Seth thought. But not here. Not in this ring. It's time to strike back and make one of them pay. Make one of them bleed.

Captain Michaelson raised his hand on the side of the arena. "Activate your belt!"

Taking a deep breath, Seth infused aether into his belt and pushed all the pain to the back of his mind. As the blue protecting layer enveloped him, he cast Huntbound Rush, then used Intermediate Identify on Lucius, whose smirk deepened on the other side.

"Honestly, I don't get it," Lucius shouted from across the ring. "Beating you up seems like a waste of energy. I would have crushed you with my eyes closed."

Seth clenched his teeth. Beastmaster Rage was still on cooldown for another eight hours, but that didn't matter—aether left his Well and began to flow into Phantom Punch's grooves.

Dozens of Wielders, people with dreams and loved ones, had been sold and tortured so that arrogant prick could inflate his strength with enhancers. And all for what? To strut around haughtily in a damn tournament that offered nothing he didn't already have. Such things couldn't stay unpunished.

Actions have consequences.

Captain Michaelson glanced at each of them, then slashed his arm down. "Fight!"

As the command echoed through the coliseum, Seth bolted to the side, his core flaring to life within his chest. Lucius, also not wasting any time, raised his wand and cast his signature Two-Tiered spell. The powerful cyclone surged forth, wrapping the noble in a howling barrier of wind, just as he'd done for every of his fights.

"Does this bring back memories?" Lucius laughed from inside the vortex.

Ignoring him, Seth kept running along the edge of the ring while allowing Phantom Punch to fill. But once the spell was ready, he kept pushing more aether into the grooves, he forced more aether into the grooves, cramming and compressing every drop he could inside. This wasn't about winning the fight. It was about making Lucius and his House pay.

For Theodora and Aran. For all the Wielders that suffered because of them.

"Let's end this!" Lucius bellowed, flickering his wand and sending a purple bolt of lightning straight at Seth.

The spell whizzed through the air, forcing Seth to twist aside. Crackling aether grazed his skin, sharp as needles before hitting the arena's wall. The noble immediately followed with more bolts, but Seth dodged each one of them, all while ramming more aether into Phantom Punch. His core throbbed violently, and teal aether began to coil around his arm, pulsing with raw power. Then came the pain—searing and excruciating, causing him to clench his jaws.

Seth's aether control wasn't good enough to increase the aether's density perfectly, so the energy kept leaking into his muscles, scorching its way through to find a way out. Yet, ignoring the pain and his body's screams, he still overflowed each of the spell's grooves.

The next instant, hot blood began to seep from Seth's eyes and ears—but he couldn't care less. All that mattered was to make the spell stronger. Even if it was only by a fraction.

As long as it crushed Lucius, he would take it.

Inside his cyclone fortress, the blond noble continued hurling the same lightning spell over and over again, his frustration clearly mounting with every cast. Guided by his core's instinct, Seth weaved through the barrage of purple bolts, every twist and turn sending fresh jolts of pain through his body.

Then, the moment his Well finally hit the twenty-percent mark, he snapped into motion—abruptly veering off, he charged straight at Lucius. Two more lightning bolts streaked out of the noble's wand; Seth ducked under the first, the heat brushing his sleeve, then stepped aside, causing the other to scorch the floor at his heels. As a third came screaming in a few strides later, he dug his boot into the arena's floor to skid to a stop.

At that instant, his eyes locked on Lucius's shadow within the raging vortex of wind. Clenching his jaws, Seth then twisted his hips and hurled his full weight into a punch—which he didn't aim forward, but behind himself.

Air ripped apart around his fist, and the next second, a massive skeleton arm of teal aether surged around his own, stretching from his knuckle to his shoulder and crackling with raw power. Just as the bolt was about to hit, Seth then vanished with Shadow Step and reappeared behind Lucius. Caught off guard, the noble could barely turn his head that Seth's gauntlet rammed into his back.

For an instant, time seemed to stop.

The large skeletal fist's aether plunged into the protective layer of Lucius' belt, tearing it apart from the inside in a split-second. Once the barrier was gone, Seth's gauntlet, still shrouded by the Undead spell, continued on its path and buried itself between Lucius' shoulder blades.

Bone yielded and cracked in rapid succession as his spine shattered like brittle glass under the blow. Lucius's body folded grotesquely around Seth's fist for an instant before being hurled across the stage. A second later, the noble then crashed into the coliseum wall and stone exploded outward. Shards flew in all directions while half the structure gave way, collapsing on itself in a cloud of dust and rubble.

A profound silence fell over the entire coliseum, and for a moment, every single spectator seemed to hold their breath. Seth's legs trembled, threatening to give up while the aether-deprived exhaustion rushed through his body.

His unbroken arm was now throbbing with a deep, searing pain that almost made him forget his other injuries. The urge to scream and let himself drop was unbearable, yet he resisted. This wasn't the moment to show weakness. He had to stand strong.

To show the Houses that they were not untouchable.

Then just as Seth's core was about to return to its dormant state, it ignited again, sending yet another powerful burst of its mysterious energy outward—this time not asking him to fight, but to flee. Seth's head snapped toward the Faertis' stand, at the opposite from where Lucius had crashed, then his eyes widened; a gigantic silver lance coated with blue lighting arcs was hurtling his way.