Ascension of the Primalist [A Tamer Class, LitRPG]

Seth's gaze landed on the golden words shimmering against the sky. His name sat at the very top.

1. Seth (Kingdom of Kastal) – 2700 points

He looked down to find the second entry.

2. Tylan (Bridan Empire) – 350 points

The name belonged to an Elementalist of the empire, one of the survivors who had likely managed to rack up a single kill before the rout.

"Henry! Eddin! Seth!"

Sergeant Titus's voice broke through the ringing in Seth's ears. The man began weaving through Kastal soldiers, making his way toward Seth, Henry, and the rest of their squad with an expression of grim relief.

Seth didn't answer. His attention was locked onto a second display of light hovering next to the Spirit and the two representatives of the NEVAK in the middle of the neutral zone.

BRIDAN EMPIRE: 92 DEATHS | 6 CAPTURED

KINGDOM OF KASTAL: 236 DEATHS | 0 CAPTURED

The numbers hit Seth like a punch in the gut. Just as Henry had said, no one from Kastal had been captured. Those who hadn't been able to flee with Escape scrolls had simply been killed.

They did that to deliver a message, Seth thought, his jaw aching from how hard he was grinding his teeth.

His gaze locked onto the Bridan army. He searched the sea of crimson and steel until he found him: the man who had deployed the distortion field in their Warfare Rift.

A strange heat stirred in Seth's chest—a resentment that demanded him to rectify the situation. To make it clear this wouldn't be the one-sided war the empire expected.

Seth began to walk.

His boots crunched over the parched earth as he moved away from his squad. Behind him, Henry called out his name, yet Seth didn't break stride. To the left, the NEVAK representatives watched his approach.

The man of the duo was clad in silver plates and stood still as if carved into marble. His expression was distant, detached from the moment, but the woman beside him stepped forward, her own armor catching the light. Her features hardened, and her eyes—an unnatural, glowing violet—pierced Seth.

As if his lack of discipline were a personal slight.

Beside them, the Spirit drifted inches above the ground, suspended in that constant half-present state, there and not there all at once. Fragments of the creature were currently scattered across every Warfare Rift to watch each battle unfold through its unseen gazes, yet this time, Seth had no doubt the creature's attention was locked entirely on him.

"Turn back, Primalist!" the woman's voice boomed across the plains. It left no room for arguing. "Your battle is over. You are violating the neutral zone."

Seth kept advancing. He had his own message to deliver.

A sudden, jarring pressure slammed into him—likely a warning strike of mental aether from the NEVAK official. Pain flared between Seth's temples, forcing a grunt from his throat. His knees buckled and struck the hard ground, but he didn't stay down. Gritting his teeth against the white-hot needles, he forced himself back up and continued to walk.

He stopped only a dozen yards from the imperial vanguards. His gaze once more found the soldier who had summoned the distortion field in the Rift. The young man's face was still pale, almost as if still living the terror of the battle.

"Tell them." Seth didn't shout, yet his voice easily cut through the silent plains. "Tell them everything."

The rows of soldiers stirred, the clanking of armor resonating like a disturbed hive of iron hornets.

"Tell them how helpless you all were," Seth continued, his stare pinning the escapee in place. "How you were nothing but an ant beneath my boot."

Hundreds of soldiers nearby bristled, and a ripple of anger rolled off the Bridan lines. At the heart of the formation, the Empress stepped to the edge of her dais, her gaze settling on Seth with the weight of a mountain.

Suddenly, the Spirit let out a laugh—a soft, whistling sound that seemed to aggravate both the Empress and the woman from the NEVAK even more. The entity hovered closer until it stood only paces from Seth.

"An ant, hmm?" the Spirit muttered. "You should not have let any of them escape. It would have been better to break their soul. Survivors make your little act less... intimidating."

Seth's pulse hammered in his throat. The creature's casual amusement grated against his nerves. Is this all just a show for it?

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"Your bloodlust stinks, young Primalist." The Spirit's form swirled into a more defined shape. "It's messy. Diluted. If you want to be truly menacing, you must make the intent purer. Like this."

The Spirit's aura exploded outward—and Seth's whole body locked in place.

Hands. Arms. Legs. Even his ribcage refused to move.

The breeze sweeping across the plains vanished and the faint floral scent disappeared with it, replaced by a thick, coppery stench of blood. The pressure was suffocating. A primal terror bypassed Seth's thoughts entirely and spoke straight to his muscles, to bones and nerves, whispering the undeniable truth: it was over.

Running was not even an option. He was already dead.

Seth's vision tunneled and dark spots crept along its edges as his consciousness began to slip.

Then a roar shattered everything.

The sound surged in from the distant horizon with so much aether it made the world itself seem fragile and weak. A heartbeat later, another wave of bloodlust took over the plains—hot, feral, and utterly overwhelming.

But this wave hadn't been aimed at Seth.

The entire imperial army froze. The Spirit's eyes widened, its form rooted in place for an instant. It snapped its head toward the distant mountains.

Seth recognized that aura: it was the same crushing presence he had felt before from Marcus.

A slow, predatory smile spread across the Spirit's face as it looked back at Seth, who was currently catching his breath while pushing himself up from the dirt.

"Interesting."

The Spirit turned and flowed back toward the NEVAK officials.

Seth's gaze landed on the Empress, though the woman didn't look back at him; her eyes were fixed on the horizon where the roar had come from. Her regal composure and arrogance was nowhere to be found.

The Spirit's voice soon cut through the tense silence to announce the next sequence of battles.

"Today's battles will soon begin. Let each squad move to their attributed Rift and await the signal."

Across the neutral zone, people from both nations regained their composure and began to advance toward the swirling apertures of the Warfare Rifts. Seth spotted a familiar figure among the soldiers of the empire heading toward the portal closest to him—Kaelen.

Seth met the Dark Assassin's eyes.

Kaelen looked away almost immediately, a shadow of what seemed like shame crossing his features. Even if no words were spoken out loud, the truth was clear: the assassin hated this foolish war nearly as much as Seth did.

Seth glanced at the distant mountain peaks one last time before turning his back on the empire. Sergeant Titus, Henry, and the rest of the squad stood waiting for him, while Director Ryehill approached behind them. They all appeared shaken, their faces still reflecting the terror of both bloodlust surges that had just seized the plain back to back.

"Are you going to tell us what that was?" Selena asked, a lingering tension still obviously grasping her shoulders.

"I don't even know myself," Seth answered, though Marcus' face was in the back of his mind.

Henry forced a broad smile with the obvious intention of easing the atmosphere. "There must be an extremely powerful beast out there that's taken a liking to you."

"I guess so," Seth replied.

Sergeant Titus stepped forward, his expression stern. "You need much more restraint, Seth. You'll draw unnecessary attention to yourself."

"It's obviously too late for that," Director Ryehill said, his voice dry. He gestured toward the massive contribution list shimmering in the sky above them. "Even without that provocation just now, or the skirmishes a month ago, a contribution score like that would cause every eye of the empire to be on him."

Henry leaned forward, his gaze narrowing to look at the shimmering text in the sky. "Is it really that impressive?" he asked. "I mean, I saw what he did firsthand, but that number..."

"It's more than impressive, Henry," the director replied. "Seth's contribution is nearly three times higher than the second-highest score from all the other battles. It's an anomaly that will likely have the Empress and all her officers re-evaluating who they send against your squad next."

Seth barely listened to the man. His eyes were moving through the empire's squads that were about to enter the six Warfare Rifts. Like all the other ones, he knew deep down they weren't going to take prisoners.

Causing a bloodbath, is it really the only way to stop that war preemptively? Seth wondered. Even if I were to slaughter the next squad against us, there's no way that'd be enough.

But what else could he do?

"What about them?" Eddin asked with a gesture toward the six imperial soldiers huddled in the dirt, hands and feet bound by rune-etched steel. "Director, are we going to... you know? Given how the empire decided not to take any prisoners?"

Director Ryehill didn't even look at the captives. "No. We won't stoop to their level, Eddin. Kastal still holds itself to a standard, even if the empire has abandoned theirs."

Seth's fists clenched at his sides and the leather of his combat gloves creaked. Keeping such an attitude felt pointless when Alfred had been impaled while surrendering. Seth turned to the director. "When is our next battle?"

The squad around them stirred at the question. Fear appeared in their weary faces; for most, the idea of returning to one of those Warfare Rifts was a nightmare they weren't ready to face.

"In two weeks," the director answered. "There are plenty more squads that have to fight before you step back in."

"Every squad will fight once before that?" Henry asked.

Sergeant Titus pressed his lips together, and next to him, the director shook his head. "Not all of them."

Damned the rewards for the highest contributor, some won't bleed a single drop, Seth thought before pivoting toward Selena. "I'll meet you in front of our inn in three hours. I have someone to see first, then I'll decide where we'll head."

Selena gave him a sharp nod.

"And where exactly are you going?" Sergeant Titus asked, stepping into Seth's path.

"Hunting," Seth answered.

Titus let out a sigh. "That's ridiculous. You've just come out of the Warfare Rift, Seth. You're covered in burns and gashes. You need to rest, or you'll be exhausted when the second round starts."

Seth stepped aside to walk past the man. "Resting won't save a single life in there, Sergeant. Strength will."

Titus's face flushed with what seemed to be a mix of anger and shame. He reached out, grasping Seth's arm firmly. "Don't you think I know—"

"Sergeant," Director Ryehill said, interrupting the man. Titus froze. The interim head of the Ryehill House then nodded. "It's alright. Let him go".

Seth wrenched his arm free. The sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through his shoulder, though he didn't flinch and began to stride toward the city gates.

He had always appreciated Sergeant Titus. The man had been one of the few who had supported him back at the academy when others had seen him only as a commoner with a 'suicidal' class.

But right now, any figure of military authority felt like a proxy for the king—a coward that couldn't even bother to show his face while people were being butchered in his name.

Seth's jaw tightened, and he glanced at the empty royal pavilion. Sooner or later, he'll pay for that. And for everything else.

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