The Primal Hunter

The Sword Saint was proud. He always had been, and perhaps the years had only made it worse. It was indeed interesting what the thought of imminent death did to a man. When he lay there dying, many thoughts went through his head. Regrets. Unfulfilled wishes. But oddly enough, also a substantial amount of pride. Pride for the things he had accomplished throughout his life. Pride for the clan he had built. It had always been powerful, but the Noboru clan had skyrocketed to entirely new heights under his leadership.

For fifty years, barely anyone had dared criticize him. Since the system arrived, none had. In any crowd of humans, he had been the strongest. This meant everyone respected him to an almost unhealthy level, and Miyamoto would lie to himself if he said he didn’t enjoy it somewhat.

However, that didn’t mean the Sword Saint believed he deserved respect. In his view, respect was earned, not merely given. He had seen where pride and arrogance could take you and even observed his own family fall into the pitfall of demanding “respect” from others, not understanding what it means. Sometimes, one defines “respect” as “treating someone like a equal,” and sometimes, one uses “respect” to mean “treating someone like an authority.”

When some people get too used to being treated like an authority, they begin saying: “if you don’t respect me, I won’t respect you,” and what they actually mean is “if you don’t treat me like an authority, I won’t treat you like a person.”

It becomes their new worldview. A toxic mentality that would corrode any organization from within. Miyamoto had already seen it seep in and gotten worse since after the system. Power-hungry members of the clan working under the radar, gaining power through favors, seeming like good and respectful people until the moment they actually grasped influence, turning them into tyrants.

For close to a century, it had been his job to guide his clan to do the right thing. Even when he should have been retired, he kept working. Even when he had to use a cane, he refused to back down. It was only when his body fully gave up he stopped - the day willpower lost out to the merciless march of time.

So, he had a responsibility to lead them when the system came, and he got a second chance. He had to be the figurehead. He had to be the most powerful, the wisest, the most respected. Gods surrounded his planet and his land, seeking to claim it as their own. Many welcomed this, but Miyamoto was not one of them… for he had yet to see why they deserved his respect.

For them, respect was not a question of being viewed as a person but being viewed as an absolute authority. Either you did or were a blasphemer that believers would gladly put to death as a heretic. Miyamoto was intimately familiar with this… for he had experienced it himself.

Back during the tutorial, he was blessed by a god, like so many others. In the beginning, he had agreed simply to gain the blessing and the power given by it. The god in question had even been open and welcoming, not demanding anything, and treated him with respect – or in better terms – like a person. Perhaps not an equal, but good enough.

That all changed when he did exceptionally well in the tutorial. The god spoke to him more, encouraged him. Miyamoto did not need it but appreciated it as he moved forward and established his clan. All was well until one fateful day where the god did something he had done not before. He told Miyamoto what to do. It was not a request but an order.

The order? To go seek out the Holy Church and swear allegiance to them and make him and his clan subordinate to the Church. It was a matter-of-fact order, leaving no room for negotiation. At least that became clear when Miyamoto had given a stern no in response.

To truly see what a person is like, you need to have a conflict with them. A disagreement. Miyamoto and the god had been on the same page all this time, but the moment the slightest divide emerged, all hell broke loose.

What struck him more was the obvious confusion the god displayed that Miyamoto even DARED to say no. The god had clearly made plans and deals behind the scenes and saw Miyamoto as a great way to connect with the Church. To him, the entire Noboru clan had just been another chess piece for him to further his own goals without any care or regard for them as living beings viewing them as merely objects - entities unworthy of respect.

In the end, Miyamoto had renounced his blessing and not accepted any invitations from other gods since then. In some ways, he had been greatly offended at the god… yet in other ways, he understood how a being consistently treated as above everyone else for so long could begin feeling like it truly was so. He did not reject that gods were powerful and deserved some respect for that… but that did not give them the right to treat him as less than a person. His pride did not allow it.

Miyamoto wanted to avoid falling into the same trap as that god and the many people who let power get to their heads in his own clan. But it was hard, as he saw this happened everywhere.

He had few people he respected on Earth, most of whom he had spent most of the day with. They did not treat him as an authority but as a person, and hence he treated them the same. It was refreshing… yet something gnawed at him. A feeling he hadn’t felt for a long time.

Focusing on the battle between himself and the Hunter of Haven, he used his most powerful boosting skill and pushed his Revolution of the Northern Stream as hard as he could, increasing all his physical stats by over 50% with his Rainblade active. All other tools were also out of the kit… yet he still failed. He was still weaker.

Lord Thayne, no, Jake, teleported as he fired his bow, every arrow a harbinger of death, every single move seeming to be calculated, yet spontaneous and erratic. Unpredictable. Miyamoto even had his movements restricted as he felt like he stood before a beast outside of his understanding, leading to injuries he would have otherwise dodged or blocked. However, what he truly felt was not fear or reverence…

Envy.

Yes, that was it. That was the feeling Miyamoto hadn’t felt for so long… genuine envy. Not because of Jake’s power or methods. He didn’t desire his magic or his equipment or even his relationship to a powerful god. Instead, he desired that genuine smile on his face and his unburdened attitude. The fact that he seemed to burn with passion at every moment during their fight.

He wanted the freedom his opponent had. The carelessness in which he carried himself and his utter disregard for anything but himself. He was completely selfish. Miyamoto did not think that as an insult, just his honest observation. Sure, Jake clearly cared for people like his family, but it didn’t detract from his freedom.

Without any regard for his own life, he would seek out powerful opponents and challenge himself. Meanwhile, Miyamoto could not do that. The implications his own death would bring were something he couldn’t bear. If he died, the clan would be severely weakened, if not outright collapse. Without the power to stand up to the more powerful factions, they would be in deep trouble.

Yet, he wanted that freedom. He yearned for it, more than he would ever admit to himself. He had been on the cusp of death. He had accepted it. Miyamoto was fine with dying, just not the consequences his death would now bring.

This is why Jake’s words struck so profoundly. The young man didn’t care and simply spoke his mind. He smiled and enjoyed himself to his life’s content. Every battle was an event to enjoy. A challenge to overcome with a smirk.

To put it bluntly… Jake Thayne just had fun with life, damned be the consequences.

And for one day, the Sword Saint decided he would do the same, as a genuine smile appeared on his lips, and he pushed his boosting skill further than ever before as he attacked with all he had. For just one day, he would be free and enjoy himself.

Perhaps this wasn’t a fight he could win, but it was one he could genuinely enjoy.

No clan. No consequences.

Just two humans fighting.

Jake bombarded the old man that slid across the ground, sending droplets in return. Jake dodged away, returning fire as the two of them danced in circles around each other, the Sword Saint slowly closing in.

Once more, the old man had sped up as his power spiked. The teal energy seemed to flow far faster both within and around him, giving him more and more power.

The Sword Saint closed in as he cut across the terrain, sending dust and soil flying into massive pillars as the ground exploded, creating a fissure between them. Jake fled back, summoning a barrier of arcane mana to buy him time to nock another arrow.

He fired it through the dust, and just before it arrived, he made it split into six arrows. The old man was ready as he dodged in between them – a decision he quickly tried to correct as he noticed something was wrong, but it was too late.

*BOOM!*

All of them exploded as the Sword Saint was sent tumbling back, his robes torn in many places and quite a few wounds on both his arms from the blast. Jake nocked yet another arrow, and this time the old man slid to the side, always staying in motion. That is when Jake noticed something annoying… he had begun finding ways around Jake’s Gaze.

As he slid across the ground constantly, Jake tried to freeze him but found that his opponent could still control his speed somewhat without physically moving his body. Because while Gaze impacted physical movement, it did nothing for movements of mana or even stamina, allowing the Sword Saint to pour in some more energy to slide faster or less to go slower, throwing Jake’s aim off.

No worries, there are workarounds, Jake thought as he used One Step Mile to avoid a few more droplets, getting even more distance. He spun in the air as he aimed his bow and nocked the arrow as arcane mana whirled around him.

The Sword Saint saw what he was doing and charged straight for Jake at full speed. Jake channeled as long as he could before he released the Arcane Powershot, aimed straight for the Sword Saint’s chest. He tried to use Gaze but suddenly lost vision of the old man as his form shimmered for a second – enough to allow the Saint to counter the arrow.

Sword and arrow clashed as another explosion rocked the area. Jake’s eyes opened wide as he summoned an arcane barrier in front of him just in time to get hit by a thin blade of water. It stabbed through his shoulder and out the other side, as it was ripped downwards, tearing through flesh and bone as Jake backed away to dislodge the weapon.

He got out, but not before getting a wound that ripped all the way through his body from his right shoulder to just above his navel, the blade having torn through everything in between. He would be dead if this had been pre-system, but now it was just a severe wound.

Yet Jake wasn’t discouraged as the dust cleared and he saw the Sword Saint. He stood with his two feet steadfastly planted on the ground, his right arm extended with the katana pointed forward. His left arm hung limply at his side as his entire shoulder was disfigured, and a large wound extended from it and towards his neck and chest.

The two of them stared at each other for a moment before they both just snickered and moved again. The old man ignored his wounds and drank a potion as he dodged another arrow – a potion Jake himself had made – and bought some time as his body healed.

Jake didn’t need to regenerate himself yet as he pressed his advantage. If he couldn’t hit the Sword Saint, he would at least make him spend a lot of stamina and mana to avoid his blows. With the potion cooldown now in effect, there was no way to regenerate those easily, after all.

Their fight continued as soon the old man was healed enough to use his left arm again, and thus he began attacking more, trying to corner Jake and get close enough to strike him. Jake wanted to avoid melee at this point, as he didn’t see himself able to land a single blow in the old man without his bow, while the Saint wanted to be close to avoid Jake’s arrows and, of course, land his own attacks.

Yet… some gaps were not meant to be overcome, and some distances were too vast to be easily passed. Jake’s advantage only grew as time passed. They clashed many times, Jake taking wounds repeatedly, but for every cut that Jake was sliced with, the Sword Saint was damaged even more.

For the fourth time during their fight, Jake blasted the Sword Saint back with an Arcane Powershot, sending him tumbling through the air, a large hole in his thigh. The old man could still stand, but his stance was weaker, and the final nail came when the old man’s blade stopped giving off the same power as before.

He was unable to keep Rainblade active.

The Sword Saint still stood in a combat-ready stance as Jake stopped ten or so meters away. The old man looked down at his own body as he sighed.

His robes were torn, revealing his bare upper body. Jake saw more muscles than he thought such an old man could possibly have, all of them lean and powerful. This was especially impressive, seeing as not a single part of that body wasn’t covered in wounds from Jake’s constant arcane explosions and arrows.

“I lost...” the Sword Saint said, sighing again, as he took a more relaxed stance and stabbed his sword into the ground and leaned on it as he looked towards the sky.

“Seems like it,” Jake agreed with a nod. He didn’t feel any particular happiness from the win, but he had thoroughly enjoyed the duel.

“Tell me… what am I lacking?” the Sword Saint said as he looked at Jake. It was a genuine question, not one veiled with sarcasm or ill-intent. Just a genuine desire to improve.

“Eh… it’s more that you have too much?” Jake tried to answer, attempting to articulate his thoughts. “The first part of the fight felt like I was fighting a weird mix between a second-grade mage and a damn good swordsman, while the second half was far more consistent. I don’t get why you are so insistent in using magic like that… or at all.”

The old man shook his head. “Magic seems like a necessity for progress… if not now, then later on my path. I cannot be an old man swinging a sword forever, stuck in the past as I dream of my younger years and memories of my prime. The world has changed, and so should I.”

Jake just looked a bit confused as he asked: “… Why do you think that?”

“Pardon?” the Sword Saint asked, confused as he shifted his injured leg. Likely from the pain.

“What’s wrong with just swinging your sword? Not gonna lie, you swinging your sword is pretty damn fucking scary already,” Jake answered honestly.

“For now, maybe. But I did not walk into this changing world blind. I sought advice from those more familiar with systems from our old world similar to this new reality. The path of magic is always the most powerful, and if I want to keep up, I need to also learn to wield it. Do you not liberally wield magic yourself?” the Sword Saint explained and countered, shaking his head.

“I do… but it isn’t like you need to? I am pretty sure you can do just fine only with a sword. Maybe keep the whole water-affinity and the concept of rain thing going? Those seem to be working well for you in just making you better at swinging your sword, but why try to be a mage? Why not just seek the absolute pinnacle of swordsmanship?” Jake asked him, genuinely even more confused. Had the old man been told about old videogames or what where magic was overpowered?

“If I can just add,” Carmen yelled over from the sidelines, having heard their conversation. “You don’t need to get good at everything. I just want to get good at punching things, and I am doing okay. Also… Valdemar, the leader of Valhal, became one of the twelve Primordials and is one of the most powerful gods in existence. And according to his wife, he is a meathead who only knows how to swing an axe…”

“I am certain he has gone through severe magical-“

“He doesn’t have any mana because he couldn’t figure out how it worked. Ever. So he just got rid of it to get more stamina to swing his axe more,” Carmen answered.

“But a limit must be-“

“If there is a limit to just swinging a weapon, he hasn’t reached it yet. Gudrun told me that when once asked if he thought one could become powerful enough to shatter an entire universe, he claimed that if he just swung hard enough, then why not?” Carmen cut in.

“Yeah, what Carmen said,” Jake agreed. “There aren’t some set rules on how to be strong from what I know. Just do whatever the hell you want. Shit, there is a god who became like that just by being a mega fanboy and another who just always did alchemy and never bothered with anything else.”

The old man frowned as he looked at the two of them, Jake continuing.

“I guess what I’m saying is that you shouldn’t conform to the system to gain power. Instead, do what you want to and make the system conform to your own will, and reward that path. Simplicity does not make some worse… just simpler. It’s all about forging your own path, defining your own limits, and setting your own rules while refusing to stop moving forward.”

Jake had enjoyed their duel, and he actually liked the old man quite a bit. He felt they were very similar but the Sword Saint was limited by outside factors as far as he could see. Perhaps it was bad information, an assumption gained by seeing so many explore magic to get stronger, or maybe even some powerful entity being full of shit.

Either way, it didn’t matter. Jake was just doing as he always did and spoke about his interpretation like it was fact… because it may as well be in his head. Hey, his entire interpretation was about just being stubborn enough to make the system go “fair enough, I guess that works,” so why wouldn’t he think the system worked exactly as he thought it did?

The Sword Saint stared up towards the sky as he looked to be deep in thought. A few seconds passed before he looked down at Jake. The look in his eyes had changed, as he asked. “Tell me… what is your fondest memory?”