The Primal Hunter-Novel

To feel old again.

It was an odd sensation that the Sword Saint would frankly have preferred to do without. When the system came, he had been reinvigorated, and as time progressed, he only ever felt himself grow stronger. Outside of the backlash from his Transcendence, that is, but those circumstances were far different. Now, to regress like this… he did not like the feeling at all. It reminded him too much of before the system.

He remembered the very first time he had difficulty standing up from a chair by himself. When his grandson had to support him as he walked up some stairs. When he was convinced to finally use a cane. He remembered feeling tired more. Feeling weak. Becoming unable to lift or really do anything. Becoming unable to lift his practice sword…

To feel one’s body deteriorate was truly a harrowing thing.

Now, he had flashbacks to those days. Fortunately, it was not as bad. The Sword Saint’s old body did feel weaker after entering the Challenge Dungeon, but his stats were still far from ordinary. He was still healthy and still powerful, especially with the percentage increases. This had resulted in his old willow body possessing more power than even the big and brawny men in the training area.

It was also for this reason that the Sword Saint had asked for a wooden sword when he went to speak to the Quartermaster for the first time. A true blade would only serve to slay opponents too weak to truly put up a fight, while a wooden sword would allow him to quickly progress while still not killing his fellow combatants needlessly.

As the Sword Saint had just returned from his promotion match to Veteran Fighter that day, he considered for a moment how Jake was handling these early fights. This only made him chuckle, earning a few glances from his fellow patrons in the restaurant. The thought of Jake doing these battles was simply too entertaining. If the Sword Saint had learned anything from spending several decades with Jake, it was that his solution was probably less than ideal and even a bit stupid by most people’s standards. Who knows, maybe he had even decided to do something weird, like seeing how many fights he could win unarmed?

Or worse yet, impose some other silly rule on himself, like using a kitchen utensil or only allowing himself to use punches or kicks.

“Now, lower the gates! Combatants, enter the arena!”

Jake walked up and into the arena, as instructed, his foe at the other end of their would-be battlefield, also waiting behind the still-lowering second gate. He was a man who did live up to his reputation as the Cleaver, at least visually.

He stood around two meters tall, with large bulking muscles showing on his uncovering arms. The only defensive equipment he had was a breastplate, helmet, and gloves, so his most vital areas were at least covered. In his hands, he wielded the weapon that had given him his signature name: a large cleaver with a long wooden handle and an edge more than a meter long. It was more of a large machete rather than a cleaver, but Jake wasn’t going to correct him.

Behind the visor of his helmet, Jake met his opponent’s eyes right as the gates fully lowered. He tried to incite a bit of fear through their eye contact but found the other man able to resist as Jake instead felt a wave of bloodlust returned his way.

It appeared the story of him having originally achieved his strength on a battlefield wasn’t all for show. The experience only made him smile and look forward to the fight more.

Jake considered his approach. In the many prior matches, he had put down his bow at the entrance area to not risk it breaking or getting in the way, and this time he decided to do that too. He wasn’t sure if kicking would get the job done today, but he wanted to at least give it a shot.

Besides, he still had his knife if things went wrong.

Walking forward, his opponent also entered the arena with steady and careful steps. They slowly approached each other as Jake considered how he wanted to handle the big guy. The Cleaver, in turn, observed Jake closely, clearly not wanting to make the first move. He had likely seen what happened to everyone else who took the first swing and knew that Jake was quite good at counter-kicking.

Jake tried a few more times to find an opening, and he finally found one. The Cleaver had been surprised by a double-feint, allowing Jake to land a low kick, making the far larger man stumble slightly. Trying to follow up, Jake dodged a shoulder check as he tried to land another low kick, only for the Cleaver to spin and try to backhand Jake in the face.

Committing to his attack, Jake landed the kick right as a fist hit his blocking arm. A tinge of pain shot through his arm as the impact took Jake by surprise, pushing him back and leaving a trail in the sand.

Yep, he was definitely above 10. Jake wasn’t sure if his assessment was right, but he was pretty sure this was his first time facing another real superhuman. Well, outside of all the magic going around, that is.

However, even if the Cleaver was strong, Jake still estimated he outmatched him even in the pure Strength department. The big man already looked unstable on the leg Jake had kicked twice, and moving about would be quite difficult.

Jake used this opportunity to go on the offensive immediately. He stormed in and continued to try and land kicks, the big man finally unleashing his true weapon in response. With a fright, Jake leaped out of the way as the massive cleaver was swung, cutting through the air. The power was impressive, and Jake knew he would be fucked if that ever hit him… but it wasn’t going to hit him. In fact, attacking had left the Cleaver even more open, making Jake land a solid kick to his opponent’s side, making him stumble.

This happened a few more times as Jake slowly gained ground, landing over a dozen kicks, small and big. He himself managed to only get his shirt slightly ripped as the man tried to grab him with his metal-gloved fists. His opponent also knew he was getting pushed and that Jake had the advantage, so he tried to make a risky move and land a finishing blow.

It didn’t pan out.

Twisting his body out of the way, Jake dodged the cleaver and jumped past the man. Upon landing on his hands, he used them for extra leverage on the sand as he kicked the handle of the cleaver with the heel of his foot, doing a frontal somersault kick. The Cleaver was taken by surprise and lost grip of his weapon as Jake pushed himself off the sand and landed upright, already ready to execute his follow-up.

The Cleaver nearly fell to the ground from the uppercut kick but quickly gathered himself as he went to retrieve his weapon that had fallen a good distance away. However, with his bad leg slowing him down, he wasn’t going to get the opportunity to.

Jake ran toward the Cleaver as he prepared to unleash an attack only spoken of in legends. The man barely had time to turn toward Jake as it arrived.

Jumping, he kicked with both legs as he landed a perfectly executed dropkick on the Cleaver’s chest. The power of the impact dented the metal as the far larger man was lifted off the ground and flew back several meters before he hit the arena floor hard and rolled a few times before hitting a wall, kicking up sand the entire way.

Jake himself landed on the soft sand as he watched the glorious outcome of deploying an otherwise forbidden technique. One too powerful for mortal men to endure.

The downed Cleaver tried to stand, but Jake could hear his labored breathing from below the helmet and saw blood dripping from the edges of his breastplate where some of the metal had penetrated into his chest. Jake began walking over as he shook his head.

“Good fight,” Jake said, knowing it was over.

The man scoffed as he spat out blood before scoffing. “On the battlefield… there is only victory… or death. Give me a warrior’s end.”

“Lucky for you, we aren’t on the battlefield,” Jake said. He felt for the guy. It had to suck getting your ass kicked – quite literally - but he did feel like the guy was being a bit melodramatic. Jake had yet to kill anyone in the arena and didn’t really see a reason to start now.

The man just stared defiantly up at him. “Kill me… or no one wins.”

A slight change in his tone tipped Jake off… this guy was fucking gambling on Jake not wanting to kill him, and the timer instead running out, resulting in no winner. Every single match had a limited duration, and if no winner was decided during that time, it would be considered a draw. With no referee, Jake had to either knock the guy out, kill him, or make him surrender… and knocking someone out with decent Willpower wasn’t easy.

He had probably noticed how Jake hadn’t killed anyone or even inflicted mortal injuries on any of his opponents, likely making the guy assume Jake wasn’t interested in killing anyone. This was a mostly accurate assessment, as Jake didn’t really see any need to slay weaklings, but perhaps today, he should make an exception.

Jake squatted down as he stared the man directly in the eyes. Their gazes met as Jake felt legitimately angry. “You’re sure you really want me to kill you?”

His gaze lingered as he felt like he stared into the soul of his opponent, seeing himself reflected in the man’s pupils. At that moment, Jake felt like he saw something… and he pounced on it. A form of connection was formed as Jake felt an utterly insignificant pressure fall on him as he himself also lashed out, the man having it far worse.

Instinctive fear gripped the Cleaver as he lunged back in fright, a shudder going through his body.

“You…m… monster…” the man said, with wide eyes as he shivered. Jake didn’t look away for a single moment as his smile grew. Partly because he had just had a breakthrough and partly because of the odd sense of pure ecstasy he felt at that very moment from making the guy realize how much of an idiot he was.

“Exactly,” Jake grinned as he leaned in. “And there is no shame in losing to a monster, now is there?”

The man tried to shove Jake away as he yelled loudly. “I give up! Surrender! Get him the hell away from me!”

Jake’s smile faded slightly as he stood up. “Good choice.”

Walking out of the arena, he heard the clamors of the commentator behind him, deciding not to block him out… for now.

“And we have a winner! The Doomfoot once more proved himself superior, with our dear Cleaver falling, fearful of his opponent’s might! Today, a new Veteran Fighter has been born, and the same question lingers on everyone’s lips… how far can the legs of Doomfeet carry him!?”

Jake hurried out of the arena and slipped by Owen and Polly with a quick explanation that he had something to work on as he made his way back to town. He wasn’t lying, either. Jake finally felt like he had a breakthrough with his skill-less Gaze or potential presence attack, or whatever he wanted to call it.

Once back, Jake went into the apartment housing he had been provided after becoming a Fighter. He went straight for his bed as thoughts were still running through his mind… he wanted to test more, but it would have to wait. For now, he wanted to at least mentally address his epiphany, if that was the right thing to call it.

Jake finally felt like he was truly onto something. Not just with making a type of soul attack that could work for the current him, but something that would even prove useful once he was outside and back to C-grade.

It was a common saying even before the system that the eyes were the windows into the soul. Nobody back then was aware of exactly how true that was. The eyes were indeed an opening into the soul, and there were many theories as to why this was a thing. Maybe it was because the eyes were one of the primary senses of all who had them and that the senses were related to the first layer of the soul, so making eye contact was like connecting two souls… or maybe it was just how the system decided things worked. In either case, it was the truth that the eyes were windows into the soul.

That was also why many forms of soul magic required – or at least were heavily helped by – eye contact. Some species of vampires were infamous for their mental magic and hypnotic skills, with many of those skills requiring the vampire to look into the eyes of his or her target. While Jake didn’t have any skills like this, Gaze came close, as it did rely on the fact that using soul attacks with your eyes tended to be far more effective.

Gaze of the Apex Hunter was a powerful but simplistic soul attack. Jake theorized it used the delivery method it did for pure efficiency and to properly package the attack. Regular presence attacks were simply too weak against equal opponents unless you were significantly stronger than your opponent. The difference between using Gaze and trying to deliver the same paralysis effect through his regular presence was the difference between trying to stop someone from moving by either crushing them with a huge metal block or pricking them with a small needle that paralyzed them – with Gaze naturally being the needle. Sure, the impact was far smaller than crushing someone with his presence as the “package” delivering through his Gaze could hold far less power, and the only reason Gaze even worked was due to the high quality of the skill. But… what if he found a way to not only increase the size of his package but increase its quality?

The system had rules about equivalent exchange. Or, at the very least, it had rules about how the cost was usually at least related to the impact of whatever one did. This cost usually came in the form of resources like mana or stamina, but there were other ways to pay for a skill. Curse energy and mental energy were two Jake often used, with many more forms out there. But there were also other things you could exchange to not spend your own energy. Jake wasn’t thinking about sacrifices, catalysts, or anything like that, but something he often used already to pay for more power:

Himself.

Or, more accurately, he increased power by suffering a backlash of some kind. His current way of doing it was very crude and mostly came to be from him having to endure too much energy, but when he looked into the eyes of the Cleaver, Jake got an idea.

When fighting, it was normal to exchange blows and sometimes even take a hit to land one yourself. Why couldn’t he do this, but with a soul attack? To attack the soul of his enemy without any self-regard, willingly suffering the backlash from his opponent in return?

That’s right, Jake’s idea was to effectively force a confrontation of presences and souls. To, metaphorically speaking, gaze into his enemy’s soul to paralyze them and welcome them to gaze back to retaliate as they would engage in a staring competition that Jake was more than confident in winning every time.

Would this work? Maybe. Maybe not. But Jake was sure as hell excited to find out, and he had a whole bunch of unwilling test subjects, also known as Veteran Fighters, to test it out the very next day. Who knows… if it worked, maybe he wouldn’t have to stop kicking quite yet.