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.

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

disregard for anything but himself. He was completely selfish. Miyamoto did not think

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

the cusp of death. He had accepted it. Miyamoto was fine with dying, just not the consequences his

and enjoyed himself to his life’s content. Every battle was

had fun with life, damned be the

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

a fight he could win, but it was

No clan. No consequences.

Just two humans fighting.

Jake dodged away, returning fire as the two of them danced in circles around each other, the

seemed to flow far

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

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

*BOOM!*

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

while Gaze impacted physical movement,

Mile to avoid a few more droplets, getting even more distance. He spun in the air as he aimed his bow and nocked

the Sword Saint’s chest. He tried to use Gaze but

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

body from his right shoulder to just above his navel, the blade having torn through everything in between. He would be

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

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

he would at least make him spend a lot of stamina and mana to avoid his blows. With the potion cooldown now in

strike him. Jake wanted to avoid melee at this point, as he

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

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

to keep

in a combat-ready stance as Jake stopped ten or so meters away. The old man looked down at his

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

as he took a more relaxed stance and stabbed

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