The Primal Hunter

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.

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

Cleaver’s leg but didn’t get the expected response as his opponent stepped backward, making some distance. The big cleaver was still held in both hands, ready to come down at any point, making it quite hard for

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 right as a fist hit his blocking arm. A tinge of pain shot through his arm as the impact took Jake

Strength… above 10.

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

estimated he outmatched him even in the pure Strength department. The big man already looked unstable on the leg Jake had kicked

the air. The power was impressive, and Jake knew he would be fucked if that ever hit him… but it wasn’t going

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

It didn’t pan out.

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

fell to the ground from the uppercut kick but quickly gathered himself as he went to retrieve his weapon that had fallen a good

attack only spoken of in legends. The man

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

sand as he watched the glorious outcome of deploying an otherwise forbidden technique. One too powerful for

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

said, knowing it

the battlefield… there is only victory… or death. Give me a warrior’s

the guy. It had to suck getting your ass kicked – quite literally - but he did feel like the guy was

defiantly up at

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

Fucking asshole.

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,

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

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

as he lunged back in fright, a shudder going through his

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