Ascension of the Primalist [A Tamer Class, LitRPG]

Seth sat atop a rock overlooking the barren landscape of the Warfare Rift, silently surveying the desolation stretching across the battlefield.

He couldn't remember if this was the fifteenth Rift he had entered—or the twentieth.

The battles had long since blurred together into an endless cycle of blood and despair.

He did know one thing for certain, however: this marked the third one-hundred-versus-one-hundred engagement so far.

Those larger-scale battles had been more annoying than the usual ones. They took far too long, forcing him to spend hours hunting down fleeing survivors and crushing isolated pockets of resistance.

And unfortunately, the Empress still hadn't deployed Jaz of Ryswell or Celess of Solaria against him.

She was probably trying to preserve what little morale her army still possessed. If Seth killed either of those high-profile soldiers, he had no doubt the Empire's confidence would collapse completely.

Above the battlefield, the Spirit announced the absolute end of the engagement only seconds after Nightmare tore out the throat of the final imperial soldier.

"This concludes the battle. Winner: Kingdom of Kastal. The Warfare Rift will close in thirty minutes."

The two doppelgängers flanking the direwolf dissolved into drifting wisps of grey smoke.

Nightmare staggered forward, exhausted.

The direwolf looked utterly drained, legs trembling beneath him as he barely remained standing atop the blood-soaked earth. Seth shot him a judgmental glance. His partner had brought the exhaustion upon himself by recklessly unleashing his new technique without properly accounting for the massive consumption of aether.

Shaking his head, Seth used Intermediate Identify on the direwolf.