The confirmation given to him by his own system felt like a cruel joke at that moment as blood rushed down his arms, looking down at the unmoving body.
"Hey, Brunhilde…Hey!" He desperately called out, hoping it was all some kind of twisted joke.
No such gifted reality came as he instead found the rustling of the bushes catching his attention. That hiss of wind; that distinct sound forced him to drop the person he held, throwing himself to the side–BANG. He saved himself from a splattered brain, catching himself on his feet as he breathed out, watching the silhouette arrive from behind the trees.
Similar to the other masked men, the stranger carried a steel-made, gun-like contraption bound to his arm, wielding a straight blade that extended from the forearm of his armor on his other hand. There was a distinct difference; this person wore a cloak made of bestial, black fur, wearing a hood of the same material.
The skull-faced mask dazzled as if made of moonstone, facing the rattled, young man. It was clear as day that this one was different from the rest; perhaps of higher ranking in whatever organization they belonged to. Without a doubt, a troublesome figure.
"I have to hand it to you, your kind always ends up being a pain in the ass to put down," the cloaked figure spoke with a raspy voice. "The systems of Outlanders are always so troublesome."
"Outlanders? System? Do you know what's going on?" Gael desperately asked, maybe hoping that he could avoid dying through some sort of discussion. "Why the hell are you all coming after me? What did I do–? I just got here–"
"That's exactly the issue. You came here uninvited, Outlander–this isn't your world. Your kind always shows up, wielding powerful "Systems"--problematic, undignified beings. That's why it's our job to eliminate your kind before you can grow," the masked figure explained without an ounce of mercy in his words. "That's our duty as Venator."
All of it seemed too unfair to make sense. It wasn't as though he had much choice in the matter–it was either coming to this world or death.
'At the end, it feels like it didn't even matter what choice I made–why the hell is this world out to get me, too?' He questioned.
"I know you don't all have a say in coming to Gaia. It's all just unfortunate, y'know?" The masked figure spoke, adjusting the steam-powered weapon on his arm. "At the end of the day, you have to die. That's all there is to it."
Seeing that the stranger had dealt with Brunhilde without so much as a stain on his cloak, it seemed that coming out alive in this encounter was a miraculous wish. With multiple holes in his body, gushing blood, it wasn't as if he'd make it very far if he somehow managed to run away, either.
Still, he didn't let himself fall, glancing down at the dirt road that was now drenched in blood.
'--I still have a chance here. A chance–that's all I need,' Gael resolved.
While he wasn't somebody that experienced a whole lot of conflict in his life, he didn't shy away from it. Somehow or another, he felt a distinct lack of fear in that moment–perhaps it was accepting death, or entrusting everything to his one option, he invoked it:
"Temporary Summon: Skill!" He shouted.
[Skill Summoning Initiated | (N): 70% | (R ): 20% | (SR): 7% | (SSR): 2% | (UR): 1%]
The fur-cloaked stranger dashed towards him, bearing his blade, "--Don't think I'll let you use that system."
[Chance Summoning complete…You've obtained…!]
[Skill Temporarily Obtained: (UR) "Cultivation of The Martial God"]
There was an immediate shift throughout his body; like a flow of refreshing warmth that simultaneously cooled him down. An utter calmness aided his mind as he focused, finding his body firm and brimming with power.
As the hunter approached him, lunging at him with speed that would be no more than a blur to him the moment prior, it seemed as if the enemy moved at the crawl of a snail now.
'Everything feels so slow now–no, everything is clear. This guy–I was trembling just a second ago. Now, I can't even remember why I was scared,' he thought.
Without much effort required, he leaned to the side as the blade wielded by the hunter passed by.
"Ghh–?!" The masked man winced in shock.
Gael reached out, casually grabbed the sharp steel with two fingers before only slightly flipping his wrist–CRACK. The blade was snapped in half, easily redirecting the hunter, spinning the enemy around and tossing him across the dirt road.
It felt as though he'd spent centuries training, honing his mind and body.
'With this kind of strength, I can win,' he resolved.
The hunter hopped back to his feet seamlessly, dashing right towards him with no hesitation.
"Fine, then—I'll leave nothing left of you," the masked man threatened with a sinister trace to his words.
From every direction, only flashes of the cloaked figure were seen; a constantly shifting blur that moved rapidly. Faster than a bullet, more nimble than a jet; it was the kind of speed that would've left him hopeless.
Yet, he found himself standing his ground, having a complete sense of his enemy's movements.
"You Outlanders are a plague on this world. What we Venator do is no different from an exterminator handling an infestation of rodents," the enigmatic man's voice came from every direction, constantly running circles around Gael. "So, you can die knowing you're improving the world."
Like a jolt through his body, he sensed what he could only attribute as "malice"; a killing intent as tangible as seeing a blade aimed for his neck. The sixth sense obtained from his temporary state of enlightenment guided him to swiftly lean to the side.
–Right past him, the high-speed assault barely missed, though the masked hunter caught himself on his hands, redirecting himself into a nimble kick. Gael saw it all as if it were in slow motion, using minimal movement to evade before pushing his hand forward.
'I can control it–this force within me,' he realized as he moved.
It felt like a river of energy flowing throughout his limbs, guiding it through his hand and into his palm before letting it push outward against the enemy. Like a breath of harsh wind born from a momentary storm, the pulse knocked the masked figure off his feet, throwing him back.
Though he didn't restrain himself, he didn't strain either, finding it to be an amount of force that would undoubtedly shatter all the bones in a person's body–a normal one, anyway.
To his surprise, the cloaked hunter flipped around, catching himself on his feet to immediately dash right towards him again.
"That's good. Make it fun for me," the Venator scathingly emitted.