Gacha System: Reborn In The Hardest World

He moved with ages of knowledge artificially infused into his body, striking his fist against the bare air. The momentous strike multiplied, manifesting through spiritual replications of his own fist, expanded with colossal force. 

–Multiple times, the hunter was struck, knocked back as the road was carved through as the branches of neighboring trees swayed from the force. 

Yet, once again, the stranger landed on his feet; the wind was knocked out of him, sure, but he remained approaching. 

'What's the deal with this guy? Right now, I can tell–I'm wielding strength I can't even comprehend. So, why is this person still coming at me? This is who I encountered right when entering this world?' Gael considered in disbelief, watching the man in the glistening, deathly mask rush him. 

There was no way of knowing when the skill that served as his barrier between life-and-death would end; all he knew was that he had to end this–fast. 

'—I need to kill him,' Gael decided. 

Honing his hand like that of a blade, he swept his arm as though swinging a sword, performing the motion while the man was still several meters away. 

["Supreme Sword Intent"] 

—At the same time, a phenomenon occurred on that isolated, forest road. Like urchins expanding in the air in every direction, blades of black material stretched out. 

"Skewer." 

In the middle of his own motion, Gael was caught in the path of the expanding steel; poked and stabbed from multiple angles. 

He finished the motion, causing the soil to be split as if the air itself was weaponized as a sword. The road was cleaved as the hunter's chest was opened with a gash. 

"Ghh!—" The masked man spat out, bleeding from beneath his cover. 

[Temporary Summon over.] 

"Gah…!" 

At the same moment, he felt all of the strength and wisdom evaporate from his body. All of that was secondary, instead finding the pain settling in from having his body poked with holes by the manifested bundles of blades. 

'Shit…!' He thought. 

At the very least, the masked hunter seemed in even worse shape, yet still on his feet. 

"You're a troublesome one, aren't you?…Killing you isn't worth me dying. I'm saying your life isn't a fair trade for mine, by the way…" The hunter claimed, breathing out as blood gushed from his chest. 

Gael stood there, only glad he wasn't still being attacked, though surprised the pride of the man was still unchecked. 

"I'll be back for you—wherever you may run or make your nest, Outlander. I will find you and finish the job," the masked hunter claimed before leaping back. 

With a simple breeze passing by, the presence of the enigmatic hunter was gone. Standing there, alone as blood oozed from his various wounds, he could still hear his heartbeat in his ears. Not enough strength was left for him to take even a step before collapsing onto the dirt road, gasping out. 

'Shit…I got messed up really badly, didn't I? What the hell is the deal with this world, anyway? It's way too hard right off the bat,' he thought. 

Flickering between consciousness and unconsciousness, the ground rumbled against his cheek as he laid there amidst nature. He blinked, hardly able to move his body, only enough to slightly tilt his head–

"Ah–?"

He let out tiredly, finding himself face-to-nose with the snout of some sort of equine beast staring down at him. It definitely wasn't a normal horse, coated in thick, silken fur that glistened under the moonlight like pure silver. 

Following the lead that the massive creature was attached to, he found himself staring at an exuberant carriage with golden decorations laid on its fine wood. 

"Madam, I wouldn't get too close–" The driver of the carriage warned, though it didn't seem to stop who the words were for. 

Before he could attempt to pick himself up with his weak, bleeding body, he instead found himself greeted by the one who came out from the carriage, kneeling beside him. 

A young woman, likely around the same age as himself with skin as fair as the nightly weather; he looked into her crystalline, emerald irises, empowered by her silver eyelashes that matched her hair of the same complexion. 

"Are you an angel…?" Gael mumbled, finding himself believing the fact he might be dreaming, or already passing into heaven, if that was still an option for him. 

"You might consider me to be," the girl spoke with a soft voice that sounded like a blanket being placed over his body. "What's your name?"

"...Gael…" He weakly uttered.

Just as he managed to emit his name, his eyelids felt heavier than boulders, bringing them to close as all he could hear was the softly-spoken woman calling to the carriage driver. 

Rumble. Rumble. Rumble. 

In the peacefulness of slumber, he was continuously disrupted by what felt like literal bumps in the road. One such hurdle in the path knocked him awake as he parted his drowsy eyelids. He found himself staring up at a ceiling of furnished wood, his ears met by the sound of rolling wheels over an uneven road. 

"Ah…?" Gael let out, sitting up on the cushioned, velvet seat that had been used as his bed. 

"Did you rest well?"

The question came from across the enclosed, moving carriage, catching him off-guard as he quickly turned himself, realizing he wasn't alone. It was that silver-haired beauty, sitting properly with a lavish dress of black fabric, elegantly draped over her perfect body. 

"Ah…You…Did you help me?" Gael asked, perplexed by the entire ordeal as he patted his own body, finding the various holes and cuts gone. 

"I tended to your wounds, yes," the mysterious girl confirmed with a soft smile. 

"Thanks, but why? I mean…You didn't have to do that," Gael asked, sitting himself up properly as he felt the soreness throughout his body. 

Throughout his limbs, a sense of strength was felt; a newfound physical power that he certainly didn't have before. He could only attribute it to his own leveling and the "BODY" stat that had been increasing. 

"You were being hunted by the Venator, correct? That would make you an Outlander–a visitor from another world," the silver-haired woman claimed. 

"Hold on, you know all of that? How? Were you watching–" He questioned, nearly standing up, though stopping himself. 

"Forgive me for not introducing myself," the young woman said, placing her slender fingers over her chest, twiddling with the dark laces. "Blythe Peonyvale, lord of the Peonyvale Domain."