Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 997

Chapter 997: Chapter 233.5 – Changes across the world
The war-room lights flickered as the transmission paused. The arcane relay stone on the side console pulsed once—amber light indicating a secondary override.

Another voice joined the channel—this time, not from Blackridge, but from Association Command Headquarters. Crisp. Formal. And laced with confusion barely masked beneath protocol.

Arlan’s projection stabilized again. He nodded once, jaw set. “Affirmative. Gate integrity reads normal. Mana cohesion patterns are within standard tolerances. However—no ingress possible. No reactive signatures to approach, invocation, or direct interfacing. It’s… inert.”

A pause.

Then: “That’s not possible.”

Serrina, still standing beside Varent, turned slightly toward the voice. “Apparently it is.”

“The gate exists, its readings are active, it has an anchoring presence in both physical and mana space—but it does not open?”

“Correct,” Arlan said. “It’s not a shielding issue. There’s no defensive glyphwork, no containment matrix. It’s behaving like a complete construct, but—closed from the inside.”

“Like it’s waiting for a key,” someone muttered faintly from the Association’s side, likely not meant to be heard.

Varent’s voice cut clean through the silence. “This isn’t a technical anomaly. It’s behavioral.”

A sharp inhale from the other end. “There’s no record of this ever happening. Not in thirty years of gate protocol. If a dungeon forms and stabilizes, it opens—or it destabilizes. This is… neither.”

“Exactly,” Serrina said. “And if it’s neither, then it’s not following the fundamental laws we’ve established.”

The flicker of the projection steadied again, casting pale light across the war-room’s frost-etched walls. Silence followed Serrina’s words, but it wasn’t empty. It pressed—tightly wound, full of implication.

Then—

“We’re escalating this,” said the Association voice, more composed now, but not without strain. “Cross-departmental investigation is underway. This case is not isolated.”

Varent’s eyes narrowed. “Define that.”

A few seconds passed before a new voice entered the feed—deeper, older, this one carrying the tone of someone higher up the ladder.

“Blackridge Dominion, this is Overseer Ryhal of the Central Guild Authority. You are authorized to receive classified Tier-3 tactical brief.”

A glyph-lock flashed across the screen, briefly confirming Varent’s clearance.

“What we’re about to say does not leave this transmission.”

Varent gave a curt nod.

“As of the last twelve hours,” Ryhal continued, “a dozen guilds across four continents have filed similar reports. Gates forming—stabilizing—and then refusing all entry.”

Serrina’s brow furrowed. “How many of those are confirmed?”

“Nine so far. The rest are still under review. But the pattern is repeating. Dungeon constructs that exhibit all standard formation behaviors—mana surge, resonance alignment, structural layering—but once formed, they reject entry. No repulsion. No volatility. They simply… remain closed.”

“The same behavior,” Jonnen muttered. “Exactly the same.”

“Yes,” Ryhal said. “Some guilds tried forceful entry. Nothing worked. No defensive countermeasures were triggered. Just… no response. As if the gate knows they’re unqualified.”

Serrina’s eyes sharpened. “You’re implying selectivity.”

“We’re implying nothing,” Ryhal said. “We’re just acknowledging that every operational assumption about dungeon mechanics may be compromised.”

Varent exhaled slowly. “How long until this becomes public?”

“We’re containing the narrative.” Another pause. “But if it spreads—if more guilds start experiencing this—it won’t stay buried for long.”

Arlan’s voice returned over the shared channel, calm but more cautious now. “We’ve rechecked our diagnostics. The entry layer hasn’t degraded. It’s intact—just inert. Nothing’s changed in the past thirty minutes.”

At the end they couldn’t find an answer at all.

****

[One day later]

Frost clung to the banners of Blackridge Dominion as they flapped listlessly in the courtyard wind—sharp, dry gusts that carried the scent of old steel and crackling glyphdust. The sky above was a colorless canvas, pale as ash, and the mood matched it.

Inside the command pavilion, Guildmaster Varent Illowen stood beside the reassignment board, fingers steepled against his mouth as he reviewed the new orders projected in front of him.

Association Directive – Cross Compatibility Testing

Order: Begin Gate Access Rotation Trials

Purpose: Determine Entry Conditions through Variable Composition

Status: Mandatory.

The room was unusually full—officers, schedulers, handlers, all murmuring in subdued confusion. No guild liked to admit they were following protocol in the dark.

Serrina Vol leaned over Varent’s shoulder, arms crossed. “They want us to reshuffle our gate teams. Again.”

Varent’s gaze flicked across the roster. “Thirty years of standardization and they toss it out overnight. No composition rules, no mana tier restrictions… just throw different people at the gates until something sticks.”

“Like testing keys in a lock we didn’t build,” Jonnen said from his place by the wall, his axe strapped across his back.

Serrina shook her head. “Desperate.”

“Necessary,” Varent replied. He tapped the roster, pulling up Team-3’s deployment record. “They’ve already cycled through three squad variations. No entry. The gate hasn’t flared again since the shutdown, but it’s still there. Quiet.”

“Then we start replacing,” Serrina said. “Who do you want first?”

Varent didn’t answer immediately. His eyes scanned a secondary list—a new intake roster. Recent recruits, late transfers, and promising candidates acquired through inter-guild agreements. Fresh talent, largely untested.

He stopped on one name.

Name: Cael Adverin

Age: 17

Rank: Unverified

Background: Nomadic Registration – Independent Zone 53

Evaluation: High potential / irregular mana signature / unique runic sensitivity

Serrina noticed the hesitation. “One of the new ones?”

Varent nodded slightly. “Quiet. Doesn’t talk much. Didn’t attend formal Hunter academies. Pulled from a scouting program two weeks ago.”

Jonnen raised an eyebrow. “You want to send an unranked rookie to a gate none of our veterans can even touch?”

Varent didn’t look away from the name. “No.”

He tapped the command sigil beside the name. A rune flared, assigning the hunter to the Frostbound gate.

“I want to see if it touches him.”

And then, just forty minutes later…

The snow was thinner now, worn down by the days of foot traffic and mana discharge. The gate still hung where it had been—just as silent, just as unyielding. Its shimmer was dull, like glass dipped in oil, distorting just faintly when looked at too long.

Team-3 stood back in a wide arc, watching from behind the rune-marked pylons.

Arlan Vechir crossed his arms. “Another rotation?”

The reply came over comms: “Single insertion. One hunter.”

Arlan blinked. “What?”

A moment later, a figure was escorted forward—slim build, dark cloak, wide-eyed but calm. Cael Adverin. His eyes flicked to the gate with quiet interest—not fear, not awe. Just… curiosity.

“You sure about this, kid?” Arlan asked, voice low.

Cael nodded once. “I was told to walk forward.”

“That’s it?”

A pause. “That’s all I’ve ever needed.”

Arlan frowned but stepped back. “Alright then. Gate’s inert. Won’t bite.”

Cael approached.

One step.

Two.

Then—

The shimmer changed.

Barely at first—like a breath taken beneath the surface of water. The haze lifted slightly. The distortion smoothed.

The pylons lit up. Not red. Not warning.

Blue. Recognition.

Cael paused, standing just three feet from the gate. His expression didn’t change. The others stared.

The gate pulsed once.

And opened.

Not violently. Not with a roar of mana or the howl of space tearing. It unfolded. Like a veil being drawn aside by unseen hands. Behind it, shadowed stone glowed faintly with threads of gold. An interior. A passage.

Serrina’s voice broke over comms, sharp with disbelief. “It opened?”

Arlan could only nod. “It… accepted him.”

They all watched.

Cael turned his head slightly, glancing back over his shoulder.

“Should I go in?”

Varent’s voice came through—calm. Cold.

“Not yet.”

He stepped closer to the edge of the war-table back at headquarters, eyes narrowed.

“First,” he said, almost to himself, “we find out why him.”