Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 996 - 233.4 - Changes across the world

The war-room of Blackridge Dominion was carved directly into the jagged cliff-face overlooking the glacial coast of Kesserreach. It was all dark steel and frost-laced stone, its walls enchanted to resist both magic and age. Faint blue light glowed from mana filaments coiled into the ceiling, casting long shadows over the obsidian war-table below. Upon it, a territorial map of the continent flickered softly—runes shifting, borders glowing where tensions burned hottest.

Guildmaster Varent Illowen stood at the head of the room, arms folded behind his back, his breath a steady stream in the chill air. He was a tall man, silver-haired but far from old, his bearing more akin to a blade kept sharp through necessity. His eyes, pale and near colorless, scanned the map with the same glacial patience he was infamous for.

"Philps and Hartley," he said at last. "Their conflict’s escalated again."

Across from him stood Serrina Vol, Blackridge’s Ice-Domain Guildmaster—a woman wrapped in layered midnight leathers and fur-lined silver plating, her presence as sharp as the cold she commanded. Her braid hung over one shoulder like a coiled serpent. She leaned over the table, one finger tracing a glowing line between two strongholds on the western quadrant.

"The border skirmishes near Leorne Ridge weren’t minor." Her voice was low, clipped. "Philps’ enforcers crossed into sanctioned resource territory. Hartley retaliated. Two squads dead. The arbitration committee is pretending it didn’t happen."

Varent’s jaw tensed. "Because Hartley holds the majority in the northern resource courts. If they call it ’miscommunication,’ it becomes one."

"And Philps will escalate," said Jonnen Cask, one of their senior hunters—thick-set, axe-wielding, and too experienced to be optimistic. "That bastard’s never taken a hit without swinging twice back."

A murmur of agreement circled the chamber. Several hunters from Blackridge’s active combat wings stood around the room, armor dusted with frost from recent excursions, watching the projections shift across the table.

"They want us to choose," Serrina said. "Both sides have sent ’neutral courtesy’ envoys."

"Courtesy," Varent echoed, dry. "With a list of what they’d expect in return, no doubt."

Jonnen snorted. "Philps offered us exclusive auction rights in Krenhold if we back them. Hartley’s dangling Frostglass priority routes."

"We haven’t taken a side," Serrina reminded. "And every day we don’t, both think we’re stalling to negotiate for more."

"And maybe we are," Varent said evenly. "But neutrality doesn’t last forever. The only question is—who burns less when we tie ourselves to them."

The room quieted at that.

Serrina’s gaze drifted to the northern edge of the map, where several gates pulsed faintly in red and gold. "The dungeon activity’s rising across all fronts. Every major gate’s showing increased instability. The Blackscale Rift? Fluctuated again this morning. Class-7 distortion with multi-elemental feedback."

"Not just here," Jonnen said. "Rumors say Kaliset’s guilds went silent for twenty minutes last night. No scouts. No communication. Just void. Came back like nothing happened."

Varent turned slowly toward him. "That matches what we heard from the Association."

He reached out and tapped the corner of the map, where three districts lit up with archived anomalies.

"All the guild conflicts. The sudden aggression. The mercenary shifts. Even this Philps–Hartley war. I don’t think it’s just about pride anymore."

Serrina’s eyes narrowed. "You think they’re being nudged."

"I think the timing’s too clean," Varent replied. "And the mana signature beneath it all is wrong. Something’s stirring underneath the noise."

He looked back up at the others. His voice was calm. Measured.

"We don’t take sides yet. Not until we know who lit the first match—or what’s waiting in the ashes."

A soft chime echoed through the war-room—a tonal sequence reserved for high-priority transmissions.

Varent’s head turned. The table’s central panel flickered, shifting the continental map aside to make space for a new projection. An Association seal appeared briefly in gold, followed by a data feed that began to stream across the surface like cascading glyphs.

Directive: Assignment Confirmation

Gate Classification: Rank-6 (Stabilized)

Designation: Frostbound Slope (Sector NE-1129-KA)

Previous Recon Team: Association Field Recon Alpha-Seven

Regional Authority: Transferred to Blackridge Dominion by Executive Mandate

Action Required: Claim or Relinquish Custodial Rights within 30 minutes.

The room went quiet as the message played out, each word stamped with digital certainty.

"...They’re giving it to us?" Jonnen asked, breaking the silence.

Serrina’s eyes scanned the live feed. "That’s the same sector where the anomaly pinged two hours ago. Recon Alpha-Seven... that’s Gellard’s squad."

"They must’ve pulled," Varent murmured. "Or the Association wants fresh eyes on it—and doesn’t trust their own."

He looked at the timer on the interface. Twenty-eight minutes left.

"Do we know what happened there?" Jonnen asked, frowning. "Any breach alerts?"

"None flagged. But the mana log’s erratic," Serrina said, scrolling through the side-panel. "For a stabilized gate, it’s too clean. No aftershock trails, no echo threads. Like the whole gate was reset."

"Or replaced," Varent said softly.

He stepped back from the table, eyes on the projection. A decision formed—swift, clean.

"We’ll take it."

Serrina arched an eyebrow. "Even with the instability?"

"Especially because of it." His voice had shifted—no longer wary, but resolute. "If something is tampering with gates, we need to see it firsthand. And if the Association wants us on the inside, it means they’re more desperate than they let on."

He flicked his wrist, and the table responded to his command. A lineup of Blackridge hunter teams appeared—rosters, roles, deployment histories.

"Team-3," he said.

Jonnen nodded. "They’re fresh from the Dreadpine sweep. Still geared. Haven’t rotated out yet."

"Good," Varent said. "Brief them in ten. I want full sensory rigging—long-range glyph scaffolds, elemental partition gear, and a scribe-link relay back to headquarters. If that gate twitches, we feel it."

The command finalized with a soft pulse through the war-table’s surface. One by one, the indicators beside Team-3’s roster lit up green.

Deployment Confirmed. En Route to Sector NE-1129-KA.

Estimated Arrival: 1 hour 13 minutes.

Primary Objective: Gate Assessment and Entry Protocol. fгeewёbnoѵel.cσm

Status: ACTIVE.

Varent stepped away from the table, his long coat brushing the frost-rimed floor. "Keep a direct line open to their lead. No relays. I want real-time echo feedback from the moment they make visual contact."

Serrina gave a curt nod. "I’ll monitor from the Diviner’s Lens. If there’s interference again, we’ll know."

"Do we have the last fifteen seconds from Alpha-Seven before the blackout?" Jonnen asked.

"We do," Serrina answered. "It was scrambled by the signal loss, but the last thing Gellard logged before contact dropped was a gate reading rollback—Class-6 to Class-4—then restabilization. No breach. No spike. Just... inversion."

"Like the gate flinched," Varent muttered.

Time passed. The war-room dimmed to standby as the team deployed. Tactical windows adjusted themselves for weather conditions and regional leyline flux. An hour later, a low chime buzzed again—shorter, sharper.

Incoming report.

Serrina stepped forward and opened the stream.

FIELD REPORT – Team-3 / Blackridge Dominion

Lead: Arlan Vechir

Timestamp: +1:14:37

Location: Frostbound Slope – Gate Perimeter

The scry-screen lit with Arlan’s face, haloed by breath fog and blinking runes.

His expression was tight. Professional—but visibly on edge.

"Reporting from the slope. Gate is visible. Energy signature matches Association’s readings: stabilized, Rank-6. Field distortion minimal. Ambient mana pressure is holding steady—too steady."

He shifted slightly in the frame. Behind him, the shimmer of the gate hovered above the snow—rippling like still water caught between dimensions.

"That’s the problem," Arlan continued. "We’ve run three complete entry checks. Interface glyphs, resonance sync, etheric bridge—all standard. Gate refuses to open."

Varent leaned forward.

Arlan’s voice sharpened. "No repelling force. No barrier. The entry layer is intact, but unresponsive. It’s not denying us—it’s ignoring us."

Static flared across the image briefly before stabilizing again. Behind Arlan, one of the team’s glyph pylons sparked with a small mana discharge.

"We’ve deployed full sensory lattice. Echo threads come back clean—but shallow. Gate’s rejecting tethering. It recognizes we’re here. But it won’t acknowledge us."