Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 1068: Chapter 253.1 – Mission

The week that followed was quiet only on the surface.

But beneath the stillness—beneath the day-to-day routines of academy life and guild briefings—the world was shifting.

It began with scattered reports. One or two new dungeon formations per region. Nothing alarming, not at first. The Association logged them as “routine anomalies” and flagged them for inspection. The guilds responded with cautious interest. Field teams were dispatched. Preliminary scans were conducted.

And then came the refusals.

Gates that wouldn’t open.

Teams of experienced Hunters—men and women with years of battle behind them—stood before dungeons that pulsed with power, only to be denied entry without explanation or resistance. Their mana signatures were acknowledged. Their presence was marked. But the gates simply… remained still.

Unmoving.

Untouched.

Waiting.

At first, the Association thought it was a classification error. Then a spectral distortion. Then a calibration bug. But none of their solutions worked.

And then, one by one, low-ranked scouting teams—comprised almost entirely of youth—began to report successful entry.

The pattern became undeniable.

Only cadets were getting through.

By the fourth day, a wave of new dungeons surged across the northern zones. Stabilized, active, and unmanned. The Association scrambled. By the sixth day, more had emerged in the western reaches—some within proximity of critical cities. Still inert to senior hunters.

And by the seventh day, the situation turned critical.

The number of active dungeons had exceeded any predicted growth model.

At the headquarters of the Central Arcane Analysis Division, the overlays showed red warnings blinking across a third of the continental grid. The Association was no longer able to dispatch teams fast enough—nor did they have enough eligible personnel to respond.

Many guilds, particularly those outside the urban strongholds, simply didn’t have young enough hunters to deploy. Rural sectors, elite-focused guilds, research dominions—none of them had anticipated this kind of restriction.

Unowned dungeons meant unsealed threats.

And unsealed threats meant destruction.

That was when the Organization stepped in.

The order came from above—one of the highest encrypted protocols reserved for global contingency responses. Every operative with the rank of Watcher or higher received the directive:

———–

CLASSIFIED ORDER – LEVEL 2

Subject: [Resonance-Selective Dungeon Crisis]

Directive: Activate Protocol ORBITAL FOLD

Priority: Immediate

Authority: Anchor Consensus

Identify viable Adept-level assets under 21.

Reclassify qualified personnel from passive to active status.

Begin regional dispersal and gate-claiming operations.

Field control to be executed by designated Watchers.

————

Reina received the notification in her office at midnight.

The glyph seal pulsed once—deep crimson, laced with triple-binding encryption.

She opened it without hesitation.

Her eyes moved swiftly across the scroll of data. Coordinates. Names. Known unclaimed gates. Cross-referenced age compatibility logs. Even before the final instruction had finished materializing, she was already calculating.

Then came the voice through the encrypted channel—calm, neutral, commanding.

“This situation is now under Organization jurisdiction. All affiliated Watchers are hereby tasked with assembling field-ready candidates from existing rosters and provisional reserves. Selection is to be completed within forty-eight hours.”

The message had arrived only minutes ago, but already the Watchers’ internal channels were alive with movement.

Secure comm-lines flickered with chatter. Directives routed. Names cross-referenced. Clearance levels overridden. Every Watcher stationed at the Arcadia-adjacent base had received the same order—Protocol ORBITAL FOLD was now in effect, and the world’s rhythm was no longer dictated by strategy or politics.

It was dictated by urgency.

Reina stood before the vertical interface wall, the cool blue light casting long shadows across her office. Lines of names, classifications, training timestamps, and mana profiles scrolled down the translucent screen, each tagged with identifiers: APPROVED, INELIGIBLE, PENDING VERIFICATION.

Seven full rosters were already under evaluation across the facility.

Watchers from other departments were working with haste—combing through candidate lists from their own trainee divisions. The week-long combat assessments they’d run just prior had proven unexpectedly valuable. Field-readiness scores, mana synchronization rates, emotional stability under duress—all now elevated from internal metrics to live deployment filters.

Teams were beginning to take shape.

Pairs. Trios. Tactical squads. All under twenty-one. All trained.

Reina’s fingers moved with clinical precision across the interface, scrolling past regional restrictions and command overlays. She opened the Adept classification list—updated just hours ago with the newest integration data.

Her gaze swept past familiar names.

Kael Veridan. Lyra Suthren. Emil Tovae. Nael Hawthorne.

Each of them flagged as AVAILABLE. Each a potential asset in this global pivot.

Then—she stopped.

Natusalune, Astron.

—Age: 17

—Classification: ADEPT

—Status: [UNASSIGNED]

—Affiliation: Arcadia Academy

—Restriction: Academy-bound

—Override: Temporary Vacation Active – 9 Days remaining

Her eyes narrowed.

’Vacation?’ she thought.

She tapped the info node. The file expanded instantly—authorization logged, verified. One-week discretionary leave approved by Arcadia’s internal administration due to mid-term scheduling and the whole week of midterms.

Reina stared at the data node hovering before her, the interface shimmering faintly in the dim light of her office.

Temporary Vacation Active – 9 Days Remaining.

Her lips pressed into a thin line—not in disapproval, but in contemplation. She tapped open the expanded note appended to the file. The reasoning was simple, clean, and internally consistent with what she had already been informed.

Arcadia Academy Mid-Term Format:

5-Day Practical Evaluation

Dungeon Exploration Simulation + Real Combat Integration

She’d known about the exam format. She’d even reviewed the initial approval documents two weeks prior during a closed Watcher review. At the time, it had seemed nothing more than a refined approach to integrated assessment. Tactical dungeon immersion across five days—a test of survival, teamwork, and adaptability. Forward-thinking, for an academy.

But now?

Now, it made too much

The Academy had likely foreseen what was coming. Not the full shape, perhaps. Not the scope of the phenomenon. But they had noticed the signs. The fluctuations. The gate behavior anomalies.

And they’d prepared quietly.

’Of course they issued vacation,’ Reina thought, eyes narrowing slightly. ’Not just to let the cadets recover—but to buy themselves time. To restructure. To decide how to respond to what’s happening.’

She leaned back slightly in her chair, steepling her fingers.

Because when Astron returned to the academy, it was all but certain that things would be different. Policies would shift. Restrictions would loosen. The internal hierarchy would adapt to the reality that was now too large to ignore.

But for now?

Right now, Astron was not a cadet under restricted movement.

He was a registered Adept.

On vacation.

And therefore—available.

No bureaucratic tether. No authorization required.

He was legally and organizationally deployable.

Her eyes locked on his name again.

Natusalune, Astron.

—Status: ACTIVE (Override Applicable)

She tapped the screen once.

The moment Reina tapped the interface, the glyph array pulsed faintly beneath her fingertips. A thin line of light traced upward through the comm-stone embedded in her desk, connecting seamlessly to the Watchers’ internal relay. Unlike civilian channels or even guild-secure links, this connection bypassed public filters entirely—establishing a direct bridge through the Organization’s artifact-grade infrastructure.

Signal: Confirmed

Encryption Level: Arc-Class Tier II

Connection: Active

The hologram shimmered once in the air above her desk, forming in perfect resolution.

Astron’s face appeared.

Unruffled.

Unemotional.

A blank slate.

His hair was slightly tousled, like he’d just come from a walk or a quiet reading session, but his eyes held the same sharp clarity she’d come to expect. Cold, thoughtful. Alert.

’Classic as usual.’