Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

A pale crescent moon hung over Arcadia like a silent observer, veiled by drifting clouds that moved slowly across the night sky. The towering spires of the world’s most renowned academy loomed in the distance—still, silent, and brimming with secrets.

Inside a secluded chamber of a rented manor, the soft rustling of parchment filled the dimly lit room. A single candle burned low on a desk scattered with files, photographs, and mana-inscribed scrolls. Leonard sat with his back straight, robes slightly disheveled, his fingers curled around the silver artifact that hung from his neck—the crescent moon softly pulsing, resonating, whispering that the one he sought was near.

But near was not enough.

He narrowed his golden eyes on the documents laid before him. Portraits of promising students stared back—young faces filled with ambition, arrogance, or quiet determination.

He exhaled slowly.

“Too many variables. Too many shadows,” he murmured.

The Hartley boy was the first he’d investigated. Ethan Hartley. Exceptional skill, natural charisma, a righteous streak that could light a battlefield aflame. But the bloodline was ordinary—traceable, untangled. His essence lacked the lunar resonance. Pure, yes, but not of the moon.

Next came the Middletons. A powerful family with influence spanning multiple provinces, but despite their aura of dignity, there was nothing celestial about them. Leonard had spoken with professors, inspected lineage registries, even traced ancestral graves. Every path ended in mundane soil.

The Arkwrights had intrigued him briefly—Noble lineage, old magic in their veins. There was something ancient in their blood, yes, but not the right kind. Their mana was grounded, earthen. Heavy with tradition, but not touched by the moon.

And then there were the Philips. Scattered over several fields of study. Yet even the most promising among them lacked the spiritual echo he had come to recognize in the Kin.

He leaned back in his chair, hand passing over the artifact. Even now, it pulsed faintly—telling him the truth he couldn’t ignore.

The Kin of the Moon was here.

Somewhere inside the walls of that hallowed institution. Watching. Breathing. Hiding.

And the Academy itself… was protecting them.

Or they were unaware.

The latter was the more likely.

If the Academy had known the identity of the Kin of the Moon, Leonard was certain he would have felt resistance—subtle or otherwise. Layers of bureaucracy. Eyes turning away. But no. What he had encountered was ignorance. A blind institution shrouded in its own pride and antiquated principles, guarding its secrets not out of design, but out of habit.

They weren’t hiding the Kin.

They simply didn’t know.

Which meant that whoever it was, they hadn’t awakened. Not fully.

Not yet.

Leonard stood from his seat, letting his eyes wander over the faces pinned to the wall—portraits of excellence, of brilliance, of power. Each name once a lead, now discarded. Red-thread lines had connected theories and assumptions like a spider’s web, but the center remained empty.

No more detours.

No more wasted steps.

His fingers brushed the crescent moon at his chest. The artifact still pulsed with faint resonance—but it had grown quieter recently, as if the Kin themselves were slipping deeper into shadow.

“I can’t do this from the outside,” Leonard muttered. “I’m circling a sealed garden, searching for a single flower whose scent fades by the day.”

He moved toward the far end of the room, where a small mana mirror rested on a stand framed by runes. With a flick of his fingers, he activated it, feeding it a gentle stream of his mana. Ripples shimmered across the surface, and soon, a distant figure began to coalesce—robed in white, face partially obscured by divine radiance, seated on a high dais beneath a sun-etched mural.

The voice that answered him was calm, deep, and unmistakably firm.

“Leonard.”

He bowed low, respectful but composed. “Your Holiness. I bring a report regarding the Kin of the Moon.”

The light from the mirror flared faintly, signaling attention.

“Speak.”

Leonard straightened. “As suspected, they are here—within Arcadia’s Academy. The artifact has resonated repeatedly within its grounds, and no leads beyond the academy’s walls have borne fruit.”

A pause.

“You are certain?”

Leonard nodded. “Beyond doubt. I have investigated dozens of students—Hartley, Middletons, Arkwrights, Philips, and many more. I have traced their lineages, their families, their mana signatures. All were either too clean… or too ordinary.”

He stepped closer to the mirror, his voice calm but edged with frustration.

“The Academy has taken measures to obscure the full list of attendees. Whether by intention or policy, I cannot access the necessary information without risking a breach that could alert them. My reach is limited.”

The figure in the mirror remained silent, waiting.

Leonard bowed his head once more.

“That is why I must go further.”

He raised his eyes, golden and resolute.

“I request permission to enter the Academy. Officially.”

The mirror flickered.

“For what purpose?”

“To continue the investigation from within. Disguised if necessary. Enrolled, embedded, or appointed—whichever method offers the least resistance.” Leonard’s voice carried a tempered urgency. “I cannot strike the moon while I chase shadows. I must walk among them. Observe them up close. Feel their mana, their lies, their fear.”

The radiance in the mirror dimmed momentarily, contemplative.

Then, a quiet breath, like the rustling of pages in a holy text.

“You seek the wolf by becoming the shepherd.”

Leonard allowed himself a slight nod.

“If the Kin is meant to bring destruction, then their awakening cannot be left to fate. The prophecy speaks of the moon entangled with the stars—perhaps even more than one. I need to find the source before convergence begins.”

Silence stretched between them like a drawn string.

And then—the figure raised a hand.

The figure raised a hand, bathed in the gentle halo of divine light.

“Something will be arranged. A cause, a purpose. The Academy is a fortress of pride—they will not open their gates without reason. Until then…” the voice drifted, solemn, “continue your observation. Seek out anomalies. Patterns. Resonance. Anything that may point to the Kin before the door opens.”

Leonard’s brows furrowed slightly.

“How long, Your Holiness?”

A pause followed, heavy as prophecy.

“At most a month,” the voice replied. “No longer. But you must understand, Leonard—we are not simply inserting a knife into the unknown.”

Leonard lowered his head once more. “Understood.”

“Good. Hold your patience. The stars do not rush to their positions.”

And then the mirror dimmed—first to gold, then to silver, and finally to black. The reflection of light receded into silence.

Leonard stood still, listening to the emptiness.

For a moment, all he could hear was the subtle crackle of the candle flame, the quiet pulse of the artifact on his chest. Then, slowly, he turned back to the desk—the scattered files, red-threaded lines, the names crossed out, the maps marked with mana resonance.

He sifted through them again, one by one.

Faces. Names. Hopes. Potential.

And failure.

“You can run from your nature… but not forever,” he murmured, fingers brushing a photograph without truly seeing it. “You will not be able to escape for long. Not with me here.”

There was no hatred in his voice—only certainty. A quiet, inescapable inevitability. The kind that came not from arrogance, but from resolve forged by years of belief.

Then, the faintest glimmer crossed his eyes, and his expression shifted.

A small smile curled at the corner of his lips—half fond, half amused.

“Let’s see how Sylvie is doing.”