Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 507

Chapter 507 115.5 - First Mission

As I made my way deeper into the southern districts, the atmosphere grew heavier, as did the 'scent' in the mana.

'Indeed, this veil of darkness, it gets thicker around some places.'

I thought. With my eyes now developing a lot more, I could see more intricate details of the mana around me.

After several more minutes of walking, I reached the location marked on Lira's map—the first hotspot. It was an entrance to a slightly old shopping bazaar, its once vibrant exterior now faded and worn.

The large archway leading into the bazaar was cracked and weathered, with signs of neglect visible in the chipped paint and the creeping vines that had begun to reclaim the stone.

I stood at the entrance, taking in the scene before me. The bazaar itself was partially covered, with a series of narrow alleyways branching out from the main thoroughfare. Stalls lined the sides, filled with various goods, though the activity within the bazaar was indeed less than what one would expect.

'Still, it seems like the locals still need to follow their daily lives.' Not that it was desolate or anything. At least, in daylight, they seem to be a little more relaxed.

As I walked further into the bazaar, I focused on the mana around me, allowing my [Eyes] to filter out the noise and reveal the intricate details hidden within the energy that flowed through this place.

The ambient mana was thick, almost cloying, and as I honed my perception, I noticed something unusual—a subtle yet distinct flow of energy moving through the air.

'This isn't natural.'

The flow was faint, almost imperceptible to anyone, even to me, if I was not paying attention. Or, if it was me before the training, I would have missed it most likely. But now, to me, it stood out like a thin thread woven into the fabric of the bazaar's atmosphere.

I followed the flow with my eyes, tracing it as it wound through the narrow alleyways and around the stalls, eventually converging toward a small group of people gathered near the back of the bazaar.

I approached cautiously, my gaze fixed on the individuals in the group. The energy emanating from them was odd—twisted and tainted, as if something was siphoning their life force. They looked rough and worn down; their postures slumped as if they carried a heavy burden on their shoulders. Their clothes were dirty and frayed, their skin pallid, with dark circles under their eyes that spoke of sleepless nights and constant anxiety.

'What happened to these people?' I wondered, observing them closely. There were small clues, subtle details that hinted at their occupations and recent activities. The rough calluses on their hands, the faint traces of dirt under their nails, the worn-out boots caked with dust and grime—all pointed to manual labor, likely in harsh conditions.

'Miners… or perhaps they work in the quarries nearby,' I deduced, noting the fine particles of dust on their clothes, which were indicative of stone or earth. But it wasn't just their physical state that concerned me. The flow of energy I had detected earlier seemed to be seeping from them, drawn out by some unseen force, leaving them drained and listless.

I moved closer, careful not to draw attention to myself, and listened to their conversation. It was fragmented, filled with half-spoken sentences and muttered complaints, but one thing was clear—they were afraid. They spoke of strange occurrences, of whispers that followed them even into their homes, of shadows that seemed to move on their own.

"... it's getting worse," one of them mumbled, his voice shaking. "Every night, the voices get louder… I can't take it anymore."

Another nodded, his expression grim. "I tried to tell the foreman, but he just shrugged it off. Said it was nothing, just our minds playing tricks… but I know what I heard."

I continued to listen, piecing together the fragments of their conversation. It was clear that these people were deeply affected by whatever was happening in Veilcroft. The flow of energy that surrounded them was evidence enough that something was feeding on their fear, their despair.

'Feeding on despair. In a way, negative emotions.' I needed to know more, and the best way to do that was to find out where these people had come from and what they had been working on that might have exposed them to this insidious force. I looked for more clues—traces of mud on their boots suggested they had been working in a damp environment, possibly underground.

The fine dust on their clothes was typical of stone, confirming my earlier suspicion that they were likely miners or quarry workers.

'They must have been working somewhere near the old mines… or perhaps in one of the quarries that dot the outskirts of the city,' I speculated.

As I continued to observe, I noticed that the group of miners wasn't the only cluster of people affected by this strange energy. A little further down the narrow alleyway, I saw another small group, their faces just as drawn and pale, but these people were different. Their attire, posture, and the subtle signs of their professions set them apart from the miners.

Intrigued, I moved closer to this new group, careful to remain inconspicuous. These individuals weren't covered in dust or grime, nor did they have the rough, calloused hands of manual laborers. Instead, their clothes were slightly more refined, though still showing signs of wear.

A woman in the group had ink stains on her fingers, likely from handling paperwork or writing, while a man beside her had the faint scent of chemicals clinging to his clothes—perhaps a pharmacist or someone who worked with cleaning agents.

I scanned the rest of the group, taking in the details that told their stories. One man had a few stray threads stuck to his sleeves, his hands showing the dexterity of someone who worked with fine materials—likely a tailor. Another woman had faint marks of sun exposure on her neck and arms, though her hands were clean, suggesting she worked outdoors, possibly as a gardener or vendor.

'These people are from the surface, from normal jobs. And yet, they share the same pallor, the same haunted expressions as the miners.'

It was a curious development. The miners could easily have been exposed to something underground, perhaps in the old mines or quarries, but these surface workers? They should have been far removed from whatever was causing the disturbances. Yet here they were, displaying the same signs of weariness, the same aura of fear and despair.

I listened to their conversation, which, like the miners', was filled with unease. They spoke of the same strange occurrences—whispers in the dark, shadows that seemed to follow them, a constant sense of being watched.

"Last night, I heard them again," the tailor murmured, his voice tinged with fear. "They were right outside my window… but when I looked, there was nothing there. Just darkness."