Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 996

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.