Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 1053 249.1 - Identified

The meal came to a close with the warm hum of low laughter and the clink of polished cutlery. Plates were mostly empty, drinks mostly finished. The tension that had once curled beneath the surface had bled away, replaced by the low, satisfied rhythm of people who had earned their rest.

Sylvie glanced up as the restaurant’s ambient lights shifted—an automatic cue from the internal time-glyphs that curfew bells were approaching across Arcadia.

“Time to go,” she murmured.

Astron was already rising.

Jasmine stretched with a groan, arms overhead. “Ugh, I forgot what full stomachs felt like. I might actually sleep tonight.”

“You mean snore,” Layla muttered.

“Correction: snore victoriously.”

Even Irina gave a soft exhale of agreement as she reached for her coat.

Leonard stood with them, adjusting his cuffs calmly. His movements were quiet, but there was a certain weight to them now. As if the evening had marked a closing page.

Because it had.

His time at Arcadia was drawing to a close—at least this chapter of it. He had observed. He had searched. And he had remembered what he’d almost forgotten: who he was beyond the mission.

Sylvie turned to him as they stepped outside into the night air. The wind was cooler now, threading through the hedgerow paths and quiet outer streets. A soft mana-breeze stirred the lanternlight overhead, casting silver rings against the stone.

Jasmine nudged him with a grin. “So, mysterious brother of Solstice Dawn—are we going on your report?”

Leonard gave a slow smile, subtle but genuine. “I don’t see why not.”

Layla raised an eyebrow. “So we pass?”

He looked at each of them briefly—at Irina, who gave nothing away but whose silence was its own approval. At Jasmine and Layla, who were half-serious, half-hopeful. At Astron, whose calm hadn’t shifted in the slightest.

And finally, at Sylvie.

“Some things are worth recording,” Leonard said. “Even if they don’t come with immediate reward.”

Jasmine bumped her shoulder lightly into Leonard’s arm as they turned onto the quiet path. “Oh, come on. Don’t play it safe. That was the most diplomatic non-answer I’ve heard all year.”

“Yeah,” Layla chimed in. “You’re dodging like we’re casting probes at you. Just admit it—we nailed it in there.”

Leonard gave a soft, long-suffering sigh, glancing at Sylvie with mock betrayal. “Are they always this relentless?”

Sylvie folded her arms. “You have no idea.”

Layla leaned in dramatically. “So? Report confirmed?”

Leonard raised his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. Yes. I’ll write the report. You’ll be in it. Positive feedback. No red marks.”

“Yaaaay—” Jasmine declared in exaggerated triumph, lifting both arms like she’d just won a championship.

Irina shook her head, a faint smirk brushing her lips. “It’s disturbing how easily pleased you two are.”

Layla turned back toward Leonard with a grin, still walking backward now. “Alright then, mighty scout—your turn. What kind of hunter are you, really? What stage are you?”

Sylvie’s eyes widened a fraction. “Layla—”

Irina’s voice was firmer. “Layla, that’s rude to ask.”

And it was.

Hunter rankings, especially once someone passed Stage-5, were considered private classifications unless you worked with someone directly. Rank defined everything—benefits, authority, threat level. And most powerful hunters didn’t share that unless they wanted something from you.

But Leonard just chuckled softly, the wind brushing silver through his hair. “It’s fine.”

Layla blinked. “Really?”

He glanced at her with a tilt of his head. “You asked a question. I can give you an answer. Doesn’t mean it’ll help you.”

That earned a curious look from Astron. Even Irina’s eyes sharpened slightly, just enough to mark interest.

Leonard continued casually. “Most of the time, stronger hunters can sense the level of someone below them. Their mana density. Pulse frequency. How far their aura reaches when it’s relaxed.”

He paused, hands sliding into his coat pockets.

“But it doesn’t work in reverse.”

Layla blinked again. “That is something I know already….that is why I am asking you?”

Leonard exhaled through his nose, a small puff of condensation curling in the cooler night air.

“You’re persistent,” he murmured, eyeing Layla as she walked backward with the confidence of someone who’d never tripped in her life.

“I’m curious,” she corrected brightly. “There’s a difference.”

He gave a soft chuckle, hands still tucked in his coat pockets. “Even if I gave you a number, without a calibrated measuring array, it wouldn’t mean much to you.”

Layla opened her mouth, but he continued, “Let’s say I tell you I’m Stage-6. Or 7. Or something higher. Without context—without comparative scale or a battlefield to feel it—it’s meaningless. Your bodies wouldn’t register it.”

Jasmine raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like a convenient way to not answer.”

“I answered,” Leonard said mildly. “You just didn’t like the answer.”

“Then show us something,” Layla challenged, grinning now. “Come on. Give us a taste.”

Leonard gave her a look. “Didn’t I just—?”

“Why not?” Jasmine joined in. “You’re already out here. It’s a good night for theatrics.”

Even Irina’s voice joined then—cool, calm. But laced with interest.

“I admit I’m curious, too,” she said, folding her arms. “Sylvie’s brother. Solstice Dawn’s scout. You carry yourself like someone who’s fought a long time… but I haven’t seen proof yet.”

Sylvie, slightly caught between embarrassment and genuine interest, cleared her throat. “…I wouldn’t mind seeing it either. Just once.”

Leonard blinked at her. “Et tu, Sylvie?”

She looked away, slightly flushed. “You were the one who said some things are worth recording.”

He sighed, shaking his head slowly as the others began to smirk.

“Younglings,” he muttered, more to himself than them. “Fine.”

He stopped walking.

And for a moment, he simply stood still—hands in his pockets, posture relaxed, as if deciding how much to indulge them.

Then—without fanfare—he lifted a single hand.

No stance.

No dramatic motion.

Just a breath.

And a murmur.

Old words. A language none of them recognized. Not ancient—forgotten.

“…Oren vel’tuar.”

The air around his palm rippled.

Then—ignited.

Not with flame. Not with light.

With structure.

A spike of magic flared upward like a spear made of refracted mana, etched with a lattice of complex sigils—spinning rapidly, stacking into one another, rotating like the gears of some celestial machine. The edges of the spell shimmered white-gold, rimmed in deep obsidian, glowing with layered containment rings.

It wasn’t just a spell—it was a concept.

A spell built to shatter.

Jasmine took a step back instinctively. Layla froze mid-breath. Even Irina narrowed her eyes sharply, her mana rising on reflex before she clamped it back down.

BOOM.

The sky cracked.

The spell fired straight up, leaving a clean, controlled pillar of warped mana in its wake. It didn’t explode. It didn’t roar. But it moved with such raw intent that the very wind parted around it, bowing beneath its path.

And then—

A thud.

A bird—some mana-sensitive hawk species, likely drawn by the spike—fell from the sky in a clean spiral. No blood. No visible wound. Its wings never closed. Its body just stopped working.

Dead before it realized what it flew into.

Leonard lowered his hand, eyes still calm.

The mana vanished. All of it. No residue. No echo. As if the spell had never existed.

Yet just then…..

Something happened.

A small piece of mana erupted from Astron.

And a necklace trembled…