The air inside the grand hall of the Astria Continent Hunter Academy felt as heavy as lead. The scent of ozone from mana-driven machinery mingled with the cold sweat of hundreds of teenagers, creating a suffocating atmosphere. Atop a stage of cold marble stood an institution that had served as humanity's final line of defense for the last twenty-five years.
To the outside world, this academy was a hero factory. But to me, it was nothing more than a theater where my dreams were being systematically decapitated every single day.
A man with a face that looked as if it had been chiseled from limestone stepped forward. His grey cloak swept across the floor, radiating an aura of authority that silenced the crowd instantly.
"My name is Serdon, a Tier C Mage. And today, I stand as the examiner for all of you", his voice was heavy, echoing against the high ceilings of the hall.
He stroked his long, whitening beard, then scanned us with a gaze that felt as though it could pierce through skin.
"One hundred and seventeen years ago," he began, his voice dropping into a dark historical narrative. "The skies of the Xeros Continent tore open. What we call the Gate opened for the first time. Without warning, without mercy. The world we knew collapsed in a matter of months. That region is now nothing but a vast expanse of bone and ash known as the Necropolis."
Serdon raised his wooden staff, tipped with a blue mana crystal. Suddenly, the air in the center of the hall distorted, projecting a massive holographic screen. Images of burning cities, silent screams, and grotesque creatures crawling out of the darkness filled the room.
That was the beginning of our extinction," Serdon continued. "But on the brink of destruction, a forced evolution occurred. Some humans gained access to something called the System. A power that transcends scientific logic. They are the Hunters—the predators of monsters."
He paused, allowing his words to sink in.
"In the Continent of Astria, the law is clear. Every individual who undergoes Awakening at the age of seventeen is legally obligated to serve as a Hunter. There are no exceptions. To refuse this duty is treason against humanity. You will be hunted, or cast out beyond the city walls."
Whispers of fear rippled through the students. I stood silent, arms crossed over my chest. I had heard this speech countless times, yet every time I heard it, the nausea in my stomach intensified.
"Now, let us speak of the bitter reality," Serdon's eyes turned cold. "Leveling. Your initial level is determined by physical synergy, mana capacity, and innate talent. Normally, a Hunter's level increases through experience. However, there is a medical curse we know as HDD (Hunter Deterioration Disorder)."
Serdon tapped his staff against the floor. Thud. It sounded like a judge's gavel.
A Fallen has only two choices. First, struggle desperately to maintain their level to remain useful to a combat unit. Second, fall to Level 0 and be automatically stripped from the front lines. They will be transferred to the Clean-up Crew—the unit tasked with sweeping away the rotting carcasses of monsters in conquered dungeons. A job for those who have lost their dignity as warriors."
I closed my eyes for a moment. The Clean-up Crew. A polite term for high-end scavengers.
"Finally, regarding ranks." The holographic screen changed, displaying the table every child on this continent knew by heart.
Rank F: Level 1–10 (Barely above ordinary humans)
Rank E: Level 11–25 (Standard vanguard)
Rank D: Level 26–50 (Professional Hunters)
Rank C: Level 51–75 (Field Commanders)
Rank B: Level 76–90 (Continental Elite)
Rank A: Level 91–99 (National Heroes)
Rank S: Level 100+ (Living Legends)
"I heard a Rank S hasn't appeared on our continent for twenty years," a blonde student beside me whispered.
"Man, if I could reach Rank S, I'd buy an entire district in the capital and live like a king!" his friend replied with a smirk.
"Silence!" Serdon barked. "The evaluation begins. First student: Dixon Beric. Step forward!"
The hall erupted in a hushed wave of admiration. Dixon Beric walked with absolute confidence, his back straight and chin held high as if the world belonged to him.
"That's the grandson of the hero, Frank Beric!"
"Frank Beric... the only Rank S we had before he vanished in an S-Class Dungeon ten years ago."
"Look at his aura. He'll definitely surpass his grandfather."
Dixon stopped before a green crystal ball pulsing with mana. With an elegant motion, he placed his palm upon it. The sphere glowed brilliantly, sending a wave of energy I could feel even in the back rows.
A transparent notification panel appeared above his head.
User: Dixon Beric
Level: 28
Class: Warrior
"Incredible! Level 28 in his third year!"
"He's already qualified as a mid-tier professional Hunter before even graduating!"
Dixon offered a thin smile—a triumphant smirk laced with arrogance. He glanced at me for a split second as he walked back, a look of pity that was far more insulting than any slur.
"Dixon," Serdon called out, his tone softening for the first time. "As this is your third year, collect your dungeon permits immediately after this. The future of this continent rests upon your shoulders."
"Understood, Proctor," Dixon answered firmly.
"Next..." Serdon looked at the list in his hand, his voice returning to a glacial chill. "Aiden."
Instantly, the noise died. A suffocating silence filled the hall. I took a deep breath, trying to still my racing heart. I stepped forward, passing through rows of students who moved aside as if they feared my 'Fallen' status might be contagious.
"Look at him. The 'Withered Genius'," someone sneered loudly.
"He started at Level 5 when he first Awakened. Everyone thought he'd be the next Rank S. Turns out he's just rotting trash."
"I heard he's an orphan. Raised by some scavenger grandmother who's now dead. No wonder his talent is garbage."
Every step I took felt like walking on thorns. The suppressed laughter stabbed deeper into my heart than any blade. I stood before the crystal ball, staring at my reflection—tired and dull.
I placed my hand on it. Cold. The sphere did not glow brightly like it had for Dixon. It merely pulsed with a dim, sickly rhythm, as if reluctant to even acknowledge my existence.
Ting!
User: Aiden
Level: 0
Class: Unclass
"Aiden," Serdon's voice was flat, but a tangible disappointment lingered within it. "Your results are consistent in their failure. Per academy regulations, you will be officially transferred to the Clean-up Crew in the outer sector next week. Collect your transfer documents at administration."
"Yes, Proctor," I replied. My voice did not tremble, but my hands clenched beneath my cloak until my nails drew blood from my palms.
I turned and walked away. This time, there were no whispers—only open laughter and gazes of disgust as I exited the stage.
I turned and walked away. This time, there were no whispers—only open laughter and gazes of disgust as I exited the stage.
That night, rain poured over the outskirts of the city, as if the heavens were mourning my fate. I walked toward a small house with cracked walls and a leaking roof. This was my grandmother's legacy. She wasn't my biological grandmother, but she was the only person who had pulled me from a trash heap when I was an infant.
She had raised me with sweat and tears, working as a laborer around dungeon sites. Memories of her always brought a tightness to my chest. Three years ago, a Break Gate occurred where she worked.
The Hunter Association underestimated the threat, labeling it Tier F. They were too late to send help. Grandmother died because of that monster, and I... I, who had just received my System at the time, could do nothing. I was too weak. And now, I was even weaker than before.
I sat on the edge of the creaking wooden bed. On a small table beside me was a faded photograph of us smiling.
"I'm sorry, Grandma," I whispered. "I failed."
I lay down, trying to escape this bitter reality through sleep. But my subconscious offered no peace.
I dreamed of a strange meadow. The sky was a dark violet, and the wind carried a sound like the moans of lost souls. In the center of the field, a man in a jet-black cloak moved. His face was hidden by a hood, leaving only total darkness beneath.
He held a sickle. Not a grand war scythe, but a small sickle used by farmers to cut weeds. Yet, every time the blade touched the grass, the world seemed to tremble.
Suddenly, the man stopped. He turned his head toward me. In an instant, he vanished.
Panicked, I looked left and right. There was no one. But when I looked forward again.
He was right in front of my eyes. Faceless. Only a cold aura of death remained.
"Ugh!"
-To be continous
This is my first novel, I will listen to all criticism, thank you,I hope you all like it, love you🫶 -Author