Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

"I suggest you keep your expectations to yourself. Judging someone just by their age can be detrimental if you might not know."

The Mayor's eyes widened slightly at my response, clearly taken aback by the firmness in my tone. He wasn't used to being spoken to in such a way, especially by someone he perceived as inexperienced. However, the authority in my voice and the confidence I exuded made him reconsider his initial judgment.

He hesitated for a moment, his gaze flickering to the guards who had been standing silently at attention by the door. Their presence was more symbolic than necessary, a show of force to ensure that anyone entering his office understood their place. But as they looked at me, it was clear that I wasn't fazed by them in the slightest.

The Mayor shifted uncomfortably, the weight of the situation settling in. He realized that underestimating me could be a mistake—one that he couldn't afford to make, given the town's precarious state.

"Very well, Mr. Natusalune."

And he accepted my words.

"I'll defer to your expertise. The situation here is serious, and I can't afford to let personal judgments cloud my decisions."

He motioned for the guards to step back, giving me space. The tension in the room eased slightly, the power dynamic subtly shifting as the Mayor acknowledged my authority.

"Let's proceed with the investigation," I said, maintaining a calm but firm demeanor. "The sooner we start, the sooner we can get to the bottom of this."

The Mayor nodded, clearly more respectful now. "Of course. I'll have someone take you to the fields and introduce you to the farmers immediately. They've been dealing with this for weeks, and any insights they can provide might help you understand what's happening."

"That is good."

He quickly gave instructions to one of the guards, who left the room to make the necessary arrangements. The Mayor then turned back to me, his earlier apprehension replaced by a cautious respect.

"Thank you for your understanding, Mr. Natusalune," he said. "I'll ensure you have everything you need to conduct your investigation."

With that, he gestured for me to follow him as we prepared to head out to the fields. As we walked through the building, the Mayor's demeanor was markedly different—more cooperative, less dismissive. He had come to understand that while I might not look the part of a seasoned operative, I carried the weight of my mission with confidence and resolve.

I followed the Mayor and the personnel he assigned to guide me out of the office and through the winding streets of Shange Town.

The fields weren't far from the town center, and as we approached, the signs of the problem became increasingly apparent.

The once vibrant and lush fields that were the pride of Shange Town now looked sickly and barren.

Rows of Moonberry plants, which should have been bursting with the rich, dark fruit they were known for, were instead withered and dry. The ground beneath them was hardened and cracked, a far cry from the fertile soil it should have been.

The personnel stopped at the edge of one of the fields, allowing me to take in the sight before us.

I could see the plants up close now; their leaves yellowed and curled as if they had been drained of life. The Moonberries that had managed to grow were small, misshapen, and covered in a strange, mottled pattern that hinted at some kind of infection or blight.

I crouched down, running my fingers over the dry, brittle leaves. They crumbled at my touch, the plant disintegrating into dust. The soil was similarly unyielding, more like stone than the rich, loamy earth that should have nourished these crops.

"This is worse than I expected," I muttered to myself, though loud enough for the personnel to hear.

"The farmers have tried everything," the man assigned to me said, his voice tinged with frustration and helplessness. "Fertilizers, new irrigation methods, even burning the infected plants to stop the spread… but nothing's worked. It's like the land itself is dying."

With that, he gestured for me to follow him as we prepared to head out to the fields. As we walked through the building, the Mayor's demeanor was markedly different—more cooperative, less dismissive. He had come to understand that while I might not look the part of a seasoned operative, I carried the weight of my mission with confidence and resolve.

He quickly gave instructions to one of the guards, who left the room to make the necessary arrangements. The Mayor then turned back to me, his earlier apprehension replaced by a cautious respect.

I followed the Mayor and the personnel he assigned to guide me out of the office and through the winding streets of Shange Town.

I nodded. It was evident that this wasn't just a simple agricultural problem; it was something different.

I needed to dig deeper, both literally and figuratively.

I activated my [Eyes], focusing on the flow of mana within the field. What I saw only confirmed my suspicions.

The mana was stagnant.

It wasn't just that the plants were infected—the very life energy of the land was being drained away, leaving nothing but a barren husk in its place.

I walked further into the field, my gaze sweeping over the rows of withered plants. I noticed that the damage wasn't uniform; some areas were more affected than others. I crouched down again, this time digging into the soil with my fingers.

Beneath the hardened surface, the earth was cold and lifeless, as if something had poisoned it from within.

'Hmm...Is it corruption? No, there is no evidence of corrosive mana.' That was weird. Compared to how things would look when corrosive mana would affect the environment, this one was different.

In a sense, normally, the mana would directly assimilate with the body and the living parts, affecting those parts. And if that were to happen, I would have seen the traces of mana in this place.

But that doesn't seem to be the case now.

'Something that has the corrosion ability without applying mana on it?' If that were the case, then things would become tricky, especially since it would get a lot harder for me to trace it back.

I looked around with my eyes enveloped with mana, my fingers sifting through the cold, lifeless earth, searching for any signs of disturbance—footprints, claw marks, or even the remnants of burrowing creatures.

But as I examined the ground, it became increasingly clear that there was nothing. No tracks, no signs of animals or monsters that might have entered the field. The soil was unnaturally undisturbed, almost as if the land had been abandoned by life itself.

'Nothing… not even the smallest trace of activity.'

I rose to my feet, brushing the dirt from my hands. The lack of any physical evidence was troubling. In most cases of environmental decay, there would be some indication of the presence of creatures—whether they were feeding on the land or simply passing through. But here, it was as if everything had been erased, leaving behind only the withered remnants of the crops.

'This goes beyond natural decay or even a typical magical corruption. It's as if something has drained the very essence from this place, leaving no trace of how it was done.'

I walked further into the field, my eyes scanning the surroundings for anything that might provide a clue. The fields stretched out in all directions, each row of crops in various stages of decay, but the pattern of destruction was inconsistent. Some patches were almost completely dead, while others showed signs of recent damage as if the corruption was spreading unevenly.

'If there's no sign of creatures on the surface… could it be something deeper? Something underground, perhaps?'

I crouched down again, this time focusing on the ground beneath my feet. Activating my [Eyes] once more, I directed my attention to the layers of earth below, searching for any disturbances in the mana that might indicate a hidden presence.

But again, I found nothing. The ground was still, devoid of any signs of life or activity. The only thing that registered was the same stagnant, lifeless mana that permeated the entire field.

'No creatures, no signs of physical intrusion… what could be causing this?'

I straightened up, my mind racing through the possibilities. The lack of evidence suggested that whatever was affecting the land was not a conventional force. It wasn't a creature or a magical attack, at least not in any way I was familiar with. Instead, it seemed to be something more insidious, something that drained life without leaving a trace.

I turned to the man who had been assigned to guide me. His expression was a mix of frustration and concern, clearly hoping I might have some answers.

"Have there been any reports of unusual activity in the area?" I asked, keeping my tone measured. "Anything at all, even if it seems insignificant?"

The man hesitated, thinking back. "There have been some strange occurrences… people have mentioned hearing odd sounds at night, like a low hum or a distant rumbling. But no one's seen anything. It's all just… eerie like the land is haunted or cursed."

I nodded, considering his words. "And what about the weather? Any changes, sudden storms, or temperature shifts?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," he replied. "The weather's been mild if anything. It's like the land just started dying for no reason."

His response confirmed what I had already suspected. The phenomenon wasn't linked to any natural occurrences or external forces. Whatever was happening here, it was coming from within the land itself—or perhaps from something deep beneath it.

I scanned the horizon, my gaze shifting to a field on the outskirts that seemed untouched by the decay plaguing the others. It stood out like an oasis amidst the withering landscape, its crops still vibrant and healthy, a stark contrast to the surrounding desolation.

'Why hasn't this field been affected?' I wondered, intrigued by the anomaly.

I gestured toward the field, turning to the man beside me. "What about that one?" I asked, my tone neutral but curious. "It looks like it's avoided whatever is happening here."

The man followed my gaze, and as his eyes landed on the untouched field, a look of disdain crossed his face. He hesitated for a moment, as if weighing whether to speak openly, but eventually, he sighed and replied.

"That field belongs to a mother and her son," he said, his voice tinged with contempt. "They're… different. Keep to themselves mostly, don't interact much with the rest of the town. Some say they're strange, maybe even cursed."

I raised an eyebrow at the man's tone, noting the bitterness in his voice. "Different how?" I pressed, trying to get to the heart of the matter.

The man shifted uncomfortably, clearly reluctant to elaborate. "The mother… she's a bit of a recluse. Some folks say she practices… unusual things. Herbs, remedies, that sort of thing. And the son, well… he's always been odd. Keeps to himself, doesn't speak much. People avoid them, mostly. They're outsiders, even though they've lived here as long as anyone can remember."

I nodded thoughtfully, piecing together the information. The field's untouched state and the family's reputation as outsiders suggested there might be more to them than met the eye.

"Have they said anything about the situation?" I asked, keeping my tone even.

The man shook his head. "Not much. They don't talk to anyone unless they have to. But their field… it's the only one that hasn't been touched by whatever's going on. Some of the other townsfolk think they're responsible, that maybe they've done something to protect their own crops while the rest of us suffer."

I could hear the resentment in his voice, a common reaction in situations like this where fear and uncertainty fueled suspicion.

But I wasn't interested in hearsay; I needed facts, something concrete to go on.

"Take me to them," I said.

The man blinked, taken aback by my directness. "Are you sure? They're not exactly… welcoming."

"I'm sure," I replied.

"Th-"

"I will not repeat."

"…..Understood…"

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