Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

While Carl was fighting with the bodies rising from Death, Astron plunged into the darkness of the chosen tunnel, his steps silent against the cold, hard ground.

The tunnel bore the scars of heavy use, with marks on the walls where tools had chipped away at the stone and footprints long set in the dust, leading deeper into the heart of the earth.

As he advanced, the unsettling laughter that had accompanied them thus far resonated through the tunnel once more, wrapping around him like a chilling breeze. "Have you discovered the answer to my riddle, wanderer?" the voice taunted, its tone dripping with amusement and malice.

Astron remained silent, focusing on the environment.

He had considered the riddle, its words echoing in his mind, but he decided to not answer it.

Seemingly disappointed but not deterred, the voice cackled again. "No answer? Perhaps you require a clue to guide your way. But remember, every clue has its price," it sneered, and with a final, mocking laugh, it vanished into the silence that followed.

Before a second passed, the ground beneath him stirred. From the earthen floor, figures began to emerge, not of bone and decay, but formed from a viscous, black liquid that seemed to absorb the faint light around them.

These figures, shaped into the forms of miners complete with uniforms and pickaxes, stood before him, a ghastly imitation of life.

Their eyes, empty yet filled with a haunting light, fixed on Astron as they brandished their tools menacingly. "He has the 'thing,'" they whispered amongst themselves, their voices a chorus of despair and accusation.

"Give it to me!"

"Give it to me!"

"Give it to me!"

Without hesitation, the liquid-formed miners charged at Astron, their movements eerily silent. Astron, had already noticed that he would combat against something, so he didn't mind.

These were no ordinary foes; they were manifestations of the earth spirit's power, shaped from the memories and despair of those who had once toiled in these tunnels.

Dancing between the swings of their pickaxes, Astron fought back with precision and grace. Each strike he delivered disrupted the liquid forms of his attackers, causing them to momentarily lose cohesion before they reformed, relentless in their assault.

SPURT!

And after not even a minute have passed, the miners all disappeared, returning to the black liquid they once were.

However, in the corner of his eyes, Astron could see a source of mana moving. It had the small black liquid form, but he knew it was the culprit.

Yet, as he attempted to chase, another wave of miners rose from the ground.

"I need it. I need the reward."

"I need it. I need the reward."

"I need it. I need the reward."

"I need it. I need the reward."

This tthey had repeated a different word, yet they pounced at him with their eyes bloodshot.

As Astron continued to fend off the relentless waves of liquid-formed miners, he couldn't shake the feeling of unease that gnawed at him.

Each the dispatched a wave, they dissolved back into the black liquid from which they came, only for another group to rise up in their place.

As he continued to fight, Astron's mind raced with possibilities. Perhaps there was a relic or artifact hidden within these tunnels, something that held the power to control or manipulate the earth spirits.

Or perhaps it was something more sinister, a curse or enchantment that had bound these miners to an eternity of servitude and suffering.

But regardless of the cause, Astron knew that he could not afford to falter. With each step closer to the end of the tunnel, he felt the weight of his task pressing down upon him, urging him forward.

But it wasn't just the ceaseless onslaught that troubled him. There was something different about these miners compared to the previous attackers.

They all referred to him as if he possessed something they desired, repeating the sphrase with a disturbing fervor: "I need it. I need the reward." Or with something like, "I am the one who can only get it."

Their eyes, once filled with haunting light, now glinted with madness and cruelty, a stark contrast to the hollow gazes of their predecessors.

Astron realized that there was a pattern emerging—a pattern that hinted at a deeper connection between these miners and the source of the voice.

******

Sometimes, we people wonder what fate is awaiting us. Is this life worth going through? Do we really need to overcall these obstacles?

After all, even after questioning, how many could get the answer they wished? This was essentially why most of the nihilist and anarchist people were observed to be the ones who had a lot of free time.

Then, what happens to those who are tied into this underground place, working for their lives on the line? Do they get to question these things? Do they have free time?

Do they even live as a human being? Living in the darkness underneath the ground where no sun could enter, trying to meet the next month's daily expenses.

How do the people giving them these jobs view them?

Isn't the answer obvious?

Numbers.

Just numbers. Many can go, and many will come. The people will leave, and others who need money will come. The cycle will continue, and the things will remain the same.

These were the questions that suddenly appeared in my head as if my thoughts were influenced by the surrounding atmosphere.

'It makes sense, though. I had far long noticed the Psychic- Mana influencing me.'

It was kind of ironic that now, after encountering Belthazor, such things felt like child's play.

'And maybe that is the case?'

But then, before my thoughts could linger about those things any longer, I saw something materializing before me.

It was a body that was slowly being made from the black liquid.

I already knew what was awaitingthe moment I entered this tunnel. With my eyes, I could see that the number of mana veins that were connected to just one place concentrated there.

It supported my assumptions, so I didn't hesitate.

'And now here we are. Facing myself three times.'

The clones materialized fully before me, and their appearances were strikingly similar to mine—identical, in fact, except for the uncanny smiles that stretched across their faces.

These expressions, eerily out of place, were a clear divergence from my usual demeanor. The smiles were like of a grin, but at the stthey held the innocence of a child, and I knew I didn't have such a thing any longer.

It was disconcerting, a visual reminder that these were not mere reflections but entities with their own intent.

Each clone was dressed in the sattire I wore, their purple eyes and black hair mirroring my own, yet the light within those eyes seemed different, almost twisted.

The paleness of their skin under the dim light of the tunnel added an otherworldly aura to their presence.

"Why don't you smile?"

I heard myself saying that, but the tone was somehow sound unnatural.

"There is no need forto."

"….."

Without another word being exchanged, it was as if an unspoken agreement was reached—a silent acknowledgment of the challenge that lay ahead.

The tension in the air was palpable, a prelude to the imminent confrontation.

SWOOSH!

With a burst of speed, I dashed forward, closing the distance between us with swift, decisive steps.

My grip on my daggers tightened, the familiar weight of the blades offering a semblance of comfort amidst the uncertainty.

The clones mirrored my movements, advancing with equal speed and intent, their own daggers poised for attack.

The engagement was immediate and intense, a flurry of movements and clashes. Our blades met with sparks, each strike and parry a testament to our mirrored skills and capabilities.

The clones, despite their unsettling smiles, fought with a precision and agility that matched my own, their attacks seemingly predicting my every move.

At least that was what they probably thought.

'I see.'

The exchange maderealize what was happening. After all, essentially what they were doing now was the moves they saw beforewhile fighting the previous monster. As if like an collective consciousness was around, it transferred the information.

This was already what I had suspected from the start, as the previous clone attackedwith a pickaxe while these ones were holding the sdagger in my hand.

I understood their strategy, their potential moves, because, in essence, they were an echo of my own.

–SWOOSH!

As I engaged the first clone, my initial attack was a feint, designed to be evaded, playing into the expected choreography of the clash.

True to form, the clone sidestepped my strike, its movements mirroring my own anticipated reaction. In the instant it moved to exploit the perceived opening, I tapped into the essence of my skill [Umbral Steps] derived from [Shadowborne], vanishing from sight only to reappear behind it.

–SLASH!

Before it could react to my sudden disappearance, my dagger found its neck, severing the connection to its existence with a decisive slash. Its form started to dissipate in an instant, turning black liquid, returning to the darkness.

The momentary focus on the first clone leftostensibly vulnerable, a weakness the second clone did not hesitate to exploit.

CLANK!

It lunged forward, aiming to capitalize on my engagement. However, prepared for such a retaliation, I deflected its dagger with a swift parry, redirecting its momentum.

In that fleeting opportunity, I invoked the [Celestalith]'s Nebula form, unleashing the energy of Dark Moon that snared the remaining clones in a gravitational bind.

The first of these caught in the Nebula's embrace met a swift end as my blade cleaved through it, dispersing its form into nothingness.

The second clone, however, faced a different fate. Instead of a quick destruction, I chose to trap it within the intensified gravity of [Celestalith]'s Nebula form.

The air around it thickened, an invisible force pressing down with overwhelming weight, immobilizing it completely.

After all, it was the source of this whole ordeal.

"You got me."

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