Power, Lunaria would later understand, was not dangerous because it destroyed.
It was dangerous because it redefined.
The chamber they stood in was not merely an archive. It was a confession vault—one that humanity pretended did not exist. Buried far beneath the Hunter Council's capital, past political seals and mana-locks layered like apologies, this place held truths too heavy for public language.
Truths that bent systems.
Truths that erased certainty.
Lunaria sat at the center of the chamber on a circular dais of pale stone, his posture composed, hands folded neatly over his lap. Silver hair flowed down his back in a soft cascade, ribbon tied precisely, as though order itself still mattered. The S-ranked hunters formed an unspoken perimeter around him—not as guards, but as anchors.
Because whatever was about to be explained was not meant to be faced alone.
Aurelion raised his staff, and the chamber responded.
Crystalline tablets rose into the air, orbiting slowly. Each one glowed with layered inscriptions—some human, some infernal, some so old they resisted translation.
"Before we speak of levels," Aurelion said quietly, "we must understand why they exist."
Lunaria inclined his head.
"Humanity," Aurelion continued, "cannot function without boundaries. When the first dungeon gates appeared, people did not ask what monsters were. They asked how strong."
Ash frowned. "So they could fight back."
"So they could sleep," Aurelion corrected. "Strength is reassurance. If something can be measured, it can be planned for. If it can be planned for, it feels survivable."
The first tablet flared to life.
---
I. The Mortal Ladder: What Humans Are Allowed to Know
"These," Aurelion said, "are the levels officially recognized by the system and enforced by law. The ladder taught in academies. The one written into badges, licenses, and death reports."
The air filled with structured sigils.
F–Rank — Noncombat Awakening Tier
Hunters with minimal mana flow. Often incapable of activating combat skills. Assigned to dungeon cleaning, corpse retrieval, gate maintenance, and support logistics. Survival dependent on proximity to higher ranks.
Lunaria's gaze did not waver.
This had been his life.
Invisible. Disposable. Conveniently ignored.
E–Rank — Minor Combat Tier
Capable of self-defense against weak dungeon fauna. Mana control erratic. Mortality rate high when isolated.
D–Rank — Basic Combat Tier
Standardized combat capability. Able to clear low-level dungeons with preparation. Individual skill variance begins here.
C–Rank — Professional Tier
The backbone of hunter society. Stable mana control. Specialization emerges—strikers, defenders, casters, scouts. Most urban dungeon gates are cleared by C–rank teams.
B–Rank — Elite Tier
Rare. Strategically valuable. Capable of leading operations. Often assigned to high-risk zones or national defense contracts.
A–Rank — Disaster-Class Hunter
One A–rank can alter the outcome of large-scale dungeon breaks. Their loss is treated as a national incident.
S–Rank — Catastrophe-Class Hunter
Unreplicable individuals. Their existence warps battlefields. Each S–rank operates under unique constraints because standardized control is impossible.
Ash, Seraphine, Valen, Kieran.
Aurelion let the sigils fade.
"This," he said, "is where humanity tells itself the story ends."
Lunaria's voice was soft. "But it doesn't."
---
II. Threat Classifications: What Humans Fear to Admit
The second set of tablets activated.
"These are not hunter ranks," Aurelion explained. "They are threat scales. Used to classify monsters, dungeons, and phenomena."
Local Threat – Capable of destroying villages or isolated settlements.
Regional Threat – Threatens multiple cities or key infrastructure.
Urban Threat – Can annihilate a city sector or entire city if uncontrolled.
City-Level Threat – Guarantees catastrophic casualties. Requires S–rank response.
Nation-Level Threat – Endangers national stability or existence.
Seraphine scoffed quietly. "And we're expected to stop things at that level."
"Yes," Aurelion said. "Because acknowledging anything beyond that would mean admitting helplessness."
The tablets darkened.
A third projection appeared—older, fractured, etched with sigils that predated modern mana theory.
---
III. The Sealed Scale: What the System Tries to Suppress
"These classifications are restricted," Aurelion said. "Most Council members don't even know they exist."
The air grew heavier.
Continental Threat
Entities capable of altering climate, mana flow, or geography across continents. Historically dismissed as myths—until three recorded incidents were quietly erased.
World Threat
Beings whose presence destabilizes planetary mana equilibrium. Their continued existence guarantees ecological and dimensional collapse over time.
Ash's jaw tightened. "Then why aren't there protocols?"
Aurelion's expression was grim. "Because protocols imply the possibility of success."
The system remained silent.
Intentionally.
---
IV. The Underworld Hierarchy: Power Without Illusion
The final tablets ignited—and the temperature dropped.
These were infernal records.
"In the underworld," Aurelion said, "power is not ranked by optimism. It is ranked by inevitability."
He gestured.
Lesser Abyssals
Infernal infantry. Equivalent to D–B rank hunters. Disposable.
True Abyssals
Comparable to A–rank hunters. Capable of independent command.
Abyssal Lords
City-Level annihilators. Each rules a domain. Their names carry authority.
Arch-Abyssals
Nation-ending entities. Their emergence triggers infernal wars.
Lunaria listened intently.
"And above them?" he asked.
Aurelion did not answer immediately.
---
V. Entity-Class: Power That Exists Outside Measurement
The chamber dimmed further.
Even the system hesitated.
"Entity-class beings," Aurelion said slowly, "are not threats. They are principles."
He listed them without sigils—because sigils failed here.
They are not measured by destruction.
They are not ranked by output.
They do not obey causality.
Their existence alters reality passively.
Gods.
Primordials.
Cosmic arbiters.
Original concepts given will.
Ash felt cold settle in his chest. "And Lunaria's skill?"
Aurelion turned to him.
"Moonfall: Abyssal Quietus does not destroy matter," he said. "It enforces stillness. It ends participation in existence."
The words echoed.
"That," Aurelion continued, "is not city-level. Not world-level."
He met Lunaria's gaze.
"It is approaching Entity authority."
The system finally spoke.
[System Notice: Subject does not qualify as Entity.]
[System Addendum: Subject exceeds all mortal classifications.]
[System Status: Monitoring anomaly.]
Lunaria's fingers curled slightly. "Then what am I?"
Aurelion answered without hesitation.
"Something the system was never designed to name."
---
VI. The Truth Beneath All Scales
Aurelion dismissed the projections.
"Levels were never about truth," he said. "They were about comfort. A way to tell humanity that the abyss had edges."
Ash looked at Lunaria. "And you?"
"I am not beyond the system," Lunaria said quietly. "I still hear it. I still obey it."
"Yes," Aurelion agreed. "But it obeys you now, too."
Silence fell.
Far below the chamber, something shifted.
Because the ladder humanity built was never meant to reach this high.
And Lunaria—soft-spoken, graceful, terrifyingly gentle—had stepped beyond its final rung.
Not as a god.
Not as a demon.
But as something far more unsettling.
A being the world could see.
But could no longer measure.