Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

The moment Victor left their circle, the tension didn't vanish—it simply hung, coiled like smoke above a fire that hadn't quite gone out.

Silence clung to the group for a few seconds longer before Lucas exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Okay… can we just acknowledge how weirdly intense that was?"

Lilia nodded slowly. "He moved faster than I could see."

Irina, still holding residual heat in her psions, looked at Astron, her gaze narrowed—not in suspicion, but in sheer calculation. "You didn't flinch."

Astron glanced toward her. "Why would I?"

Before she could respond, Ethan stepped up beside him, brow furrowed, concern drawn across his face like tension in a bowstring. "Astron, you good?"

Astron turned his eyes to him. Calm. Distant, as always.

"I don't mind it."

His tone was as casual as if they were discussing a mild inconvenience. "Words don't bruise."

Ethan frowned slightly but nodded. He knew Astron meant it. That didn't make it sit any easier.

Still, his eyes drifted.

Across the hall—Victor stood near the far column now, arms folded, face as still and unreadable as ever… but his gaze? It remained sharp. Focused.

Not on the crowd.

Not on the instructors.

But on them.

Ethan's jaw set slightly.

Julia noticed.

She leaned in a bit, giving him a sideways look, arms folded again. "What was that?"

Ethan didn't look away from Victor. "Not sure."

Julia followed his line of sight, and her lips tugged into a smirk. "Regained your fire?"

Ethan gave a quiet, half-laugh. "Something like that."

Before the conversation could deepen, the sharp clap of hands cut through the air—firm and commanding.

Instructor Verren stood at the center of the room again, his presence pulling attention like gravity.

"Form up," he barked. "Final announcements before dismissal."

Instructor Verren stood tall at the center of the training hall, his sharp gaze sweeping across the cadets now gathering back in line. Sweat clung to uniforms, a few bruises had already begun to form on arms and ribs, and the faint residual crackle of mana still lingered in the air.

But no one dared to look fatigued.

Not with Verren watching.

He clapped his hands once—sharp, commanding, final.

"Good effort today," he said, his voice booming across the training hall. "A few of you showed clear improvements in both discipline and technique. Others… still need reminding that recklessness is not strength."

His gaze didn't linger long on anyone in particular, but the weight of his words found their mark.

Then, he lifted his hand and tapped his tablet once. A projection glyph shimmered to life behind him, displaying brief clips from several sparring matches—paused at key moments.

"First."

He gestured toward a still of Astron Natusalune and Julia Middleton, mid-clash—Julia's blade caught against Astron's forearm, his weight turned in close, her momentum half-redirected.

"Natusalune and Middleton." His tone sharpened, eyes flicking to both of them. "A textbook example of what close-quarters combat between hunters should look like."

Julia's brow arched slightly in surprise. Astron, unsurprisingly, showed no reaction.

Instructor Verren kept his hands behind his back, eyes flicking back to the paused frame of Astron and Julia on the projection behind him.

"Middleton," he said, tone steady but clear, "your fighting style is exactly what one would expect from someone with a strong combat intuition. Aggressive, fast, and instinctive. That kind of pressure is excellent in many encounters. You push the tempo, you force mistakes. It suits you."

Julia raised an eyebrow, unsure if it was praise or criticism.

"But," Verren continued, leveling his gaze at her, "you overextend."

The cadets stirred slightly at the shift in tone. Julia's grin faded—just slightly.

"Your rhythm is clean, but your aggression borders on recklessness. If Astron had used your momentum against you more harshly, that match would've turned quickly. Tone it down by ten percent. Learn to bait with pressure, not overcommit."

She gave a short nod, uncharacteristically subdued.

Verren gestured to the screen. "The Middleton family's sword style is beastlike by nature. It's overwhelming, unpredictable, and difficult to replicate unless you have the physicality and senses to match. Most of you won't—and shouldn't—try. But even so, there are lessons to be learned in watching how she carries that aggression. Initiative wins fights."

The screen zoomed in slightly on Astron, caught mid-block, weight turned just so. Verren's gaze shifted.

"As for Natusalune—he demonstrated something more subtle."

There was a pause.

"The art of standing your ground."

Several cadets glanced toward Astron, who, true to form, stood impassive and silent.

"You were at a disadvantage in raw skill. Everyone here knows that. But your response was controlled. Calculated. You neutralized instead of contested. That's something every hunter must learn. You will not always be the strongest in a fight—but you must always be able to withstand."

He let the words hang for a moment before swiping to the next projection.

Irina vs. Lilia.

The image displayed Irina mid-cast, fire spiraling into a lunge, while Lilia stood at range, her arrow nocked and ready, eyes focused.

"I'll be honest," Verren said, eyes narrowing just slightly. "I didn't expect Emberheart to handle a mage-versus-ranger duel with such clarity."

There was a flicker of surprise across the room—praise from Verren was rare.

Irina didn't react much, save for a faint tightening of her arms across her chest.

"She pressed without rushing. Guarded her casting with pressure. Her timing and zone control were excellent. For a duel like that, the slightest hesitation or poor footing would've given Thorneheart control."

His gaze shifted to Lilia. "As for you—your awareness of field positioning and arrow spacing was solid. You played the edge of her reach well, forced her to burn more mana than necessary. Foundationally, it was textbook ranger work. Not flashy, but efficient. That's good. Don't try to impress—control the battlefield instead."

Lilia gave a quiet nod, her expression unreadable but clearly attentive.

Then the projection shifted again—this time to Lucas Middleton and Carl Braveheart.

Lucas was caught mid-spin, halberd sweeping around in a wide arc, while Carl's shield was raised, hammer tight to his side in a grounded, braced position.

"And this," Verren said, his tone sharpening, "was the best match of the day."

Lucas blinked in surprise, looking over at Carl, who stood relaxed, arms crossed, but with the faintest upward twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Lucas Middleton used the same foundational sword style as Julia, but executed it through range and technique rather than raw aggression. He fought with measured strikes and tested footwork, forcing the fight to come to him before reacting with clean counters."

Julia leaned toward her twin and muttered, "Show-off."

Verren continued, "And Carl Braveheart. Hammer and Shield—a combo most underestimate. He did not flinch, did not chase, and used timing to reduce the effectiveness of Lucas's range. A tank-style hunter in a duel is usually at a disadvantage against a reach weapon, but Carl turned that around with discipline and explosive breaks."

He let out a slow breath.

"This was a match of rhythm vs. anchor. And both of you displayed a level of clarity that most of your peers have not yet reached."

The cadets exchanged glances. There was no jealousy—only a deeper sense of what would be expected of them moving forward.

Verren deactivated the projection glyph and looked over the class once more.

"Your progress is being tracked. These duels were observed by more than just myself. Mentors are watching. You're no longer just cadets—you are candidates. Start acting like it."

The words rang like steel.