Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 982 - 228.2 - Thoughts

"…What do you think separates someone like Victor from the rest of us?"

Astron didn’t stop walking, but his gaze shifted slightly—just enough to show he’d heard. The question hung in the air a moment longer, like he was weighing its value.

Then, softly, he replied.

"Definition."

Ethan blinked, glancing sideways. "Definition?"

Astron nodded. "Most cadets train to be stronger. Faster. Better. But that pursuit is vague. Shapeless. Even when they improve, they don’t know what they’re improving toward."

His hands slid into his coat pockets as they walked.

"Victor doesn’t have that problem. His strength is defined. Structured. Controlled. Every movement you saw in that duel wasn’t just instinct or raw power—it was a philosophy. A law he obeys. And forces others to obey too."

Ethan frowned slightly, the memory of his spear veering off course still vivid. "You’re talking about that order thing he had said."

"Yes," Astron said simply.

They continued walking, the echo of their footsteps folding neatly into the silence of the corridor.

Ethan’s brows furrowed. "He said something… ’Restore the order,’ right before my spear missed. That wasn’t just a catchphrase. It did something. I felt it."

Astron gave a faint nod, his gaze now ahead—watching the hall stretch toward the training center, but his thoughts clearly elsewhere. "It wasn’t a spell. Not in the way you or I cast them. It wasn’t a technique either. What you saw…" he hesitated, only for a breath, "was a phenomenon."

Ethan looked over. "A phenomenon?"

"Mana doesn’t act like that on its own," Astron said, calm and certain. "It doesn’t redirect attacks mid-flight. It doesn’t suppress psionic backlash without visible runes. It doesn’t drain lightning as if it were steam pulled into a vent. That’s not a skill or a technique. That’s behavior. Environmental restructuring."

He let the weight of that settle before continuing.

"Victor spoke a phrase—and the world agreed with him."

Ethan exhaled slowly, not liking how that made his skin crawl. "That’s not normal."

"No," Astron replied, "but it was complete."

That gave Ethan pause. "Complete?"

"Whatever he’s doing," Astron said, "he isn’t invoking it partially, like a chant or a construct. He embodies it. His every movement reflects it. That’s why it can’t be broken by pressure. Because it doesn’t act with him. It is him." freewebnøvel.coɱ

Ethan said nothing for a moment. The words bounced around in his chest, heavy but not cold. Familiar in a strange way.

"And you think…" Ethan started, slower now, "...that’s what I need to reach?"

Astron didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he stopped in front of the final set of training doors—reinforced steel etched with old sigils, their edges humming with soft, defensive mana. He turned his head toward Ethan, face calm, tone quiet.

"You’re not a normal Hunter, Ethan," he said.

The words weren’t flattery. They weren’t kind.

They were true.

"And I think," Astron added, voice low but steady, "you already know that."

Ethan looked at him, unsure what he expected to see in those pale violet eyes—disdain, maybe. Or envy. But there was none.

Only analysis. And something deeper. Something quiet.

"But that doesn’t mean," Astron continued, gaze fixed now, "that you are the only abnormal one."

Ethan’s eyes widened.

"You are not the only abnormal one."

Such a simple phrase.

So quiet.

So flatly spoken.

And yet—it struck something in him. Something buried. Something he hadn’t allowed himself to think too deeply about.

Because for all his pride, for all his discipline, there was still a part of Ethan that carried this weight like it was natural. As if it was supposed to be his burden alone.

He had always believed he was the outlier.

The anomaly.

The late bloomer who had somehow clawed his way upward through sheer will.

The truth, though, had always lingered in the back of his mind.

He had grown too fast.

Faster than anyone in his family ever had.

His brother, a well-known high-rank Hunter, had awakened at the age of nine. His sister had manifested her bloodline psions at eleven. Even his mother, a towering figure in the Hartley legacy, had never accelerated her growth like he had.

But Ethan?

Ethan had awakened late. He’d spent the first fifteen years of his life ordinary. Unawakened. Watching from the sidelines as the rest of his family—the "true Hunters"—trained, fought, advanced.

They never treated him cruelly.

But they never treated him seriously, either.

And when his awakening finally came—quiet, unexpected, unspectacular—he was already years behind.

Everyone else had years of advantage.

Everyone else had expectations built around them.

He had… nothing.

But seven months later, here he stood.

Rank 215.

He didn’t brag about it. Didn’t advertise it.

But the truth was, even that number was behind where he felt he actually was. The past two months had changed him. His control, his psion refinement, his ability to chain techniques in live combat—it had sharpened, accelerated. He hadn’t shown everything yet.

He was saving it for midterms.

Saving it for a moment where they would finally see.

Yet he had still told himself it was just effort. Just discipline. That this was the natural reward of late nights, early mornings, and endless repetitions.

He never allowed himself to call it what it might be.

Abnormal.

But now, standing beside Astron—who had spoken it so plainly—it hit differently.

He wasn’t alone in this.

He wasn’t the only one growing at a pace that defied the logic of the academy’s progression curves. He wasn’t the only one breaking through the glass floors faster than the world was prepared to categorize.

Astron’s voice still echoed faintly in his ears. That soft, matter-of-fact cadence:

"You are not the only abnormal one."

He blinked once, the words still sinking in.

It wasn’t just about him anymore.

It never had been.

And somehow, that realization didn’t shake him.

It steadied him.

Maybe I’ve been getting arrogant…

The thought slipped into Ethan’s mind, not with shame—but with clarity.

He had started to believe it was just him.

Just his fight. Just his rise. Just his proof to deliver.

But there were always exceptions to the rules. Always others like him—people who defied the curve, shattered the pattern, walked faster than the map allowed.

He wasn’t the only one carrying a secret pace.

Thinking he was?

That would’ve been way too arrogant.

His gaze slid sideways as they entered the threshold of the training chamber. The mana in the air shifted—colder, charged with the distinct hum of Eleanor’s influence. The mats underfoot bore the soft wear of countless sparring rounds, and the walls shimmered faintly with layered reinforcement glyphs. It was a place for pushing limits.

And standing beside him, silent, composed, was Astron.

The same Astron who, not even a year ago, was ranked dead last in the academy.

The bottom.

Unawakened. Untested. Unwanted.

And now?

Now he stood among the top thousand.

Unshaken. Unbothered. Unapologetic.

A quiet phenomenon moving at his own impossible rhythm.

Ethan smiled faintly, not mocking, not skeptical—just thoughtful.

He tilted his head toward him.

"Are you one of those people too?" he asked softly. "The exceptions."

Astron didn’t turn.

Didn’t respond.

His violet gaze remained forward, fixed on the center of the training room, where Eleanor was adjusting a mana regulator with her back turned.

The silence lingered.

Ethan didn’t press.

Because that was the answer.

Astron didn’t need to confirm it.

He was one of them.

And maybe that was enough.