Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 619

Chapter 619: Chapter 136.9 – The Hunt
Zharokath’s vision blurred as he struggled to focus. Pain coursed through his body, but it was nothing compared to the crushing realization settling in his mind. His plan, his entire existence, had been played. The human before him hadn’t been trapped in the Void Cage; no, he had been waiting. Watching. All along, Zharokath had been the one dancing to the human’s tune, thinking he was in control.

‘How…?’ Zharokath’s mind screamed, his body trembling with both pain and disbelief. He had seen countless humans in his time—arrogant, naive, and inferior. They all died the same, broken and powerless beneath his might. But this one…

As the human’s voice echoed in his ears, the truth hit him like a hammer. This wasn’t just any human. This was someone who knew everything.

The words stung. “Do you know why you’re so beneath me?”

Zharokath’s pride, the one thing that had sustained him through centuries of existence, cracked and shattered with every mocking word. The young man didn’t just know his name. He knew about the Void Clan, the Primordial of Void, the sacrifices, the carefully orchestrated plans that had spanned centuries. Every dark secret Zharokath had sworn to protect lay bare before this human like an open wound.

‘No… this can’t be,’ Zharokath thought, his mind racing as he felt the last threads of control slipping from his grasp. He tried to rise, to muster the last dregs of his strength, but his limbs refused to respond. The poison, combined with the damage inflicted by the chakrams, rendered his body useless.

The human’s voice continued, every syllable dripping with venomous satisfaction. Zharokath winced as the blade twisted under his claws, sending another wave of excruciating pain through his form. But the physical torment was nothing compared to the psychological one.

‘He knows… about the Primordial… about everything…’

Zharokath had been careful. Meticulous. He had spent years operating in the shadows, building alliances, gathering sacrifices, and feeding the Primordial in secret. His entire existence had revolved around reviving the glory of the Void Clan, preparing for the day when they would reclaim their rightful place in the realms. He had manipulated humans, bending them to his will, making them puppets in his grand scheme.

But this human… this boy… how could he really?

‘I need to escape here. I can’t afford to waste any time….I need to leave.’

The mission that had been left to him, he needed to complete that. He could not afford to waste any second.

Zharokath’s vision swam, his body aching with the cuts and the relentless poison coursing through him. The shock of the human’s knowledge had rattled him, but as his mind fought to clear through the haze of agony, something else stirred within him—a twisted, desperate resolve.

‘No… not fear,’ he thought. He was a demon of the Void Clan, destined for greatness, a demon who had manipulated, bent, and broken countless beings. This human… this boy… no matter how clever, was still beneath him. There was still a way out of this, a way to turn this to his advantage. After all, humans were driven by emotion—hatred, vengeance, and arrogance. And he had seen all of it in this boy’s eyes.

‘You think you’ve won?’ Zharokath’s thoughts churned with scorn, even as his body continued to tremble. ‘I’ve dealt with your kind before. You’re consumed by your emotions. You’re no different from the others.’

The human’s smile, cruel and confident, only confirmed Zharokath’s suspicion. He could see it—the hatred burning behind that mask of composure. It was a weakness, one Zharokath could still exploit.

“You… you can’t understand…” Zharokath rasped, letting his voice tremble with just the right amount of desperation. “We… we’re destined for greatness… the Void Clan…”

It was a lie, but a calculated one. Zharokath had always been a master of manipulation. He needed the human to believe that he was broken, that he had given up. This boy, for all his knowledge, was still arrogant, still emotional. Zharokath could see the human’s desire for vengeance, the personal satisfaction in watching him suffer. And that was his opening. If the boy believed he had already won, that Zharokath was on the brink of submission, he would let his guard down. Just for a moment.

‘That’s all I need,’ Zharokath thought, his mind racing even as his body burned with pain. ‘A single opening, and I’ll turn this around.’

The human leaned closer, mocking him, feeding his own ego. “Greatness? Your clan lost everything when the Primordial fell. You’ve been hiding like rats ever since.”

Zharokath’s breath hitched, but not from fear. The boy’s arrogance was palpable now, and Zharokath could practically taste the rage that fueled him. It was intoxicating. The demon’s lips twitched in the faintest ghost of a smile, hidden beneath the mask of pain he wore.

‘Yes… keep underestimating me. Keep believing you’ve already won.’

He would play along, let the human believe he had the upper hand. But deep within, Zharokath’s mind was working. His fingers twitched as they neared his artifact, the one hidden deep within his spatial storage, the one that could cleanse this accursed poison. If he could just get his hands on it…

The human’s blade twisted deeper into his leg, and Zharokath let out a strangled gasp. But inside, he was already plotting. His mana flickered weakly, pooling into the artifact. He would escape. He would recover. He would tear this arrogant fool apart piece by piece.

Summoning the last of his strength, Zharokath activated the teleportation spell within the artifact, his body flickering as it phased out of existence.

For a brief, glorious moment, hope surged through him.

‘I’ll kill him. I’ll show him what it means to cross the Void Clan.’

Zharokath’s heart pounded with hatred, his every thought consumed by the desire for vengeance. The human had pushed him to the brink, humiliated him, but that would all change soon. Once free, Zharokath would rip him apart—piece by piece. His mind raced with thoughts of how he would break him.

‘I’ll crush every bone in his body,’ Zharokath seethed. ‘I’ll tear his muscles apart, inch by inch. I’ll rip his fingernails from his hands one by one and stab him until he begs for death. I’ll pluck his eyes out and watch him suffer in the dark.’

His hatred burned hotter with every passing second. The image of the boy’s smug face as he suffered filled his mind, fueling the dark fire of his vengeance.

But just as the teleportation spell took hold, something shifted. Zharokath felt the familiar pull of the void energy lifting him from the room, the sensation of being transported away, the relief of escape beginning to wash over him.

And then it all stopped.

Time seemed to slow, the world around him warping, bending in ways it should not. Zharokath’s breath hitched, his body still mid-transit, but something was wrong—terribly wrong.

He felt it.

A pull. A drag, as though the very fabric of space and time was reversing. His body was yanked violently backward, the sensation jarring, unnatural. His vision blurred, the edges of reality distorting as the world around him twisted and pulled him back toward the room he had just left. It was as if the universe itself was refusing to let him go.

‘What…?’ Zharokath’s eyes widened in disbelief as the familiar surroundings of the room—the cold stone floor, the dim lighting—came rushing back into view.

No.

The room spun, snapping back into place with a sickening jolt, and before Zharokath could comprehend what had happened, he was back where he started—lying on the ground, broken and bleeding.

He gasped, his body convulsing as he struggled to process the impossibility of what had just occurred. His mind, sharp and calculating, raced to understand. Had the human… reversed time? No, that wasn’t possible. Was it? How could this be?

He was supposed to be free, supposed to be away, recovering, plotting his revenge. And yet, here he was—right back in the clutches of the one he hated most.

The human stood before him, completely still, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t done anything, but Zharokath felt the overwhelming weight of control emanating from him. This boy, this human, had somehow bent reality to his will, undone Zharokath’s escape as if it were a mere inconvenience.

‘What… what kind of power is this?’ Zharokath thought, his mind reeling.

Panic, for the first time in centuries, began to creep into his chest, but he refused to give in to it. He would not let this human see him break.

‘No… no, this isn’t over.’ Zharokath forced himself to focus, to think. ‘I can still escape. I can still turn this around.’

Zharokath’s mind screamed for survival. He could feel the poison coursing through his veins, the pain lancing through his body, but his will refused to yield. His hatred for the human standing before him burned brighter than the agony, fueling his desperate need to escape.

‘This isn’t over. I won’t fall here,’ he told himself, his mind racing as he activated the artifact once again. His body convulsed with the last dregs of his mana, pouring everything he had into it, focusing on the one goal—to escape.

The artifact pulsed in his hand, responding weakly at first. His reserves of demonic energy were running dangerously low, and he knew it wouldn’t be enough. His eyes flicked toward the human, whose expression remained infuriatingly calm.

‘I just need more power. Just enough to get away,’ Zharokath thought, his desperation rising.

Without hesitation, Zharokath made the decision to sacrifice part of his core. A dangerous gamble, one that would weaken him significantly, but survival was all that mattered. If he lived, he could recover. He could rebuild. But for that, he needed to escape.

His core, the very essence of his being, began to crack as he siphoned energy from it. The sharp pain that followed was nearly unbearable, but Zharokath pushed through it, his thoughts singularly focused. The artifact flared to life, glowing brighter with the stolen energy, and he felt the familiar pull of the void beginning to surround him once more.

‘Yes… this will work. He can’t stop me twice,’ Zharokath thought with renewed confidence. His body began to phase out of reality, the edges of his form blurring as the void energy enveloped him.

But then, just as the pull of the void reached its peak, something went wrong.

The room didn’t disappear. His body didn’t dissolve into the ether. Instead, the sickening sensation of being dragged backward hit him again—harder this time. His form, already halfway into the void, was violently yanked back into the physical world. The backlash of the failed teleportation hit him like a hammer, sending waves of excruciating pain ripping through his already broken body.

Zharokath’s eyes widened in disbelief, horror flooding his mind as he realized what had happened. He had used everything—his mana, a piece of his core—and still, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t escape.

He couldn’t even flee.

“AHAHAHAHAHA!”

And the maniacal laugh hit the final nail on the coffin.