Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest - Chapter 983

Chapter 983: Chapter 229.1 – Anomaly

Eleanor stood at the far end of the training hall, hands clasped lightly behind her back as she gazed at the rows of active mana regulators lining the walls. Soft pulses of energy blinked in a controlled rhythm, keeping the chamber’s mana density stable, calibrated. Adjustable at a moment’s notice.

It was quiet now. Only the distant hum of enchantments filled the space.

But she knew that silence wouldn’t last.

Ethan and Astron would arrive soon.

And when they did, today’s training would begin.

Her eyes flicked toward the doorway, then drifted back to the middle of the room where the sparring field stretched across polished stone. Everything was reinforced, not just to handle strength—but to handle intention. When people like those two fought, it wasn’t just force. It was pressure. Alignment. Momentum.

Two anomalies walking a fine line between brilliance and breakdown.

Eleanor exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.

She had watched it unfold from the beginning. Ethan’s acceleration. Astron’s emergence. What had once been potential now threatened to become something else—momentum. And momentum in the wrong direction was far more dangerous than stagnation.

Not just for them.

But for everyone around them.

Especially now.

Her gaze tightened.

The guild tensions in the capital are rising again. More skirmishes between city-based Hunters. Small disputes, weapon regulation arguments, even suppression rights over dungeon gates. All of it building into something more serious. The kind of tension that didn’t stay in the back alleys. It crawled into the academies. Into students’ minds. Into curriculum.

If it spilled over, if things snapped—then Astron and Ethan, latter was way more likely would be pulled in faster than they knew.

Because they weren’t normal cadets anymore.

Especially Ethan.

Eleanor’s thoughts lingered on him a moment longer.

He had come a long way in a short time—too long, too fast. The kind of trajectory that didn’t stay hidden for long. She could already see it forming around him: the buzz in instructor lounges, the subtle shifts in student hierarchy, the way eyes lingered a little longer when his name was mentioned.

If he continued at this pace—no, when he continued—his name would start brushing against a different tier altogether.

And eventually?

He would meet Victor again.

Not in the practice rings.

Not under adjusted conditions.

But in the real circuits. The sanctioned duels. The tournament brackets that caught the eye of national guilds, of federations, of the political elite.

That meeting… it was inevitable.

And necessary.

Even if not everyone would like it.

Ethan was rough. Still brimming with too much rawness, too much emotional drive—but she had seen the way he responded to failure. Not with collapse. With refinement. Every duel, every loss, every mistake—he metabolized it. Converted it into something sharper.

Victor had the polish. The law. The structure.

Ethan?

He had the fire.

But fire without refinement consumes itself.

Which was why she was here.

Why today mattered.

Her gaze lifted the moment the double doors parted.

Astron stepped through first, his movements as always quiet, composed, with the silence of someone used to making decisions without alerting the world. Ethan followed a second later, rolling his shoulders with a casualness that barely disguised the calculation in his eyes.

Both stopped at the edge of the platform.

Eleanor turned to face them fully.

She didn’t speak right away.

She looked.

Into their eyes.

Astron’s: cool, observant, already dissecting the training space, noting mana flow, field layout, exit paths.

Ethan’s: calm, but steady—not clouded by pride, not distracted by frustration. Centered. He had grown since the last time. Something had clicked.

Good.

She spoke.

“Today, we begin real training.”

There was no preamble. No pleasantries.

Eleanor gestured toward the center of the chamber, where two stabilizer pillars rose beside a long table lined with elemental crystals and psionic channels.

“We’ll focus on two things,” she said, walking between them as the mana hum in the room deepened. “Weapon coating—and psion control efficiency.”

Ethan’s eyes narrowed slightly. Astron gave a short nod.

Eleanor continued.

“I’ve reviewed your practical sparring assessments,” she said. “And while your external control has improved—internally, you’re both still leaking power. The conversion rates are inefficient. Especially during fast switching and layered engagements.”

She paused.

“For normal cadets, that’s acceptable. Not optimal, but functional.”

Her gaze sharpened.

“But neither of you are normal anymore.”

A beat of silence.

Eleanor turned, her coat flicking lightly with the motion, and activated the array embedded in the floor. The platform lit with soft white rings, partitioning the space into zones.

“First task: Coating calibration.”

She gestured toward the crystals—each one keyed to a different elemental alignment and psionic thread.

“These are charged for feedback. Your goal is to maintain full coverage over your weapon—blade, edge, or shaft—for at least forty-five seconds without a drop below 85% cohesion.”

She didn’t need to explain why that mattered. In real combat, unstable coating was worse than no coating. It meant backlash. Blowback. Wasted mana and ruptured cores.

Eleanor looked back at them.

“Fail, and the crystal will resonate with your psion frequency. You’ll feel the backlash.”

She let that linger.

A reminder that this wasn’t sparring anymore.

It was sharpening.

Her voice lowered, but her presence grew colder.

“You’re here because you’ve reached the point where refinement isn’t optional. From now on, every weakness I see—I will correct. Whether you like it or not.”

She turned to face the field, her hand raising slightly as the system confirmed their biosignatures.

“Begin.”

******

The crystals pulsed once as the system acknowledged the activation.

Without hesitation, Astron stepped toward the psionic focus table, his fingers brushing lightly across the handles of the training daggers laid out beside the elemental regulators. Ethan mirrored the motion—more direct, his movements steady, almost impatient in the way that suggested quiet eagerness.

Eleanor didn’t speak.

She watched.

The first coating phase began—mana thread convergence. The crystals aligned to each cadet’s natural frequency, forming thin channels that snaked toward the weapon surfaces.

Immediately, resistance hit.

Astron’s control faltered—not in intensity, but in balance. His coating began to layer unevenly, the left blade gaining more psion saturation than the right. The cohesion dropped quickly, flickering below threshold before the system triggered a warning pulse.

His face remained still, but she saw the adjustment attempt—the micro-shift in posture, the recalibrated grip, the pulse shift in his fingers.

Too slow.

Backlash triggered.

The crystal emitted a sharp, focused resonance. Astron’s left hand flinched—just slightly—as the feedback registered.

Ethan’s situation wasn’t better—at first.

His lightning psion flared too quickly, surging across the blade with no foundation to contain it. Sparks danced along the edge, arcing backward into the regulator node and destabilizing the feedback loop.

Warning pulse.

The psion slipped.

Backlash triggered.

But this time, Eleanor’s eyes narrowed.

Because unlike Astron, who was adjusting carefully, methodically, Ethan reset.

Immediately.

She watched his core resonance shift—his breathing synced with the next attempt, and his lightning psion did not surge.

It slid.

Clean. Refined. Still raw, but tempered.

Like someone who had just now figured out why it had failed—and how not to let it fail again.

His second coating attempt held longer. Not stable yet, not clean. But Eleanor could already see the arc anchoring to the hilt properly. The energy loss at the blade’s midpoint was dropping.

Seventeen seconds, she counted silently. Not bad.

Astron was resetting as well, though slower. He had noticed the imbalance and was trying to harmonize left and right simultaneously—a good instinct, but too rigid.

He’ll need to loosen his frame, Eleanor thought. He’s treating it like dual output. It’s not. It’s parallel flow alignment.

Neither passed the forty-five-second mark.

But the differences were clear.

Ethan was closer.

Eleanor’s gaze sharpened.

It wasn’t just the speed. It was the internal adjustment.

He instinctively knew how to tame the volatility of lightning.

She had expected Astron to be the more measured one here—and he still was. But Ethan’s tempo had caught up. In this specific exercise, he wasn’t playing catch-up.

He was leading.

That alone was rare.

She stepped forward, the soft click of her boots echoing across the now dimming field as the crystals reset for the next calibration cycle.

“Stop.”