Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 954 Chapter 219.4 - Show

Eleanor remained still above the training chamber, arms folded, her eyes tracking Astron's movements with unwavering precision. The gleam of his daggers caught the filtered lighting of the facility, tracing arcs of cold clarity through the air as golems crumbled around him. His footwork, his timing, his mana flow-so much of it whispered mastery.

There it is again, she thought. That innate clarity in combat.

He wasn't just a good dagger user. He was a good fighter. His understanding of spacing, prediction, and rhythm wasn't born of mere repetition-it was instinct reinforced by experience. Eleanor had seen thousands of cadets go through drills, sparring, real battles. Some could move well. Some could think well. Rarely both. Astron... he adjusted on the fly, seamlessly aligning his body and energy toward a singular goal.

It's not just skill, she thought. It's comprehension. The kind that only happens when fighting becomes a language.

Still, there was something else in the way he moved that made her pause-some strange thread that connected back to a memory.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

That duel.

Astron and Irina. The impromptu spar, right after the [Stripes] class. She hadn't intervened, hadn't even needed to. The students had watched, and so had she, from a quiet distance.

Irina had the background. Elite tutors, sword lineage, textbook [Stripes] with elegance and refined mana infusion. She had been molded for swordsmanship in the way only nobles could afford to be.

And Astron?

He didn't even have a sword style.

But he'd stood his ground. Matched her rhythm. Adjusted mid-combat, slowly narrowing the gap. His movements then had been raw, but he had responded to her strikes with uncanny clarity-like he was remembering something his body had never been taught. Understanding the sword as if it belonged to him.

And that final clash-where Irina used a stripe-sword hybrid strike that compressed and twisted mana with refined control-even then, he had parried six of her seven slashes with nothing but instinct and emerging rhythm. Only the final strike had landed. But the look in his eyes afterward... it hadn't been disappointment.

It had been calculation.

And now, watching him fight here, Eleanor let the memory settle in her thoughts like a weight on her chest.

What if... someone actually trained him with the sword?

What if that raw comprehension were paired with real swordsmanship? With a proper grip, breathing discipline, blade angle instruction, mana harmonics-everything he currently lacks but imitates anyway?