Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 1000

The heavy doors sealed with a resonant hum, layering a half-dozen suppression wards over the chamber.

Inside, the lights dimmed automatically, and a large circular table lit up with the glow of rune-cast holographic projections. One by one, figures flickered into existence—translucent but sharp, each surrounded by a corona of arcane identification glyphs.

Headmaster Jonathan adjusted the cuffs of his coat, his every movement deliberate, controlled. He took his seat at the single empty chair—the last to arrive—and the meeting began immediately.

Overseer Ryhal's projection hovered at the head of the array, his sharp gaze sweeping the gathered figures: representatives from the Hunter Association, strategic divisions from the Federation Defense Ministry, and a handful of guild envoys observing in silent participation.

"Headmaster Jonathan," Ryhal began, his voice clipped, precise, cutting through the stale air. "We will proceed without delay. You have received the preliminary briefing?"

Jonathan nodded once, his face carved from stone. "I have."

"Then you understand the situation."

The projections around the table shifted. Images of gates spun into view—dark swirling thresholds layered with alien sigils. Each gate pulsed faintly with life, radiating a subtle but unmistakable message: not for you.

Ryhal spoke with the detached finality of a man delivering a battlefield report. "The youth-restriction phenomenon has been confirmed. Globally. No hunter over the age of twenty-one has been able to enter the new gate types. The pattern is absolute."

He let that settle before continuing.

"The Association has finalized its response. Effective immediately, all primary hunter academies, including your institution, will be requisitioned to support gate operations. We expect coordinated rotations of cadets into active low-risk dungeons for exposure and integration."

Jonathan's hands steepled under his chin. He didn't interrupt. Yet.

Ryhal continued, as if reading from an immutable decree. "This initiative will be staged. Initial deployments will be observational. Limited objectives. Controlled supervision. It is our position that such measures will not only benefit Federation security, but the cadets themselves. It will accelerate their development. Prepare them for the reality they will inevitably face."

Finally, Jonathan spoke, his voice low and even.

"Exposure?" His tone was quiet—but the underlying contempt was razor sharp. "You intend to throw my students into the flames under the guise of preparation."

A ripple of discomfort traveled through a few of the minor envoys, but Ryhal remained unshaken.

"This is not a request, Headmaster. The Federation has ratified the Emergency Talent Mobilization Act. You've seen the clauses yourself. If the gates continue to appear—and all projections suggest they will—we have no choice but to begin integrating younger operatives immediately."

Jonathan's gaze darkened. His voice was a slow, lethal current.

"The academy exists to prepare them. Not to sacrifice them before they're ready. Not to serve as a conscription pipeline for those too cowardly to hold the line themselves."

One of the Defense Ministry representatives, a woman with silver-streaked hair, interjected smoothly.

"We are not proposing reckless deployment. These cadets will be monitored. Evaluated. They will be sent into appropriate environments for their capabilities."

Jonathan's lips curled into something that wasn't a smile.

"Appropriate. And when the next Rank-6 gate appears in a civilian sector? When the 'appropriate environment' becomes an inferno? Will you still call it exposure?"

The room cooled palpably. Even through holographic projection, the force of Jonathan's will pressed against them all.

Ryhal leaned slightly forward, his expression unchanged.

"We understand your concerns. But the numbers don't lie, Headmaster. We have no reserves. We have no second option."

A new projection rotated into view—manifolds of cadet rosters, talent scores, compatibility indexes. A staggering array of red-coded alerts flashed over the maps of the Federation.

"The world is shifting, Jonathan. You know this better than most. If the old pillars no longer support us, then we must forge new ones."

Jonathan's jaw flexed once, tightly.

He could feel it—like the slow tightening of a noose.

The government, the Association, the guilds—each thread pulling taut, drawing the academy closer to the breaking point.

He could refuse, of course.

He could call it what it was: political exploitation hidden under the veneer of necessity.

Jonathan's gaze remained locked onto the swirling projections, the red-coded alerts flashing across the Federation map like warning beacons.

He knew what was happening.

He saw the trap laid before him.

If he refused now—if he resisted too openly—the Association would not confront him directly.

No.

They would leak the situation to the public.

Frame it as a dereliction of duty.

An elite academy refusing to rise to the call while the world teetered. frёewebnoѵēl.com

Parents would demand answers.

Families would panic.

The Federation would tighten its grip.

And the academy—his academy—would fracture from within.

Jonathan's hands curled into slow, deliberate fists on the armrests of his chair, his expression unreadable behind the cold gleam of the holograms.

He had spent decades preparing hunters.

Every cadet who walked these halls knew, consciously or not, that they would one day put their lives on the line.

That was the truth of the path they had chosen.

But this?

This was not preparation.

This was forced acceleration under duress, risking untempered youth for short-term survival.