Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 1010

Sylvie Gracewind.

She wasn't blasting spells across the battlefield.

She wasn't darting in with blades or walls of flame.

Instead — she was rather….

Layering glyphs onto terrain.

Weaving speed buffs between team members.

Setting up silent suppression fields without announcing it, subtly choking enemy movement before it could even threaten the front line.

One of the scouts frowned slightly, pulling up her earlier profile.

Starting classification: Healing Specialist.

Current deployment: Combat Support / Utility Enhancement.

A quiet exhale. Not disappointment — interest.

"Started as a healer," the woman muttered, tapping her notes, "yet now she's operating as a dynamic field support."

"And she's doing it without breaking formation," the older man added. "Most healers transitioning into combat scatter under pressure — they try to cover too much at once."

But Sylvie didn't.

She wasn't rushing from point to point like a panicked medic.

She was moving with the team's rhythm, anchoring when needed, surging when the gaps widened — not forcing herself to be everywhere, but being where she mattered most.

"Smart mana usage too," another scout noted, checking the stream metrics. "Her surge patterns are layered. Defensive frames under acceleration frames. Efficiency above projection."

The more the scouts watched, the clearer it became.

She wasn't just supporting from a distance.

She wasn't just layering spells for others to shine.

She engaged.

When a straggling canid broke from the fog, slipping past Jasmine's forward sweep, Sylvie didn't flinch.

She adjusted her stance with practiced ease, palm flaring briefly as a compression glyph locked into place — a hard, focused burst that spiked the creature's footing, staggering it just long enough for her follow-up.

No wasted movements.

No excess mana flare.

The beast collapsed under a second layered strike — a precision burst of kinetic reinforcement along her palm guard — before it could even bare its fangs.

One of the Blackstone Verge scouts leaned forward slightly, tapping the crystal screen to rewatch the frame at half speed.

Not sheer power.

Not desperation.

Technique.

Calculated, deliberate — the kind of reflexes only possible through long, consistent practice.

Another scout — older, with the look of someone who had seen far too many raw cadets flame out — shook his head once, slow.

"Most healers," he said, voice quiet but certain, "don't do that."

And it was true.

Healing wasn't a role chosen by the unfocused.

It demanded precision, mana endurance, and nerves tighter than steel wire.

Training to become a combatant on top of that?

It was more than difficult.

It was counterintuitive.

An unnecessary burden.

Healers focused because they had to.

Because even surviving their own specialization was exhausting.

But Sylvie Gracewind had gone beyond that.

While still maintaining smooth, efficient heal spells — the small, nearly invisible pulses of restoration that flickered across Layla's battered shield arm, across Jasmine's ribs after a mistborn strike — she moved and fought without breaking rhythm.

Maintaining two fields of battle at once.

External. Internal.

Healing and engaging — synchronously.

The woman scout from Blackstone Verge drummed her fingers lightly against her slate, a small, approving rhythm.

A rare rhythm.

"She's special," she said at last.

Not loudly.

Not like a dramatic declaration.

Just a simple, professional judgment.

A talent like that — one who could not only defend herself, but expand the tactical envelope of a squad — was rare.

Dangerously rare.

Most teams lived or died by the fragility of their healers.

By the need to shield and protect the core from disruption.

But with Sylvie—

Team Fourteen didn't shield her.

She shielded herself.

And more.

She reinforced the team's aggression.

Pushed their forward momentum by removing the burden of hesitation — the fear that if they overreached, the core would fall apart.

Because they could trust her to stand.

Even when the lines blurred.

Even when monsters closed in.

In her quiet way, Sylvie Gracewind shone nearly as brightly as Irina Emberheart.

Not in flame.