Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 1011

The final explosion of light on-screen faded, replaced by smoke and flickering mana static.

For several seconds, the observation deck held its breath.

Not because of disbelief.

But because there was something sacred about the silence after perfect execution.

Then—

A quiet exhale from the Solstice Dawn scout.

"…They didn't just win," he said, his voice even, but low. "They dissected it."

The Phoenix Halo representative beside him leaned back, arms crossed, eyes narrowed at the dissipating aftermath. "That was a Rank-6 peak boss. Nearly Rank-7 threshold. And not one of them cracked under pressure."

From across the tiered chamber, the Blackstone Verge observers exchanged quick, professional glances. A few were already flicking their fingers across data-slates, saving combat breakdowns, slowing the footage.

One of them tapped the moment Irina activated Solar Rend, freezing the spell's signature at full charge.

"She compressed that in less than six seconds," he muttered, his brow furrowed. "With Sylvie's resonance boosting the stability mid-channel. That's not student coordination. That's advanced strike team chemistry."

"It was clean," the woman beside him added. "From pivot to disengage. No one moved late. No one doubled a role."

And then—

Quiet murmurs began to ripple across the wider chamber.

"…Who's their squad leader again?"

"Was that Astron Natusalune coordinating the callouts?"

"Where did that Sylvie girl train combat like that? She wasn't on the original ranking radars…"

One of the guildless scouts — a younger man seated near the edge — whistled low as he zoomed in on the final frame: Astron standing just ahead of the group, calmly giving the disengage command mid-collapse.

"Look at him," he said. "No dramatics. No flare. Just moves like someone who's done this fifty times already."

"Rank 1071," someone muttered behind him.

But the number no longer meant what it used to.

Because that kind of poise under fire?

That kind of command voice, delivered without theatrics or panic?

It didn't come from raw talent.

It came from hours of failure.

From repetition.

From a mind forced to adapt, until composure became muscle memory.

The younger scout nodded slightly, eyes still locked on the frozen frame of Astron standing before the collapsed cathedral ruins. "He's not a star. Not yet. But that right there? That's resilience. That's built."

"It takes effort to polish a fighter like that," another added. "Effort that shows."

And it wasn't just Astron.

Layla had taken the brunt of Vulkran's assault without collapsing formation — her shield timing tight, her recovery frames controlled even when launched across the battlefield. No wild swings. No shouting.

Just a slow rise. A defensive pivot. And back into formation.

Jasmine, too — reckless on the surface, but her lateral movements always mirrored team flow. No selfish overextensions. Every dodge, every feint folded into the team's tempo.

Both of them weren't carrying the spotlight.

But they carried weight.

And the scouts knew — sometimes, what mattered most wasn't who led the charge…

…but who could hold the line when everything exploded.

"They weren't just chosen by Irina for status," said the Blackstone Verge woman flatly. "She built something with them. That group has bones."

Someone from Dawn's Cross gave a low, grudging chuckle. "Wouldn't be the first time the Emberheart Matriarch trained her daughter in teamcraft. Still. That last spell—"

The room shifted.

Because yes — the teamwork had been exceptional.

But the final attack?

The beam?

That wasn't just textbook spellcraft.

That was new.

One of the Phoenix Halo mages flicked the recording back to just before the strike and played the entire compression loop in slow motion, their eyes narrowing.

"…I've never seen a fire-type execute a convergent beam like that," he murmured. "Not without distortion. Not without elemental loss."

"It wasn't just fire," another scout said, tapping a hovering glyph signature. "The flame was somehow compressed and filtered through some sort of… resonance web?"

A beat of silence passed.

And then—

"…That's not in any standard school," murmured one of the older observers — a hunter who had retired after a decade of fieldwork and another in guild development. His coat bore the faded crest of Hollow Edge, once a frontline unit renowned for spell innovation.

His voice was quiet.

Measured.

"The beam wasn't brute force. It was... refined. Refined in a way that we don't see from most field mages—much less cadets."

The projection paused, hovering mid-frame on the moment Solar Rend pierced through Vulkran's burning core. The spell was elegant. Terrifying. The line of destructive mana wasn't chaotic like typical fire bursts — it was clean, uninterrupted, like a surgical blade.

"No distortion in the tail end," the Hollow Edge scout muttered. "No elemental decay. That's what makes it unnatural."

He sat back in his chair slowly.

"…I couldn't replicate that," he admitted.

Several around him didn't speak, but their silences were telling.