Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 1038

Chapter 1038: Chapter 246.2 - Sister

"Oh, I’ve found my answer."

Leonard’s gaze sharpened. Just slightly. Just enough to count.

He didn’t speak—but something in the angle of his shoulders changed. Subtle tension. The kind that only ever came from a shift in equation.

"You have?" he asked, voice low, careful.

"Mhm." She stretched her legs just slightly, crossing them the other way with languid grace. "Not all answers need to be loud. Some of them are... quiet. Sunlit. Golden."

Leonard’s jaw tightened—not with anger. With calculation.

That phrasing.

But before he could press her, before the space between them could narrow into confrontation—

A soft tone sounded at the front of the carriage as another sigil-lock disengaged.

The door hissed open.

A new figure stepped in.

Tall, broad-shouldered, with neatly trimmed hair and a long, midnight-blue coat marked by the seven-pointed sigil of Silverhammer Guild. His boots clicked sharply on the floor, and the faint smell of lightning mana trailed faintly behind him like ozone after a clean cut.

Thorne Halwick.

Senior scout. Known for poaching prodigies before their second semester.

And for never smiling.

He glanced between the two already seated, registering the tension without comment.

"Quite the day," he said dryly as he moved to lean against the forward pillar.

Velvetin recovered instantly, her tone light once again. "Indeed it was," she said. "Full of surprises."

Thorne gave her a look—flat, unreadable—then nodded once at Leonard. "You saw her, too."

Leonard didn’t ask who, since from how this was going, asking would blow his cover possibly.

Velvetin arched a brow, amused. "Her? Singular? You’re already staking a claim?"

Thorne shrugged once. "You don’t need ten miracles when one will shift the warboard."

Leonard’s eyes flicked between them, assessing.

"Plenty of miracles showed up today," he said calmly. "Depends on how you define it."

Velvetin laughed under her breath. "That’s the problem, isn’t it? Everyone’s got different definitions." She turned her gaze back to Thorne.

Her gaze lingered on Thorne for a beat longer—curious, needling, faintly amused.

"So tell me, Silverhammer—who’s on your list tonight? Which miracle are you chasing?"

Her lips curved faintly. "Let me guess. That claymore girl from the dusk team—Thessa Verrin, was it? The one who cleaved through the bone wyrm with brute charm and no regard for balance?"

Thorne exhaled through his nose. "Raw. But effective."

Velvetin tilted her head. "Or maybe Kellen Drayce. That boy with the spectral binding technique. Unrefined, but the way he layered summons through shifting terrain? That’s an entire school’s worth of tactical layering. He just doesn’t know it yet."

"Too twitchy," Thorne said. "Wouldn’t last under pressure."

"Oh, I liked him," Velvetin sighed. "He fought like someone who grew up praying to survive."

Thorne raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

She tapped her lower lip once, thoughtfully. Then added—

"There’s also that Weaver-type from the fifth trial. Aeryn Marchal. The one who never even stepped forward, but still controlled two flanks at once." She smiled lazily. "People like that go unnoticed. Until they’re the last one standing."

Thorne finally pushed off the pillar, adjusting his coat. "She’s interesting. But she’s not the one who turned the room upside down."

Velvetin’s lashes dropped.

"Ah," she said softly. "So we circle back to her."

Leonard remained silent.

But then Velvetin looked directly at him.

"Gracewind."

That was the name she chose to speak aloud.

And in that moment—Leonard’s eyes flicked upward.

Sharp.

Quick.

Just once.

But enough to catch her attention.

Velvetin saw it.

Of course she did.

Her smile was slow and surgical. She didn’t comment. Didn’t press.

She didn’t need to.

Because she’d seen what she came for.

Thorne, ever practical, gave a short nod. "You saw that casting sequence. That wasn’t a burst. It was deliberate sequencing. Three support frames, one offensive. Fully internal. Fully field-stable. Mid-dungeon, post-collapse." He paused. "Most people would’ve died. She cleared it."

"Golden-threaded energy," Velvetin murmured. "Not just rare. Custom. Not taught."

"Which means someone trained her—or she inherited something ancient," Thorne said flatly. "Either way, she’s not going to stay low-tier for long."

The words moved through the air like quiet knives.

Not cruel.

Just... true.

Leonard said nothing.

Not because he disagreed.

But because he hadn’t known.

Not the casting pattern.

Not the spell resonance.

Not the field tempo.

Not even the fight.

He hadn’t seen it.

Because he hadn’t been watching her.

His sister.

The one person who had sat across from him just days ago, smiling with warmth and uncertainty and pride—asking him, almost shyly, to watch when the time was right.

"When we’re stronger. Then come."

He’d been watching everyone else.

I promised her.

"I’ll watch when the time is right."

And the time had come—and passed—without him.

That makes me a liar.

But she had waited.

At least once, he thought. I should’ve—

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