Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 521

Chapter 521 117.3 - Second Mission

The man reluctantly led me through the town and toward the isolated field on the outskirts. The walk was quiet, the air thick with unspoken tension. As we approached the house at the center of the untouched field, I noticed the man's pace slow, his expression darkening as he looked at the modest home.

"This is it," he said, his voice flat. He cast a disdainful glance at the house, his lips curling slightly as if the very sight of it repulsed him. "I'm going to leave now. I don't want any part of this."

I watched him for a moment, noting the emotions playing across his face—disgust, fear, and a deep-seated hatred. It was clear that whatever lay behind his feelings toward this family was deeply ingrained, perhaps fueled by years of isolation and suspicion.

'Interesting… fear, hatred, and something else… a deep sense of rejection.'

He turned and walked away without another word, leaving me standing alone at the edge of the porch. I watched him go, then turned my attention back to the house.

The air here was different—calmer, almost serene.

I stepped up to the door and knocked firmly, my hand steady against the wood. There was a brief pause, and then the door creaked open just enough to reveal a young boy, no older than fifteen, with a stern expression on his face. His eyes were sharp and unwelcoming, and his posture suggested that visitors were neither common nor particularly desired.

"What do you want?" he asked curtly, his voice edged with suspicion.

"I'm Astron Natusalune," I replied, my tone even and professional. "I've been sent to investigate the situation in Shange Town. I'm here to ask a few questions about your field. It seems to be the only one that hasn't been affected by whatever's happening."

"What a weird name." The boy's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied me. "We're not interested," he said bluntly, starting to close the door.

I quickly placed my hand against the door, holding it open just enough to prevent him from shutting it completely. "This is important," I insisted, my voice firm but not aggressive. "You may not think it matters now, but what if the same thing happens to your field? Once it's gone, how will your mother continue to make the ointments she uses to make a living?"

While their field also had Moonberries, there were also some other herbs growing there. I took a note on them while looking at them, and there I can easily say that the mother is indeed an herbalist.

The boy hesitated, the door half-closed, as he considered my words. His stern expression softened just a fraction, the reality of the situation sinking in. He knew, as well as anyone, that if their field were to fall prey to the same fate as the others, their livelihood would be in serious jeopardy.

The boy hesitated, the door half-closed, as he considered my words. His stern expression softened just a fraction, the reality of the situation sinking in. He knew, as well as anyone, that if their field were to fall prey to the same fate as the others, their livelihood would be in serious jeopardy.

After a tense moment, he let out a small sigh and opened the door wider, stepping aside to let me in. "Fine," he said, his tone grudging but resigned. "You can come in, but don't take too long. My mother isn't well."

As I stepped, I naturally took a look around the house. The interior of the house was modest but clean, with the scent of herbs and medicinal plants filling the air.

It was clear that the boy and his mother lived simply, relying on the land and their knowledge of healing to sustain themselves.

As I followed the boy further into the house, I could sense the weight of the situation pressing down on him.

He was young, but there was a hardness to him that spoke of someone who had been forced to grow up quickly, likely due to the circumstances surrounding his family.

"Wait here," the boy said, leading me to a small sitting room. "I'll get my mother."

As I waited, I couldn't help but notice the small details around the room—shelves lined with jars of herbs, a mortar and pestle on the table, and a few well-worn books on medicinal practices, though most of them were old ones.

It wasn't long before the boy returned, leading his mother into the room. The moment she entered, I could sense her presence—a gentle, calming aura that seemed to fill the space around her.

She moved with grace, though it was clear from the slight tremor in her steps and the pallor of her skin that she was not in the best of health.

As she approached, I noted several telltale signs of her condition. Her skin had a slight yellowish tint, indicative of jaundice, likely due to liver dysfunction.

The faint puffiness around her eyes and the slow, deliberate way she moved suggested a chronic illness, perhaps something that had been wearing her down for years.

The way she occasionally pressed a hand to her side hinted at discomfort or pain in her abdomen, reinforcing my suspicion that her liver might be the source of her ailment.

Despite her condition, she offered me a warm, genuine smile as she gracefully took a seat across from me. There was no trace of animosity or suspicion in her demeanor—just a quiet strength and kindness that seemed at odds with the disdain the townsfolk held for her.