Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 623

Chapter 623 - 137.1 - The Kid

'He's lost everything,' I thought as I studied him. 'There's nothing left for him.'

That empty look was familiar.

It reminded me of myself, of the days when I had wandered with no purpose other than to die—when I had clung to vengeance, but without the strength or means to do anything about it. Back then, my eyes had been just like his.

Dead, but still walking.

The boy hadn't flinched when Zharokath was about to devour him. He had stood there, accepting his fate without question.

No fear, no resistance—just the quiet acceptance that death was inevitable.

That kind of resignation only came from a life of suffering, from being ground down until the will to live was crushed completely

I could already imagine what kind of life he had lived. An orphan, most likely, raised in a place where hope had long since died. An orphanage, perhaps, tied to demons, where children were nothing more than livestock. Raised not as individuals with futures, but as prey for beings like Zharokath. Used, discarded, forgotten.

'He doesn't even have a reason to run,' I thought, watching the boy's frail form as he stood there. There was no escape for him in his mind, no place to go that would offer anything different from what he had already endured.

I could understand that emptiness. I had been there. It was a suffocating void, where the only solace came from the idea that everything might end soon.

For a moment, I wondered what would become of him now. Freed from one predator, but left alone in a world that wouldn't offer him much more than the same cruelty. I couldn't help but feel the weight of that thought, knowing the fate that awaited him if I simply let him go.

'But what am I supposed to do?' I thought, the question hanging in the back of my mind. I wasn't a savior, and this world wasn't a place for second chances. The same truth that had shaped me would shape him, one way or another.

Yet, as I stood there, staring into the boy's empty eyes, I knew one thing for certain. He didn't deserve to die like this. Not without a fight.

"You..." I said quietly, my voice calm but firm. "Do you want to live?"

********

Eryon had never knew how would it feel to be in a mother's embrace.

He opened his eyes for the first time without any memory of parents, family, or warmth. His first memories were of the orphanage, a place that felt more like a cage than a home. The walls were old and cracked, paint long faded from neglect. Every corner seemed worn down by time, as if the building itself was tired of housing children who had no futures.

Eryon's bed was a hard, wooden frame with a thin, lumpy mattress that barely cushioned him from the cold, unforgiving floor. Each night, as he lay down, he could feel the sharp springs pressing into his bones, a reminder of how little comfort this place offered. The blankets were threadbare, unable to ward off the chill that seeped through the broken windows, which rattled with every gust of wind.

The other children around him were just as worn and hungry as the walls that surrounded them. Resources were always scarce. Meals consisted of meager portions of stale bread and watery broth, never enough to satisfy their constant hunger.

Their clothes, often hand-me-downs from previous orphans, were patched together and always too small or too big, offering little protection from the biting cold.

Days were filled with monotonous tasks: cleaning, carrying water from a distant well, and tending to the few crops that the orphanage tried to grow.

Eryon's small hands grew calloused from the work, his body thin and weak from years of malnutrition. There was no joy here, no play, no laughter. Only the silent acceptance of their shared fate—a life of toil and hardship, with no promise of a better future.

Yet, even in this place, the cruelest part of Eryon's life was not the lack of food, warmth, or care. It was the lack of purpose. From the moment he could understand, he knew the orphanage wasn't a place of hope.