Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 840

The night was quiet as I walked through the academy grounds, the remnants of the party fading into silence behind me. The air was cool, crisp, carrying the faint scent of the trees lining the pathways. My steps were steady, unhurried, yet my mind was far from still.

Lilia.

I hadn’t meant to analyze her this much, but it was inevitable.

She was one of the main cast. In the game, she had been Ethan’s ally—a force in her own right, yet never fully in the spotlight. She was important, but not in the way party members were. She wasn’t like Ethan, or Irina, or Julia.

She was something different.

An asset, not a constant.

And the reason for that was simple.

The developers hadn’t designed her to be a frontline warrior, nor had they given her a role that would demand she be present in every battle. She wasn’t a Hunter in the way Ethan was, in the way I was.

She was political.

A strong-willed businesswoman. A strategist. Someone who moved things from the outside.

And in that role, she thrived.

But not because she was great at it.

Because there was no one better.

That was the truth about Lilia. She wasn’t incompetent—far from it. But she wasn’t exceptional either. Not in management. Not in politics.

She was simply good enough to survive in that world.

Good enough to keep up.

Good enough to carve out her place.

But the thing about being "good enough" was that it wasn’t secure.

It wasn’t a guarantee.

Lilia wasn’t a natural manipulator like Selene. She wasn’t a natural leader like Ethan. She wasn’t an indomitable force that demanded respect the moment she entered a room.

She worked for every inch of ground she gained.

And that?

That was her biggest flaw.

She still thought that working harder would be enough. That raw ability and determination could push her forward. ƒrēewebnovel.com

She was playing at politics with the mindset of a warrior.

And that was why she lost.

Not because she was weak.

Not because she wasn’t smart.

But because she was playing the wrong game with the wrong approach.

I exhaled slowly, my steps carrying me further into the night.

If this were the game, I knew how it would go.

Lilia would continue down this path, facing struggle after struggle, slowly realizing that brute force wouldn’t win her the Olympus Vanguard. She would learn, adapt, and eventually change her approach.

She would stop thinking like a fighter.

And start thinking like a ruler.

A ruler’s mind.

That’s what it took.

That’s what Lilia needed.

But the ability to think like a ruler—it wasn’t something that could be acquired simply by wanting it.

It wasn’t something that could be earned through sheer effort alone.

It required talent.

And talent wasn’t fair.

I stopped walking for a moment, glancing across the academy grounds. The lamplights flickered dimly, casting long shadows over the pathways. The distant hum of the city beyond the walls was barely audible, a reminder that the world kept moving even as this place remained frozen in its routines.

I knew how this world worked.

And I knew how Lilia worked.

Because I had seen it before.

In the game, there was an arc. A significant one.

The moment Lilia realized—too late—that she had chosen wrong.

Not that she was bad at being a guild leader. No, she was competent enough to survive, to push forward, to make her presence known. But competence was not the same as talent.

And the harshest truth?

Lilia was a Hunter.

She wasn’t meant to be confined in meeting rooms, negotiating contracts, brokering deals like some politician desperate to cling to relevance.

She had talent. Skill.

A natural instinct that made her deadly with a bow.

A warrior’s edge that made her dangerous when she fought.

And yet, she had put all of that aside.

Chasing an ideal. Chasing power. Chasing a throne that she thought would allow her to control her own fate.

But this world was past the point where politics alone could save anyone.

And in the game, she realized it.

Late.

Far too late.

The scene was burned into my memory—the moment she confessed it.

The moment she admitted, in a rare lapse of pride, that she regretted it all.