Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 946

Ethan groaned as he picked himself up from the floor, a line of sweat trickling down his temple. His ribs ached where the wooden blade had struck him, and his pride ached just a bit more.

He wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand, giving Eleanor a pointed, exasperated look.

"Miss Eleanor," he grumbled, voice tinged with disbelief. "You’re using way too much strength. How are we even supposed to deal with you like this?"

And really, who could blame him?

The pressure she exerted, the speed, the reaction time, the sheer suffocating presence—everything felt several leagues beyond what any normal training instructor should be able to unleash on academy students.

It wasn’t an exaggeration.

It was Eleanor.

Even before she’d stepped foot into the Arcadia Hunter Academy, Eleanor had already made history. The youngest ever to break into the Hunter Rankings. The top of her generation, the undisputed prodigy who shattered trial records and made veteran hunters rethink the very definition of potential.

Her name wasn’t just a legacy—it was a standard.

So Ethan’s protest didn’t come off as whining.

It came off as reasonable.

Astron, still regaining his breath against the wall, didn’t speak—but his narrowed eyes silently agreed.

Eleanor, however, only gave a small, amused sneer.

"Is that what you think?" she asked lightly.

She held up her arm—and there, strapped around her wrist, gleamed a thin, matte-black bracelet etched with subtle mana lines.

The center of the band displayed a small, glowing number.

8.

Ethan blinked. "What’s that?"

Eleanor tapped the number with her finger.

"This," she said calmly, "is a limiter."

The number pulsed once, steady and clear.

"Right now, all of my parameters are capped at rank 8. Speed. Power. Mana output. Reflexes. Everything."

The words hung in the air like a slap.

Astron’s eyes narrowed slightly. Ethan’s jaw tightened.

Rank 8.

Just two ranks above where Ethan currently stood.

No, it was not even a complete 2 rank difference.

And yet the gap felt like a canyon. Even under suppression, Eleanor had moved like a phantom and struck like a force of nature.

"That… can’t be right," Ethan muttered. "It felt like more than that."

"It should’ve," Eleanor replied, her tone sharp, unwavering. She took a step forward, her gaze steady and cool, cutting through the space between them like a blade.

"That," she said, "is the difference between a normal hunter—" her fingers curled again around the hilt of her wooden sword, "—and a high-ranking one."

She let the words sink in.

"My stats are capped at 8. But even if you pushed me down to 5, or 4… my understanding of mana, my control, my discipline would still make the difference. Not because I’m stronger. But because I know how to use what I have."

She turned the wooden sword in her hand, slowly, letting its weight balance across her palm—not for flash, but for clarity.

"That’s what separates a top-ranker from the rest."

Her voice dropped, precise and instructive, but never coddling.

"Power is not potential. Rank is not mastery. You’ll see the same thing in any field—whether it’s healing, support, offense, reconnaissance. The top hunters don’t win because they’re stronger."

She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing.

"They win because they never forget where they are."

Her gaze swept over both of them now—first to Ethan, still catching his breath but burning with that relentless, reckless fire in his chest… then to Astron, calm on the outside, but cold, calculating beneath his silence.

"You two," she said, lifting her sword again.

"When you’re facing a top-ranker, you must be open to anything that can happen in your surroundings. No assumptions. No patterns. No comfort zones."

She raised her sword slightly, and for just a heartbeat—everything stilled.

"Anything," she repeated. "Can happen."

There was no dramatic surge of mana. No wave of pressure.

Just the eerie quiet of someone who didn’t need to boast to be overwhelming.

Then, she nodded once.

"Come at me again."

Her stance shifted, and just like that—the fight resumed.

Ethan gritted his teeth, lightning already crawling up the length of his spear as he charged with renewed force, weaving in more feints, more layers—watch everything, her voice echoed in his mind.

Astron adjusted his grip on his daggers, this time not waiting for an opening—but creating one, his mana weaving out like threads searching for tension.

And Eleanor…

Smiled faintly.

As if this—this—was exactly where she wanted them.

In the thick of it.