Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 952

The building stood silent as always, isolated from the rest of the Academy’s sprawling network of towers and courtyards. No signage. No insignia. Just reinforced mana-treated plating that shimmered faintly beneath the daylight—an unspoken boundary that warned away curious onlookers.

Astron stepped through the front doors without hesitation.

The biometric lock recognized him instantly. A pulse of blue light passed over his form, confirming identity, clearing access. The heavy doors parted with a soft hiss, releasing the cool, sterile air of the interior.

Inside, silence greeted him—unbroken, unjudging. No instructors. No cadets. Just vast open space and the hum of mana-infused circuitry running through the walls.

He liked this place. It didn’t pry.

Astron walked with quiet purpose toward the main training floor, his coat whispering behind him. The room reconfigured at his presence—soft pulses ran along the embedded enchantment lines in the walls, reacting to his mana signature. He turned left, passing through a secondary gate that led deeper into the private training sectors—toward the more advanced equipment.

Here, the real tools of growth waited.

Mana Resonance Amplifier Pods

The first device greeted him like a slumbering beast—sleek, metallic, and slightly curved, shaped like a reclined chair surrounded by a semi-sphere of floating crystal segments.

Purpose: A pod designed to enhance fine-tuned mana control. Once inside, it isolates a user’s mana output and subjects it to fluctuating, randomized resistance fields. It’s not just about flow—it’s about precision under chaos.

Astron stepped in and seated himself, letting the containment field close in a shimmering dome around him. He rested his palms on the armrests—already glowing faintly as the pod read his core frequency.

Initiating Sequence: Mana Disruption Calibration.

Level: Advanced. Adaptive Interference Enabled.

At once, his body tensed. Not from pain, but feedback—subtle currents twisted his own mana just enough to force him to stabilize it in real time. Too slow, and the interference would knot his veins. Too aggressive, and the amplification would rebound, burning out his control channels.

Astron closed his eyes, breathing slow.

His breath flowed in measured intervals, each inhale feeding into the core of his being, each exhale shedding residual tension. The pod dimmed slightly as the crystals aligned to a new configuration, their synchronized pulses now tuned to a different wavelength—deeper, darker.

He felt the shift immediately.

Not just in mana density—but in texture. The natural warmth of typical elemental flow gave way to something… colder. Not in temperature, but in presence. An absence rather than a force. Like reaching into still water and finding the bottomless stretch of space instead.

[Voidborne].

The moment the pod recognized the affinity threading through his soul, it adapted. Veins of faint violet-black shimmer snaked through the inner walls of the containment dome, and the resistance fields changed behavior. No longer random—they now grew recursive. Subtractive. They began siphoning.

So this is what Eleanor meant.

Void was not about adding power. It was about consuming it. Nullifying. Peeling away layers of existence until only the truth remained.

He opened his eyes.

Internally, his circuits burned—not from overload, but from imbalance. His natural mana resisted the conversion, flaring in minute pulses. The pod caught it instantly, modulating the pressure with almost sentient precision. Astron adjusted his breathing again, funneling control back into the core of his chest. He had to understand this mana, not suppress it.

That’s what the records said. What Eleanor had hinted at, though she rarely explained things directly. She had given him the permission, and the direction—but not the map.

This was his own path.

Astron reached deeper, willing the Void element to take shape—not as a weapon, not yet, but as a concept. A language.

Mana obeyed intent. But Void didn’t obey. It waited. Watched. It had to be reasoned with.

The interference field flared. A pulse swept through his spine, a backlash from a misaligned thread of mana in his left shoulder. Astron winced, adjusting. His mental focus slipped for only a second—but that was enough. The field twisted violently, collapsing part of his internal flow and forcing a reset.

His skin prickled. His jaw clenched. Not from pain—but from failure.

’Too linear. Don’t impose your will. Let it echo.’

He tried again. This time, instead of controlling the flow, he observed it—allowed the Void to manifest around the folds of his presence like a second skin, not a replacement. His mana didn’t need to become Void. It needed to coexist with it. Align with the silence.

Another shift. The pod dimmed again, the resistance falling away briefly. In that moment of stillness, he felt it: the weightless thread between existence and emptiness. A tightrope of balance.

And on it—he walked.

Void doesn’t speak. It listens.

He focused inward. He saw the shape of what he needed to create—a technique that didn’t repel or burn through obstacles. One that erased them. Cleanly, quietly.

Not force. Absence.

He remained seated as the pod began another cycle, preparing for deeper disruption. There would be pain. There would be losses.

But understanding was beginning to take shape.