Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 824 191.1 - Sponsor ?

Chapter 824 191.1 - Sponsor ?

Lilia stepped off the training grounds of her private dormitory, a thin sheen of sweat glistening on her fair skin. Her breathing was steady despite the grueling drills she had just completed. The crimson of her eyes seemed sharper in the morning sunlight filtering through the window panes, glinting with a quiet intensity. Even after hours of training, her movements carried a grace that belied the fatigue tightening her muscles.

Sliding the door to her room shut behind her, Lilia paused in the center of the spacious quarters, rolling her shoulders to loosen the tension there. She slipped the bowstring guard off her wrist, her fingers running over the soft leather absently.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her attention—a stark contrast to how she felt. Her emerald hair, slightly damp from the sweat, fell over her shoulders like a shimmering cascade, and her flawless skin seemed to glow faintly under the light. Yet beneath the composed exterior, she felt the weight of everything she had been shouldering.

"Haaah..." The sigh escaped her lips as she unpinned her training cloak, letting it slide off her shoulders and pool around her feet. She began to undress methodically, shedding her sleeveless tunic and leggings with practiced ease. Her body moved on autopilot as if ritualizing this part of her day helped her manage the chaos encroaching on every other corner of her life.

Stepping into the bathroom, she turned on the shower, watching the steam rise as hot water began to cascade. Her mind, however, lingered on other matters.

Recently, the pressure had been mounting—not just from the academy's increasingly rigorous schedules but from her family's expectations as well. Her father had made it clear during their last exchange: as the heir to Olympus' Vanguard, she couldn't afford even the slightest misstep. Every evaluation, every competition, every interaction with her peers carried the weight of her name.

The upcoming Archery Club meeting loomed in her thoughts. Lilia had already noticed the growing support Adrian was rallying within the club. His ambition to consolidate control wasn't subtle, and it frustrated her to no end. Yet, she knew she couldn't afford to act recklessly. Her moves needed to be deliberate—calculated.

'One misstep, and he'll take everything I've worked for,' she thought, the water running over her skin offering a fleeting respite from the storm brewing inside her.

Then there was the succession competition within her family guild. Her cousins were growing more aggressive, their eyes set firmly on the position that should have been hers by right. Every report she received from her informants painted a grim picture of alliances forming behind her back. It wasn't paranoia—Olympus' Vanguard had no room for the weak, and she knew better than anyone what failure meant in their world.

And yet, it wasn't just external pressures that weighed on her. The mentor-mentee program, the escalating course loads, and the academy's competitive environment left her with little room to breathe. She hadn't had a moment to herself in weeks. Even now, standing under the hot water, the tension in her body refused to fully dissipate.

Her hand brushed against the pendant she still wore around her neck—a simple token from her childhood, one of the few reminders of a time when life had felt less complicated. She closed her eyes, letting her head rest against the tiled wall.

'I can't afford to fall apart,' she thought, exhaling slowly. Her mind replayed the words she had once told herself, a mantra forged from years of pushing through exhaustion. 'Weakness is a luxury I don't have.'

The shower ran for a little longer before she turned it off, the room now thick with steam. Lilia stepped out, wrapping herself in a towel as she moved to the full-length mirror. Wiping the condensation away, she stared at her reflection, her crimson eyes locking onto her own.

"Let's go."

By the time she dressed in the academy uniform and prepared to face the day ahead, the mask of composure was firmly in place. Whatever frustrations or fears she felt, they would remain buried. The Archery Club meeting would be the next battlefield, and on that stage, she couldn't allow even the faintest crack to show.

With one last glance at her smartwatch, she noted the meeting reminder and stepped out of her dormitory, her expression calm and determined. The day had only just begun, but Lilia Thornheart was already ready for war.

******

Lilia stepped out of her dormitory, her polished academy uniform impeccable and her emerald hair cascading in soft waves over her shoulders. The crisp morning air greeted her, but so did the gazes. It wasn't anything new. She had long since grown accustomed to the attention she drew wherever she went.

As she strode down the pathway toward the Archery Club building, her heels clicking faintly against the stone, conversations began to ripple in her wake. Whispers, glances, and even outright stares seemed to follow her, no matter how much she pretended not to notice.

"Isn't she the school goddess?" one student murmured, his voice tinged with awe. "I haven't seen her before, but she really looks beautiful."

His companion, a girl with a sharp glare, didn't miss a beat. "Where are you looking at?" she snapped, nudging him hard with her elbow. "Focus."

Lilia didn't even flinch as the exchange reached her ears. Her stride remained steady, her expression as poised as ever. These kinds of comments were as common to her as breathing. From the moment she was a child, she had known she was beautiful.

It wasn't vanity—it was just a fact. Agencies had approached her for modeling since she was young, offering her countless contracts and opportunities. Even in her earliest memories, the attention she received always seemed a little more intense than what others experienced. But it wasn't just her looks. Lilia had a natural talent for carrying herself with grace and elegance, an innate sense of presence that set her apart from others.

In a way, she knew this wasn't solely about her appearance. It was the way she walked, the way her crimson eyes held a spark of unwavering confidence, and the way her expression exuded a quiet but commanding strength. She wasn't just seen—she was remembered.

Ahead of her, a group of first-years stopped mid-conversation, their eyes widening as she passed. One of the boys elbowed his friend sharply, whispering something inaudible, and the two of them tried to look as though they weren't staring. Lilia noticed, of course, but she didn't let it show. A faint flicker of amusement danced in her eyes, but her demeanor remained composed.

'It's always the same,' she thought, a subtle smile tugging at her lips. Being surrounded by girls like Irina and Julia, who were breathtaking in their own right, might have made it easy for someone else to blend into the background. But Lilia had always stood just a little ahead of them. Even in a crowd of beautiful people, she was the one who seemed to shine the brightest.

As Lilia continued walking, her thoughts drifted from the wide-eyed stares of the first-years to something—or rather, someone—far more intriguing. Irina.

For a moment, she envisioned the striking presence of the Fiery Demoness herself, her crimson flames flaring to life in battle, her sharp eyes alight with an unyielding will. Irina Emberheart was a force to be reckoned with, both on and off the battlefield. As one of the academy's most fiery personalities, she demanded respect through sheer power and a personality that burned just as fiercely.

Yet, despite her relentless strength and untouchable demeanor, there was one person who seemed to have slipped past her walls.

'Astron…' Lilia's lips quirked into a small, bemused smile at the thought.

To think that he had managed to capture Irina's trust. Not just trust—something deeper than that. It was clear in the way Irina carried herself when Astron's name was mentioned. She didn't need to say much; her actions spoke volumes. The fiery, untamed Demoness of Olympus' Vanguard had let her guard down around him—a feat Lilia could only describe as miraculous.

'He got her in the bag,' Lilia mused, shaking her head lightly. The thought was both surprising and, in some strange way, impressive. Dealing with Irina wasn't just a challenge; it was like walking a tightrope over a pit of flames. Say the wrong thing, move too suddenly, and you'd get burned.

'To pull that off…' Her respect for Astron grew, albeit grudgingly. It wasn't that she disliked him—but it was just…

'I don't understand him…even now.'

That thought was not something that she liked.

Lilia's gaze turned toward the sky as her thoughts lingered on Astron, her expression a mix of curiosity and mild frustration. She had spoken to him on several occasions—whether it was during Archery Club meetings, casual encounters around the academy, or even the few moments they had shared in passing. And yet, despite those interactions, Astron remained a puzzle.

He was… odd, to say the least. Conversations with him were anything but predictable.

He had this frustrating habit of cutting people off mid-sentence, as if their words were wasting his time. It wasn't rude, exactly—just abrupt, as if his mind had already leapt ahead to the conclusion before you even finished your thought. Then there was his tone: always calm, detached, and carrying a weight that felt far older than his years. It wasn't uncommon for Lilia to feel like she was talking to someone twice their age rather than a fellow student.

And then there was his maddening ability to win arguments.

Every. Single. Time.

"You don't seriously believe we can adjust the schedule without impacting the freshmen's progress," she had said, crossing her arms as she addressed him in the club's meeting hall.

Astron, leaning back in his chair, had tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable as always. "If the current schedule was truly optimal, the results would reflect it. But they don't."

"And what's your solution, then?" she had shot back, raising a brow.

He had shrugged, his response maddeningly nonchalant. "Adaptability. Train them in conditions that force them to think, not just repeat."

The conversation had spiraled from there, but by the end of it, she had found herself reluctantly conceding. It wasn't that his ideas were always revolutionary—it was how he presented them, with a cool confidence that made it hard to refute.

Still, there was something about him that unsettled her.

'He's not normal.'

And well, that was somehow his quality.