Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 947 - 217.1 - Trails of the past

<Arcadia Hunter Academy - Southern Training Courtyard>

The sun hung high over the sprawling courtyard, casting long shadows beneath the watchful gaze of the academy's towering spires. The training grounds buzzed with the voices of cadets, the clash of wooden weapons, and the crackle of controlled magic. Among the chaos stood a woman in a sleek black coat, her posture relaxed but authoritative, eyes sharp as they swept over the gathered cadets.

Selene Kaclith was a name many cadets had begun to whisper in both awe and uncertainty. She had only arrived a few days prior, but her reputation was already solidifying. Calm, poised, and exacting, she carried herself with the confidence of someone who had seen far too much of the world-and walked away from it stronger. "Form ranks," she said calmly, but her voice cut cleanly through the noise. The cadets obeyed without question.

Most of the students standing before her were second-year sophomores-those with some experience, whose egos had been tempered by failure and whose instincts had begun to sharpen. But sprinkled among them were eager freshmen, their eyes wide with curiosity, uncertainty, and in some cases, blind admiration.

Selene walked along the line of cadets, hands folded behind her back. Her cold violet eyes-an unusual trait attributed to some distant bloodline-moved from face to face with analytical precision. Some students stood taller beneath her gaze. Others shrank slightly, as if her mere presence invoked pressure.

"Good," Selene Kaelith said, her voice even and cold. "Now that you've finally learned how to stand in straight lines, let's move on to something with actual value."

She raised her hand, and with a flick of her fingers, the world around her shimmered. A moment later, a phantom version of herself stepped away from her side-identical in every detail. The cadets instinctively straightened, eyes widening as the illusion moved with perfect fluidity, mirroring Selene's breath and subtle motions.

"I am not here to teach you brute force," she said. "You will find plenty of other mentors willing to scream at you about posture and fireball angles. I specialize in something different."

The illusion circled the group, weaving between cadets before dispersing into a cloud of petals.

"I teach misdirection. Manipulation. Control. The art of illusion is not about tricking the eye-" she tapped her temple with a single black-gloved finger, "-it's about controlling perception. Your enemy cannot counter what they cannot see, or worse... what they misunderstand."

Murmurs swept through the group. Some cadets looked excited. Others skeptical.

"Today, we begin with projection. You will form teams of two. One of you will be the caster. The other will be the target. The goal is simple-create an illusion convincing enough that your partner acts on it, instinctively. No verbal communication. No obvious cues. Just magic."

She paused to let the instruction settle, then narrowed her eyes as she surveyed the forming pairs. Most cadets hesitated, choosing friends or familiar faces. She expected that. Predictability always reigned at the start.

But two caught her attention immediately.

The first was a freshman-Lucas Middleton. He stood apart at first, tall, composed, his white hair almost silver beneath the sunlight. His blade, she noted, shimmered oddly at his side a crystalline weapon not typical of his bloodline.

'Middleton family. Known for their force mana augmentation and sword techniques, she mused, eyes narrowing slightly. 'Yet he wields an illusion blade? Curious...'

She watched as Lucas formed a pairing with another cadet, his movements efficient, precise. Too smooth for someone supposedly outside the illusion arts.

The second figure was Damien Arkwright. Dark-haired, sharp-eyed. Everything about him was refined and deliberate. She remembered the name-Arkwrights were known for their work in perceptual distortion and layered illusion systems. But Damien was young, too young to be considered a major threat.

Still... the way he moved, the way his eyes didn't linger too long on anything yet. missed nothing that caught her attention.

'So... a born illusionist... and a false one."

She stepped toward the center, voice slicing through the air again. "Lucas Middleton. Damien Arkwright. You two-pair up."

Some cadets turned to glance at them, surprised at the callout. Selene's tone left no room for refusal.

Lucas and Damien exchanged brief glances before nodding, stepping into position across from each other.

"Middleton, you'll cast first," Selene said, folding her arms. "Impress me."

Lucas drew a breath, calm and centered. His hand hovered near his illusion blade. For

a moment, Selene thought she saw a flicker of raw mana ripple unnaturally along its edge-but it vanished quickly.

Then, without so much as a chant, a mirror image of Damien formed behind him, smirking, poised to strike.

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Damien turned in an instant, hands shifting into a defensive posture.

Selene's eyes gleamed, but she said nothing. Good reaction.

"Reset. Arkwright's turn."

Damien didn't even flinch. He raised a hand slowly, eyes fixed on Lucas-and then nothing happened.

At least, that's what it looked like.

But Selene's trained senses caught the subtle shift in light, the faint hum around

Lucas's right foot.

Lucas lunged forward-but his strike veered off, as if pulled slightly off center by a miscalculation.

A beat later, the illusion shimmered-the ground beneath Lucas's foot had been marginally lifted, imperceptibly so, distorting his center of balance.

Selene raised her brows slightly. 'Not just visual misdirection. Spatial anchoring through light distortion. This boy is well-trained.

She stepped closer to them, her expression unreadable.

"You're both... interesting," she said. "Middleton, you wield your illusions like a sword. Sharp, but not yet refined. And Arkwright..." she paused, her eyes locking with his,

"you don't rely on spectacle, good."

Lucas took the compliment with a small smile-polite, calm, but somehow... too calm. Selene's eyes lingered on that smile for a second longer than she intended.

And then-

thump.

Her heart didn't skip a beat, but something else inside her did. Deep within her, nestled beneath layers of skin and bone, beneath muscle and illusion-the Demonic

Core pulsed.

Just once. But strong enough that she noticed.

Her breath caught.

'This?'

She schooled her expression immediately, but inside, she was already unraveling the sensation. It wasn't a warning. Not quite. But her Core had reacted-a subconscious, instinctual tremor, the kind that only surfaced when near remnants of demonkind or ancient energies... or those who had been touched by them.

She turned her gaze back to Lucas Middleton. Still standing there, that calm smile resting on his lips, his posture unthreatening. Unassuming.

But her instincts were flaring now.

"Why?"

It couldn't have been a coincidence. He was the one with the illusion blade. The one

from the duels whose style had struck her as odd. A Middleton wielding illusion magic made no sense. Their family legacy was rooted in elemental dominance-earth and lightning, traditionally. Brute force over finesse. They didn't produce illusionists. And yet here he was. Using illusions with instinctive grace. And that smile...

It wasn't taunting. It wasn't cocky.

It was knowing.

'What are you hiding, Lucas?"

Selene's arms folded loosely behind her back, her voice as smooth and controlled as

ever. "That's enough. Swap partners."

The cadets moved to follow her order, and Lucas gave a shallow nod before turning away. But Selene didn't move. Her eyes lingered on his back as he stepped into his new

pairing. She could still feel it-faint, but undeniably present.

The Core inside her was still humming. Quiet. Subtle. But alive. Awake.

'Don't tell me...'

Her thoughts curled back to the moment in the arena. That single flash of Belthazor's

energy. That fleeting trace of corrupted mana that had vanished before she could

pinpoint it.

She had assumed it had belonged to an experienced hunter. A hidden force working behind the scenes. Not a freshman cadet. Not this boy.

'No... it couldn't be him. Could it?'

But she couldn't dismiss it, either. Her Core didn't lie. And now t was pointing her in a

new direction. A strange one.

Were you really there when Belthazor fell, Lucas Middleton... then who the hell are

you, really?'

The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.

And far beneath the still surface of her calm expression... Zafira smiled.