Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 629 138.1 - A realization

After the call ended, the faint glow from the holographic interface on my smartwatch faded, leaving the room in relative silence, save for the soft hum of the mana-infused lamps. I leaned back slightly, letting out a quiet exhale, my thoughts briefly lingering on Reina's reaction.

Silas Vayne, dead—and a demon, no less. That would cause ripples, and I had no doubt that Reina would be working behind the scenes to ensure things went as smoothly as possible.

After all that was the reason why I had mentioned this directly to Reina herself. I could have kept it hidden as well if I had wanted but with the information-gathering capacity that the organization had, it wouldn't be too long until they would find he was dead even if the demons tried to cover it.

After finding it out, it wouldn't be hard to suspect me as I had recently just requested the information regarding Silas Vayne from them. And the fact that I did not mention that could mean I did not trust them and sufficiently that would make them not trust me either. n/o/vel/b//in dot c//om

So eventually, talking about this would be more beneficial in the long run, and at the same time, the boy would also be taken care of soon enough.

Until then, there were still things to be done.

I glanced at the boy, who sat obediently on the bed, his blank stare still fixed on the floor. He hadn't moved since the call and hadn't uttered a word. His small frame seemed even more fragile in the dim light of the hotel room, the bruises and cuts standing out in stark contrast against his pale skin.

With practiced efficiency, I retrieved the first aid kit from my spatial storage. It wasn't anything extravagant—just basic supplies, but more than enough for the task at hand. I knelt in front of the boy, pulling out gauze, antiseptic, and some bandages.

My hands moved with precision, already well-versed in the art of treating wounds manually. Potions were faster, sure, but sometimes it was better to do things the old-fashioned way.

Besides, I doubted the boy would handle the sudden shock of a mana-infused potion in his system right now.

"Hold still," I said quietly, not bothering to wait for a response. I doubted I'd get one anyway.

I gently lifted his arm, inspecting the bruises along his forearm. The injuries were minor compared to what I'd seen before, but they still needed attention. I worked quickly, cleaning the cuts and applying antiseptic. The boy winced slightly but didn't make a sound. His eyes remained unfocused, staring past me, lost in whatever dark place his mind had retreated to.

I moved on to his other arm, then his legs, working methodically. The bruises on his ribs were deeper, and I could tell he'd been struck there more than once. It made me pause for a second, but I pushed the thought aside and continued. The soft rustling of bandages and the quiet clinking of tools were the only sounds that filled the room.

Once I finished wrapping the last bandage, I stood up and put the kit away, my movements efficient and purposeful. The boy hadn't moved an inch. He remained silent, still staring at nothing.

"You're done," I said, pulling off my gloves and tossing them aside. "Get some rest. Someone will come for you soon."

The boy blinked slowly, his gaze briefly flickering toward me before it drifted back down to the floor. He didn't respond, but I hadn't expected him to.

'The organization will take care of him anyway. And there is a high chance that they will also get some information from him as well.'

There were countless professions in this world, each with its own unique set of skills, spells, and abilities. I'd come across many of them in my time, from elemental mages to artifact forgers, but one particular field had always piqued my interest: mind magic—or more precisely, psychic magic.

It was a rare art, one that allowed its practitioners to delve deep into the recesses of the mind. And at its highest levels, it gave the ability to peer into another person's memories, extracting information as easily as pulling a book from a shelf.

[Memory Mining], they called it.

I had no doubt that the organization had at least one expert who could perform this feat. They wouldn't waste an opportunity to gather useful information from the boy, especially given the circumstances.

He had been raised by demons, or at least demon contractors, that much was clear. His blank stare, his mechanical obedience—it all pointed to conditioning, to the kind of treatment that would leave his mind ripe for such exploration.

They'd probe his mind, look for anything useful—like the location of the facility where he had been raised, or any information about those who had kept him. Demons didn't just abduct children for no reason. There was always a plan and a structure to their methods. And demon contractors were even more methodical, their operations shrouded in secrecy but driven by the insidious hunger for power and control.

I knew this well. I had studied them extensively.

They took people, usually children, and molded them into tools. It was rare for someone like the boy to survive without any trace of mana in their body, but that only made him more interesting—more valuable to those looking for leverage against the demons.

The organization wouldn't miss that.

As I stood by the window, gazing out at the darkened city, I thought back to my own research into psychic magic.

It was a field I had only touched the surface of, but I understood its potential. In the hands of someone skilled enough, memories weren't just fragments of the past—they were weapons, they were secrets. And in this world, secrets held power.

'But well, even if they don't find anything, I doubt that they will not find any use for him. He can become a clerk or some sort of normal personnel either.' I glanced at the boy one last time. His small figure was hunched slightly, his gaze still fixed on nothing.

'From here, it's the organization's responsibility,' I thought. Whether they found something useful in his memories or not, he would end up with a purpose—maybe just a clerk or some other low-level personnel, but he'd be taken care of in one way or another. That was their way of doing things.

"Are you hungry?" I asked, my voice cutting through the silence.

The boy didn't respond, and I wasn't surprised. He was still too far gone, too disconnected. But then, as if his body had decided to answer for him, a loud gurgling sound echoed through the room, the unmistakable growl of an empty stomach.

I raised an eyebrow, taking note of the faint flicker of surprise in his eyes as the sound filled the air. His hand instinctively moved to his stomach, and for the first time since we'd entered the room, I saw a small glimmer of awareness.

Without another word, I stepped away and reached for the phone on the nightstand. The room service menu was standard enough, and I quickly placed an order for a meal—something simple but nutritious. The boy needed food, and it was clear he hadn't eaten properly in a while.

After confirming the order, I hung up and pulled out my communicator. There was one more call I needed to make before the night was over. Reina had already been informed, but now it was time to check in with someone else.

Senior Maya.

Now that everything was over, I needed to inform her that I was safe either since I could visualize how restless she would be for the time being.

*******

Maya sat on her bed, her knees pulled up slightly, her back leaning against the soft headboard as she stared out the large window. The cool moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting gentle silver rays across the room, giving it an almost ethereal glow. The scene outside was serene—calm and quiet, the city of Ardmont resting beneath the night sky.

But inside, Maya was anything but calm.

Her hands, resting lightly in her lap, trembled ever so slightly, and her heart beat a little too quickly for her liking. The events of the evening replayed over and over in her mind—the way the hunger had nearly consumed her, the sudden surge of demonic energy, and then the last moment when Astron had walked away into the night.

She leaned her head back, exhaling softly, willing herself to focus on the rhythm of her breath, trying to regain some sense of control. She needed to calm down, to stop thinking about him, about what he might be facing right now. But the thought of Astron—alone, potentially in danger—gnawed at her, twisting her insides with a quiet, persistent anxiety.

'He'll be fine,' she told herself. 'He always is.'

But that wasn't enough to soothe the worry that gripped her.

Her gaze drifted back to the window. She couldn't shake the feeling that she should be doing something. Anything. The restless energy inside her wouldn't settle, not when she knew that Astron was out there, possibly walking into the jaws of danger while she was here, safe in her mansion.

Her hand twitched toward the bedside table where her phone rested, the urge to call him growing stronger. She wanted to hear his voice, to know that he was okay. But she hesitated, biting down on her lip.

'No,' she thought, her eyes narrowing slightly. 'He wouldn't appreciate that. He'd see it as a distraction.'

Astron had been clear. He needed to do this alone, and Maya didn't want to seem like she was second-guessing him or hovering too closely. She knew how much he valued his independence, how much he hated anyone interfering with his plans. Calling him now would only make it seem like she didn't trust him to handle things on his own.

Still, the silence of the room pressed down on her, and her fingers twitched again, her heart warring with her mind. The truth was, she did trust him—completely—but that didn't stop her from worrying.

'I hate this,' she thought bitterly, a sigh escaping her lips. 'I hate feeling helpless.'

Maya shifted, her gaze still fixed outside. The moon hung high in the sky, full and brilliant, casting its pale light over the land. She found some small comfort in the quiet, in the steady rhythm of the world moving on despite her inner turmoil.

Her mind wandered back to Astron's final words before he had left—how distant he had been, how cool his tone had sounded. She knew he was shutting himself off, preparing for whatever he had to do, but that didn't make it any easier to accept. She didn't like being left out, especially when she felt like she could help.

Another thought tugged at her—a darker one. Zharokath. The demon's influence had nearly overwhelmed her tonight. She had felt the demonic energy pulse through her, amplifying the hunger she had long struggled to control. The thought of what could have happened if Astron hadn't been there to ground her, to pull her back... it chilled her.

What if the next time she couldn't stop herself? What if Zharokath—or any demon—found a way to exploit that part of her again?

'This is another reason.' Overly being dependent.

That was not something healthy and she knew it as well.

'I need to get better.'

Today opened her eyes much more, more clearly.

'I am still too weak.'