Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 774 Chapter 179.1 - Violence

Chapter 774  Chapter 179.1 - Violence

"Get him!" he barked, his voice echoing within the sealed gravity room. 
Without hesitation, the three lackeys surged forward, their movements deliberate and aggressive. The gravity enhanced their weight, lending every step a thunderous impact as they bore down on the silent young man. 
The first blow came from the lackey with the scar, his fist swinging in a wide arc toward the young man's face. It connected with a sickening crunch, sending blood spraying into the air. The young man staggered back, his head snapping to the side, but he didn't fall. 
A second lackey followed immediately, delivering a vicious kick to his midsection. The force of it reverberated through the room, driving the young man back against the metallic wall with a loud clang. He coughed, blood splattering onto the floor as the third lackey grabbed him by the collar and slammed him into the ground. 
"Stay down!" the lackey snarled, raising his fist for another strike. 
But the young man didn't stay down. 
Even as the blows rained down on him—fists, kicks, and strikes with the weight of enhanced gravity behind them—he refused to cry out. Blood smeared across the floor, splattering against the walls as the assault continued. His black hair clung to his face, damp with sweat and crimson streaks, but his purple eyes burned with a quiet, unwavering intensity. 
Victor hung back, watching with a mixture of satisfaction and frustration. The young man's silence was unnerving. He should've been begging by now, pleading for them to stop. Instead, he endured every blow with an eerie calm that sent a shiver of unease down Victor's spine. 
"Enough," Victor finally said, stepping forward as the lackeys paused, their breathing heavy from the exertion. The room was filled with the metallic tang of blood and the muffled hum of the barrier. 
Victor crouched down, gripping the young man's bloodied face and forcing him to look up. 
"You should've stayed out of our way," Victor said, his tone low and menacing. "This is what happens when you mess with the wrong people." 
The young man's lips twitched, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk curling at the corner of his mouth. 
Victor's brow furrowed. "You think this is funny?" 
"No…" The young man's voice was hoarse but steady, cutting through the tension like a blade. His purple eyes locked onto Victor's, unflinching. "I think you don't know what you've started." 
Victor's expression darkened, anger flaring in his chest. He stood abruptly, kicking the young man in the ribs with enough force to send him skidding across the floor. 
"Leave the message," Victor ordered, stepping back as his lackeys followed him. 
One of the lackeys knelt down, pulling a marker from his pocket. With quick, deliberate strokes, he scrawled something on the young man's torn shirt—a single word meant to taunt and provoke: 
Leave her alone. 
Victor turned to leave, the lackeys following close behind. "Let this be a warning," he said over his shoulder, his voice laced with disdain. 
As the door hissed open and the group stepped out, the gravity room fell silent once more. 
The young man lay motionless for a moment, blood pooling beneath him. 
But then as they left, someone slowly emerged from the shadows. 
"Not bad." 
And that someone was identical to the young man lying on the ground. 
"The stage is set." 
******** 
The moment Instructor Maris stepped into the training grounds, her sharp eyes took in the scene with practiced precision. Blood pooled on the metallic floor, stark against the sterile light of the gravity room. The acrid scent of iron and sweat lingered in the air. Her gaze fell immediately on the cadet, leaning against the wall, his body battered but upright. 
The boy—young, clearly a freshman from his uniform—was gulping down a health potion, the vial trembling slightly in his bloodied hand. His black hair was matted, his face swollen and streaked with crimson. Despite his injuries, his stance was defiant, his purple eyes sharp and burning cold. 
"Cadet, are you okay?" Maris's voice cut through the heavy silence, both concerned and commanding. 
The cadet coughed violently, a fresh spatter of blood escaping his lips. He turned his gaze to her, his expression impassive despite the pain clearly etched into his features. He nodded but said nothing at first, his movements slow and deliberate as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 
"I'll take care of myself," he rasped, his voice hoarse but steady, his tone curt and resolute. 
Maris's brow furrowed at the blunt rejection. Her instincts told her to press further, but something in his eyes gave her pause—an anger simmering just beneath the surface, tightly controlled yet unmistakable. 
"You're not in any condition to argue," she said firmly, stepping closer. "I'll take you to the infirmary." 
The cadet's lips pressed into a thin line as he straightened, wincing slightly. When she extended a hand to support him, he shook his head, refusing her aid. His movements were deliberate as he pushed himself off the wall, each step filled with pain but carrying a determined resolve. 
"Follow me," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. 
To her mild surprise, the cadet didn't protest further, falling into step behind her, though his posture remained rigid. Before leaving, Maris called for staff to clean the gravity room. Her sharp instructions ensured that nothing would be left out of place, and she made a mental note to investigate the incident thoroughly. 
As they walked toward the infirmary, the boy's silence gnawed at her. The air around him was heavy, not just with exhaustion but with restrained fury. Finally, she broke the silence. 
"Your name?" 
"Astron Natusalune," he replied curtly, his tone clipped and void of emotion. 
"Hm… Freshman?" she asked, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. 
"…Yes," Astron muttered, his gaze fixed ahead, his expression unreadable. 
Maris opened her mouth to press further, but the look on his face stopped her. There was no fear, no plea for sympathy. Instead, there was a quiet defiance, a smoldering resolve that intrigued and unsettled her in equal measure. 
The rest of the walk passed in silence, the cadet's labored breathing the only sound. When they reached the infirmary, she turned to him one last time before handing him over to the medics. 
"Rest and recover, Cadet Natusalune. And don't think for a moment that this will go unnoticed." 
Astron's cold, purple gaze met hers. He gave the faintest of nods before turning away, leaving Maris with an unsettling impression: this boy wasn't just enduring his pain—he was sharpening it into something far more dangerous. 
'This is not right….Here we thought everything had calmed down after the semester ended. But, that doesn't seem to be the case.'  
As Maris watched Astron disappear into the infirmary, her thoughts churned with unease. Her sharp instincts, honed through years of dealing with cadets and their conflicts, told her that what she had witnessed was more than just a routine scuffle. The academy had assured itself that the flames of confrontation between sophomores and freshmen had been extinguished, that the tensions sparked earlier in the semester had cooled to embers. 
But that didn't seem to be the case. 
Maris strode briskly away from the infirmary, her expression hardening as her mind replayed the scene in the gravity room: the blood, the quiet defiance, and, most of all, the look in Astron's eyes. That gaze had lingered with her, a cold, simmering fury that refused to burn out. It wasn't just anger; it was a festering wound, something deeper, more dangerous. 
'This isn't right,' she thought grimly. 'If this continues unchecked, it won't be long before things spiral out of control again.' 
She remembered the last time tensions between the sophomore and freshman classes had flared. Small disputes had escalated into outright chaos, and the academy had been forced to intervene harshly to restore order. It had been an ugly, drawn-out affair that left scars—not just physical, but on the reputation of the institution itself. 
The administration had promised reforms, stricter oversight, and better measures to foster cooperation among the classes. For a time, it seemed to work. The cadets settled into uneasy peace, and the semester had ended without major incidents. 
But today's events painted a starkly different picture. The sight of Astron, battered and bloodied yet standing with that unyielding glare, was proof enough that the conflict had merely gone underground, waiting for the right moment to reignite. 
'And that gaze…' Maris thought, her jaw tightening. 'That is not something healthy for someone so young.' 
There was something unsettling in how Astron carried his pain—like he was molding it, shaping it into something sharp and precise. Maris had seen similar expressions before, in older, hardened soldiers who had been through too many battles. But for a freshman? It was too soon, too raw, and far too dangerous. 
The academy needed to do better. The promises of reform weren't enough if cadets like Astron were left to bear their burdens alone. She resolved to raise the issue with the administration, to push for a more proactive approach to managing these undercurrents of tension. 
'We can't let this fester,' she thought. 'Or we'll pay for it later.'