Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

"Heh…"

Julia exhaled, low and sharp.

Her fingers twitched against the hilt of her blade.

She had seen enough.

No flair. No wasted energy. No arrogance.

Astron fought with bare efficiency.

But that wasn't the problem.

The problem was—he was still standing.

Still blocking. Still reacting. Still matching her, step for step, even now.

And she was getting tired of playing like this.

Her stance shifted.

The moment she planted her back foot, the entire air around her changed.

Gone was the relaxed posture. The teasing grin.

In its place?

The sharpened stillness of a blade just before it strikes.

Her blade tilted downward at a shallow angle—shoulders loose, but her knees bent, core braced. A centerline stance. Every muscle coiled.

Sword of Middleton. Core Form.

The audience might not recognize it. But any instructor watching would.

This was no longer sparring.

This was assertion.

Astron's brows furrowed—just slightly. Enough.

Julia took a step forward.

THMP.

Another.

Then—

She moved.

BOOM!

A blur of white hair and burning mana surged forward.

CLANG!

The first strike came from the left—heavy, wide, meant to shake his stance.

Astron deflected. Just barely.

But before his feet could fully set—she twisted, spinning into a rising cleave that came from the blindside.

CLANG!—TCHNK!—SKRRK!

Sparks exploded as metal kissed metal. Astron blocked—but his footing slid an inch. That inch was all Julia needed.

She pressed.

Pressed again.

Pressed harder.

CLANG! CLANG! SWOOSH! THUMP!

Every slash carved through the air with vicious efficiency. She wasn't dancing anymore. She wasn't measuring. She was attacking.

Like a predator that had found her opening and refused to let go.

And that—

That was the essence of the Middleton Sword.

Raw. Relentless. Uncompromising.

The sword of beasts.

"Try keeping up," she growled, her voice low and predatory.

Astron didn't answer.

He couldn't.

Every second was spent reading her rhythm, parrying at the last possible instant, dodging when his arms couldn't keep up. His twin daggers blurred in his hands—an endless flurry of silver arcs, trying to buy seconds. Inches. Air.

But Julia didn't give those.

Her blade came again.

Diagonal!—Horizontal!—Reverse sweep!—Thrust!

Every slash fed into the next. Her momentum was alive, evolving—not based on form, but instinct.

Astron ducked low, attempting a dagger jab at her side.

She sidestepped mid-swing, twisted with the strike—

CLANG!

Parried it with the flat of her blade, then kicked.

THWACK!

Her boot struck his dagger grip, and this time, it ripped the weapon from his hand, sending it skidding across the platform.

"One down," she muttered, eyes gleaming.

Astron reached for his spatial storage—

Too slow.

BOOM!

She was already there.

Her blade screamed toward his shoulder in a brutal arc meant to crush his guard completely.

CLANG!

He blocked with the remaining dagger—two hands on the hilt. Braced. Defensive.

But he slid back.

TCHNK—SKRRRRT!

His boots scraped against the platform, pushed back nearly two meters.

Julia's aura flared hotter.

He's strong. Still not cracking. Still reading.

She narrowed her eyes.

So I'll stop letting him.

Her blade pulled back—

And then—

She breathed.

「Sword of Middleton: First Stripe」

The technique unfolded instantly.

Her blade fell in a savage downward arc, fast enough to split wind and scorch the air.

CLANG!—!!

Astron blocked.

「Second Stripe」

A horizontal slash—meant to destroy retreat paths.

He pivoted—barely—dagger scraping against the strike's edge.

CLANG!—TCH—!!

Julia's eyes narrowed.

He was still standing.

「Third Stripe!」

A rising arc. Brutal. Decisive.

This one broke guards. Shattered stances.

Astron jumped.

But her sword caught his heel mid-air—

SLASH!

A shallow cut.

But enough.

Astron landed, rolling.

Julia didn't chase.

Not yet.

She watched as he straightened, one knee dipping slightly. Sweat at his temple. Breath harder now.

Still calm.

Still not speaking.

Her blade lowered—just a little.

Julia tilted her head, lips curling into a grin.

"Damn," she murmured, voice low but clear. "You're good."

Her shoulders rose, then dropped in a loose exhale.

"I was lucky to match with you."

It wasn't sarcasm. Not a taunt.

It was respect.

Not many in the academy could've lasted this long. Not while facing her seriously. Not while being pushed this far, even if she wasn't going all out physically.

But Astron?

He was still there. Still reading. Still learning.

That made her want more.

Her fingers tightened slightly on the hilt of her blade.

Then let's raise the bar.

Julia inhaled, eyes flicking toward the distant benches—just briefly.

Lucas.

She remembered watching his fight. The clean lines. The illusions woven through his blade, not cast as spells but layered into motion. Into rhythm.

It had stirred something in her. Not jealousy.

But curiosity.

Enlightenment.

If Lucas could do that, then why not her?

She was a Middleton. But she wasn't just a Middleton.

Her style was meant for beasts—overwhelming strength, tempo control, oppressive pressure. But what if she could add something more?

Something slippery.

Something no monster could replicate.

Julia's aura shifted—barely visible to most. But it was there.

The subtle shimmer of layered mana, wrapping not around the sword—but behind it.

Not a projection. Not a copy.

But a phantom echo.

Her blade lifted again.

Astron's gaze narrowed. Just a fraction.

Julia smiled.

"Let's see if you can keep up now."

Then she moved.

BOOM!

Her blade struck—a clean arc aimed at his right shoulder.

Astron stepped to intercept—dagger already rising.

But the blade vanished.

No impact. No pressure.

A split-second after—another blade struck from the left, low and rising.

CLANG!

He blocked. Barely.

And then another.

A flicker from above—then a slash from below.

Illusions.

Not separate entities—but perfectly layered within her swings.

Her blade cut in and out of visibility, flickering like a phantom—her rhythm disrupted, broken, reformed with every breath.

Astron's defense shifted—faster now, tighter. He ducked, slid, parried.

But she was in his face.

CLANG!—TCHNK!—SWOOSH!

"「Illusory Stripe – Variant One.」" she muttered between blows.

Her own creation.

The base of Middleton's sword, but blended with spatial suggestion. The illusion was never cast. It was felt.

An extra step. An extra cut. A shadow where none should be.

And Astron?

He was getting pushed back.

His feet slid across the platform, momentum tipping against him.

Julia pressed harder—her grin widening.

Not because she had him.

But because she was creating something new.

A blade arced toward his ribs.

Astron ducked.

Another flickered at his shoulder.

He spun.

Another came down diagonally.

He blocked—but the impact never came.

It was a ghost swing.

The real strike came from below.

CLANG!

He caught it.

Just barely.

But his fingers twitched.

Julia's eyes gleamed.

"You're slipping—"

Then she froze.

His eyes.

They flared.

Just for a split second—his irises shimmered with a faint purple hue. Subtle. Controlled.

And then—

He moved.

Not panicked. Not rushed.

He stepped into her.

His dagger rose—not to strike, but to catch.

To catch the illusion.

He ignored the fake blade slashing toward his neck and focused on the real one she was hiding behind the rhythm.

Julia's chest clenched.

CLANK!

The parry was perfect.

Not just reactive—but predictive.

And the moment her blade rebounded, her posture tilted ever so slightly off balance—

He retaliated.

SWIPE!—CLINK!

A quick jab—not aimed to wound, but to disrupt her stance. Her foot shifted.

Then another flick—close, sharp, just behind her elbow.

Her blade wavered. Slightly.

Her illusion cycle broke.

Astron slipped in.

"Got you," he said calmly.

His voice was quiet.

But the edge in it?

Razor-sharp.

Julia growled, her footing resetting just in time to backflip out of range—her blade raised defensively now, a gleam of sweat at her temple.

And a grin on her lips.

"You really are annoying, you know that?"

Astron didn't respond.

He adjusted his grip, readying both daggers again.

But there was no smirk. No pride.

Just focus.

Just anticipation.

Julia's stance lowered again—Middleton Sword, Core Form—but her blade shimmered subtly.

The illusion was still there.

Only now?

So was the danger.

He's not going to fall for it again…

It was her deduction.