Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest novel Chapter 1061

The soft hush of Saturday morning clung to the academy like dew—silent, still, and just shy of golden.

The sky had not yet fully brightened, but its edges were already peeling away from night. Faint strokes of orange and lavender smeared across the eastern clouds, promising a calm day ahead. Most of the dorm buildings remained asleep, their windows dim, their doors undisturbed. The world, for a brief moment, belonged only to those who rose before it.

Ethan stepped out into the cool air, pulling the zipper of his light training jacket a little higher as the breeze brushed past him. His breaths misted faintly in the early chill. But unlike the usual tautness he carried—burdens from class, mentorships, drills, exams—there was something looser in his stride today.

Not lazy. Never that.

Just… released.

The mid-terms were over. The scouts had come and gone. No one knew yet what the full fallout of that week would be, but the pressure—the constant gnawing expectation to perform—had finally loosened its grip.

For the first time in weeks, Ethan didn't wake with a checklist screaming in his skull.

No mock battle prep.

No midnight reviews.

No urgent team drills or strategic huddles.

Just breath.

Just morning.

He rolled his shoulders once, lightly stretching his arms behind his back. The soreness from the final practical still lingered, a dull ache in his thighs and forearms—but it was a satisfying pain. Earned, not inflicted.

Then, without another thought, he set off at a light jog, his feet hitting the stone path with a rhythm as natural as heartbeat.

He traced the familiar route along the outer perimeter of the training fields, skimming the edge of the courtyard trees where the academy grounds opened into terraced gardens. His eyes briefly caught the rising sun between the stone columns of the eastern watchtower, casting long shadows down the slope.

This was what he liked most about the mornings.

No one to impress.

No battles to win.

Just the feeling of motion. Of peace in repetition.

Ethan exhaled lightly, steam curling from his lips as his pace settled into that steady, familiar rhythm. His feet whispered over the stone path, and the ache in his muscles melted into momentum. The wind pressed gently against his face, crisp and full of that fleeting morning clarity—the kind that always made him feel like the world hadn't yet had time to get complicated.

He murmured to himself, half under his breath.

"…Yeah. This is the life."

Not the drills. Not the rank reports. Not even the dungeon glory.

Just this. Motion. Breath. Freedom.

Because for all his fire, all his ambition, there was something grounding about these moments. Something simple. Honest. A reminder that training wasn't always about pressure. That strength wasn't just a goal—it could be a rhythm. A lifestyle.

And just as he rounded the bend near the edge of the southern sparring field, a voice caught the air ahead of him.

"Yo."

Julia stood casually at the edge of the path, one hand raised lazily in greeting. Her ponytail swayed slightly in the breeze, and she wore her sleeveless training jacket half-unzipped, as usual, like formal protocol had long since given up on her.

Ethan cracked a small smile and lifted his hand in return. "Yo."

Julia bounced once on her heels, then fell into step beside him, her pace syncing effortlessly with his. "Early as usual."

"You know me."

"Yep. I do."

Then—thud.

She slapped him on the back, not hard enough to stagger him, but hard enough to jolt his core.

"Mountain boy," she grinned.

Ethan coughed. "Seriously, can we talk about the fact that you don't know your own strength?"

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