Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest

Chapter 622 - 136.12 - The Hunt [Interlude]

Chapter 622 - 136.12 - The Hunt [Interlude]

The moment Zharokath's trembling hand drove the dagger into his chest, a sickening spurting sound filled the air as blood erupted from the wound, dark and viscous, staining the floor beneath him. His body jerked violently for a split second, and then, as if all the life had been drained from him in an instant, he collapsed.

The blade had pierced his heart. His eyes, once filled with terror, now stared lifelessly ahead, dull and empty, like glass marbles that had lost their luster. His body lay motionless, a grotesque reminder of his final, pitiful act of surrender.

I stood over him, watching as his blood spread across the stone floor in slow, creeping tendrils. The sound of his labored, fading breath echoed faintly in the room.

"Hrrrr...Hrrr..."

His breath, filled with a hurling sound echoed.

Zharokath's body twitched as he lay in a growing pool of his own blood, his breath coming out in ragged, wheezing gasps. His eyes—glassy and empty—stared up at me, his life slowly ebbing away. But even in this final moment, he clung to a sliver of existence, his broken body refusing to give in completely.

"Hrrrr... Hrrr..." the hurling sound echoed in the chamber, his chest heaving weakly with each shallow breath.

I watched him, my mind eerily calm, detached even, as I observed the once-proud demon's final moments. There was no victory here, no triumph in watching him suffer—just a slow, inevitable end. The same end that awaited all creatures who overreached, who believed they were above fate.

But it doesn't end here, I thought to myself, my gaze drifting to the faint glow pulsing beneath Zharokath's chest. His Demonic Core. The true source of his power. The heart of his existence.

For a moment, I stood still, letting the weight of this moment sink in. Then, without a word, I began to channel mana into my hands, the energy swirling around my fingers, amplifying with each passing second. The shadows around me pulsed in response, a reflection of the power I had claimed.

I stepped closer, standing over Zharokath's barely living form. With my enhanced vision, I could see it clearly now—the glowing core hidden within his chest, pulsing weakly with the remnants of his demonic energy. It was fragile, flickering like a dying flame, but it still held the last of his essence.

I knelt beside him, my fingers crackling with energy. I didn't bother with words or explanations; there was no need. Zharokath was beyond hearing, beyond understanding. He was nothing now, just a shell of what he had once been.

With precision, I thrust my hand into his chest, feeling the resistance of his body for only a moment before my fingers wrapped around the Demonic Core. It was cold, pulsating weakly against my hand, its once immense power reduced to a faint flicker.

Zharokath's body jerked at the intrusion, his breath hitching, but there was no fight left in him. His eyes fluttered, unfocused, barely aware of what was happening.

I tightened my grip around the core, feeling the raw, corrupted energy coursing through it. It was weak now, but I could still feel the immense potential it once held—the power that had driven him, the strength he had relied on.

With a cold finality, I crushed the core in my hand.

CRACK.

The core shattered, and for a split second, Zharokath's body convulsed violently, his eyes widening in shock. Then, with one last gasp, his form went limp, the remnants of his demonic energy exploding outward in a burst of dark light before dissipating into nothingness.

Holding it in my hand, I could feel the immense power tied to it. This was no ordinary artifact. It was a key—a key that would lead me to the heart of the Void Clan's legacy, the place where the Primordial of Void, the Void Dragon, awaited.

The weight of the task ahead settled on me, but I remained composed. There was no room for hesitation. This was the next step, the next challenge in a journey that had already taken me further than I could have imagined.

With the necklace secured, I stood up, glancing once more at Zharokath's lifeless body. His defeat was only a prelude. The real battle was yet to come.

CREAK!

Just at that moment, I sensed a small movement from the side.

That faint sound of movement caught my attention, pulling me from the dark thoughts swirling around the Void Dragon and the legacy of the Void Clan. I turned my head sharply toward the source, my [Eyes] already focusing, instincts honed from years of battles kicking in.

There, emerging from the shadows at the far end of the chamber, was the same young child I had seen when I first entered this place. The one Zharokath had been about to devour. His small frame trembled, his eyes wide and filled with a mix of fear and confusion.

I had almost forgotten about him in the chaos of the battle.

At that time, Zharokath had been distracted, giving me the opening I needed to strike. The boy had served as an unintentional shield.

'But...'

But, even then, there was nothing in that kid's eyes.

Pure emptiness, devoid of anything.

'It is familiar.'

The gaze of someone who had lost everything and had no reason to live.

The gaze of someone who was tormented for just living by.

The boy's eyes—those hollow, empty eyes—stared at me, trembling but unresponsive. There was no spark of life in them, no flicker of hope.

Just a void.

A gaze I knew all too well.

He was just like me.