Hunter Academy: Revenge of the Weakest-Chapter 663 146.1 - The Matriarch

Irina led Astron into the grand dining room, her steps confident, though the faint tension in her shoulders betrayed her awareness of the stakes. The room was elegantly lit, the flicker of Emberheart flames casting a warm, controlled glow across the polished mahogany table, which was set meticulously for three. At the head of the table sat the largest chair, the seat of the Matriarch, a subtle reminder of her authority over this gathering. Across from it, two smaller yet equally refined chairs faced each other, reserved for Irina and Astron. They approached their places, and Irina gestured for Astron to sit. He took his seat without hesitation, his movements steady, his expression composed. Irina sat opposite him, smoothing out her dress as she did so, feeling a flicker of pride as she noted his calm demeanor. A quiet tension hung in the air as they waited for the Matriarch to arrive. Irina's gaze drifted to Astron, a silent reassurance in her eyes, though her own nerves simmered just below the surface. The dinner hadn't even begun, yet she was keenly aware of every tiny gesture, every breath she took. The room was silent but for the faint crackling of the flames in the sconces along the walls, a gentle reminder of the Emberheart legacy. Irina kept her posture poised, her gaze steady, prepared for her mother's scrutiny. After a few moments, a faint rustle of movement from the corridor signaled the arrival of the Matriarch. ******* As the evening settled over the Emberheart estate, the Matriarch stood by the window in her chambers, her thoughts gathered like shadows cast by the waning light. She had dressed with particular care tonight, draping herself in a gown of deep crimson that seemed to flicker like embers with each movement—a silent reminder of the power and presence she commanded. Her gaze drifted over the estate grounds, her mind calculating, assessing the various ways she might probe and test this guest of Irina's. A soft knock at the door broke her contemplation. It was one of the maids, bowing as she entered. "Madam, the dinner is ready. The young lady and her guest have taken their seats." The Matriarch's lips curved into a knowing smile. She could already sense their presence in the dining hall below—the confident, steady pulse of Irina's aura, tempered but persistent, and the unfamiliar yet resilient energy of the boy beside her. There was a tension there, a contained power that hinted at more than his humble background might suggest. "Very well," she replied, her voice smooth, masking the intrigue simmering beneath. She made her way toward the dining room, her steps light but deliberate, each one reflecting her measured intent. In her mind, she sifted through the many ways she could test him—his manners, his reactions, his ability to withstand pressure. A subtle smile played on her lips; it was time to see if this boy truly had the strength Irina so adamantly believed in. As she entered the dining room, her gaze fell upon Irina and the boy seated at the long, elegantly set table. Irina rose first, a spark of defiance mingling with respect in her eyes, while the boy followed suit, his posture calm. 'Hmm…..?' The Matriarch's gaze shifted to him, taking in his composed demeanor, his steady eyes that met hers with neither arrogance nor fear. Interesting, she thought, noting his restraint. 'This face...A charm enhancement perhaps? This boy seems to have had a unique encounter recently.' The Matriarch's eyes narrowed slightly as she assessed his appearance, noting the subtle changes in his features—a sharpness in his gaze, a refinement to his profile that hadn't been present in the previous reports she'd gathered. Being the head of the Emberheart family, she had encountered her share of powerful mages and high-standing nobles, each bearing their own unique charms and enhancements. Beauty, she knew, was often as much a crafted illusion as a natural gift. 'Curious,' she mused silently, a small flicker of intrigue sparking beneath her cool demeanor. The boy she had investigated before had possessed none of these refined qualities. This was no mere accident of youth; it was the result of a recent, fortuitous encounter. 'So, he has already begun to reshape himself,' she noted, her mind efficiently filing away this information, checking off a small box in her mental ledger. It wasn't that his enhanced appearance impressed her; rather, it saved the effort. Handsomeness was useful in its own way—a tool to influence, to charm. And in certain circles, it could save significant effort. As the Matriarch settled into her seat, a chill seemed to descend upon the room, cooling the warmth that had briefly lingered in the air. She folded her hands gracefully before her, casting a glance at Irina and Astron across the table. Irina sat with a composed posture, her gaze steady but respectful, while Astron held himself with a calm alertness, waiting patiently. Neither spoke, both well aware that the rhythm of this evening rested entirely in the Matriarch's hands. Her gaze lingered on Astron a moment longer, sizing him up in the quiet. Beneath her serene exterior, she held her reservations. 'This boy,' she thought. 'A guest of dubious standing, unproven in strength and talent… hardly the partner one would choose for an Emberheart.' To her, Astron's presence here felt like an indulgence of Irina's youthful sentiments, a product of her daughter's defiant streak, swayed by what she likely mistook for love or loyalty. In the Matriarch's experience, emotions were fickle, often clouding the better judgment required to lead a legacy as grand as Emberheart. After a long silence, she reached for her glass, swirling the liquid within it thoughtfully before taking a sip. She placed the glass back on the table with a soft clink, her gaze never leaving Astron. The Matriarch's gaze remained fixed on Irina, a faint, expectant smile playing at the edges of her lips. Her tone was smooth but held a quiet force as she spoke. "So… you are not going to introduce him to me, Irina?" Irina's gaze narrowed slightly, the faintest flicker of irritation crossing her expression. She knew well that her mother was already more than familiar with Astron's identity. 'Don't you know already, Mother?' her eyes seemed to say, a silent challenge simmering beneath her composed exterior. But the Matriarch's eyes returned the look with an unspoken reply of their own: 'I know, but you are required to do as I please.' Irina's jaw tightened, her composure straining under her mother's subtle demand. She knew there was no point in resisting, and yet, the calculated restraint in her mother's gaze infuriated her. She opened her mouth, prepared to comply despite her reluctance— But before she could utter a word, Astron spoke, his voice calm and unshaken by the tension in the room. "I am Astron Natusalune," he said respectfully. "It is an honor to be here tonight, Madam Emberheart." The Matriarch's gaze flicked to him, a brief flash of surprise passing through her eyes before settling back into an unreadable expression. He had spoken with a quiet assurance, a steadiness that neither flinched nor faltered. This was no timid boy stumbling through his introduction; this was a young man who understood the weight of the room's scrutiny and remained composed beneath it. But at the same time, what he did was an act of defiance, that much being clear. The Matriarch's gaze turned cold, her lips pressing into a thin line as her eyes bore into Astron. He had spoken without her invitation—a silent but unmistakable act of defiance. Irina's own gaze snapped to Astron as well, a glimmer of worry flaring in her widened eyes. They had reviewed etiquette meticulously; she had expected him to avoid even the smallest misstep. But here he was, breaking protocol in the very first moments. The Matriarch's narrowed gaze sharpened, and a faint, icy smile touched her lips. "I don't recall asking you to speak, Young Natusalune," she said, her voice like a blade wrapped in silk. "It seems you carry a certain… arrogance for one so young." As she spoke, the room seemed to grow heavier, the air thickening as her aura unfurled. The weight of her Archmage's presence pressed down on Astron, invisible yet undeniable, a force that seemed to seep into the very walls. She restrained herself, careful not to injure him, but the pressure was unmistakable, designed to test his resilience—and his nerve. Astron's face did not even change a little as the aura bore down on him, but he held his ground, his calm expression unwavering even as the force tested his endurance. He met the Matriarch's gaze directly, a quiet resolve glinting in his eyes. The aura was suffocating, demanding submission, yet he did not falter. "It might have seemed so, Madam," he replied, his voice steady despite the weight pressing upon him. "My intent was not to appear arrogant, only respectful. I am not a child who needs someone else's mouth to be introduced." The Matriarch's eyes narrowed further, studying him as he withstood the pressure, her curiosity piqued even as her expression remained unreadable. 'He doesn't back down easily,' she noted, the faintest hint of intrigue mingling with her irritation. 'But defiance alone does not make one worthy.' Irina watched with barely concealed tension, her hands tightening slightly in her lap. She knew the risk Astron was taking by standing firm, but there was also a flicker of pride in her gaze. He was enduring it without faltering, even under her mother's oppressive aura. After a prolonged silence, the Matriarch finally eased her aura, retracting the weight of her presence with a dismissive glance. "Respect," she murmured, her tone icy, "is shown through restraint and deference, not audacity." "Restraint and deference go both ways….At the end of the day, in the table of clashes, it is the strong who gets the respect." The Matriarch's eyebrows arched slightly, a flicker of genuine surprise flashing in her eyes as she took in Astron's response. 'This boy… truly was different,' she thought, a mixture of intrigue and irritation simmering beneath her poised exterior. He met her challenge head-on, with words that carried both defiance and a sharp insight—a confidence uncharacteristic of someone of his standing. But she knew well that pressing further would be unseemly. To engage him in a prolonged battle of words and auras would reduce the evening to a display unworthy of the Emberheart's dignity. With a slight wave of her hand, she signaled the maids to begin serving, allowing the charged atmosphere to settle as the meal commenced.