NOVEL NEXT Ch. 11
Chapter 11
The morning after Amecitia’s act of insubordination, at five o’clock-still dead night-her alarm shrilled through the dormitory private room.
“Ngh...”
Groggy, she dragged herself up, raked a comb through her hair, and changed into loose training clothes. Outside the window the world was black; she wondered if she’d even slept.
“Damned professor...”
She muttered, recalling the forfeit he’d extracted yesterday.
[Switch your major to demonology.]
[...Yes, sir?!]
[First step: tomorrow 5 a.m. Meet me at the training yard.]
He’d dropped his ultimatum and walked off. Because she herself had proposed the “anything-goes” duel clause, Amecitia had no choice; she trudged to the yard.
A cold wind blew as the first hint of dawn crept up. A lone man was already running the circuit-thud, thud-each footfall sending a dull vibration through the ground.
‘Huh... he’s actually pretty built.’
He wore the same academy-issue tracksuit, only in black-the professor version. Between the sleeves she glimpsed scarred forearms and a ridged abdomen. He looked far sturdier than she’d imagined.
‘So the clothes just hide it.’
Yesterday’s bravado suddenly felt mortifying. She’d picked a frontal fight with that?
“You’re up early, Amecitia.”
Spotting her, Henrik slowed to a walk.
“You ordered me here, Professor. I lost the duel, after all...”
The 5 a.m. summons and the tracksuit told her exactly what he intended.
“Never thought I’d be sprinting the yard, though,” she added under her breath.
Henrik handed her something.
“Whatever you do, stamina comes first, basics second. A Demonic Swordsman needs raw endurance most of all.”
She took the object-then yelped. “Ack-what the-why is this so heavy?!”
It was a weight plate. The sudden heft nearly ripped her arm from its socket. Grunting, she hoisted it; Henrik sighed, plucked it away, and began strapping weights onto each limb.
“See? That’s why a straight contest of strength never worked yesterday. No stamina means no staying power, no punch.”
“......”
“So we build your base, starting now.”
Clank, clank. With every added plate her body doubled in perceived mass-like carrying a second self.
“We’ll begin with the lightest set. Think you can manage?”
He flicked her forehead, smirking. Annoying. Yet she remembered how, yesterday, even a Second-Grade mage could feel like a wall depending on experience.
She swung her arm-over-balanced, crashed to the dirt. Steadying herself, she glanced at Henrik’s own weights: triple hers. He’d been running with that.
‘If I follow him, could I really learn to drop someone with a single punch?’
As she wobbled upright, Henrik pulled her to her feet.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired already. Surely the knight-captain put you through worse?”
The gall. She stared, incredulous. His deadpan tone only scraped her pride harder-he’d found her buttons and was pressing them on purpose.
This time, though, she set her stance and started to jog.
“This is easy for me.”
The words rang confident-until she caught Henrik’s sly grin.
‘Whenever I boast, he ups the ante...’
Sure enough, pacing behind her, he called, “Love the confidence. Ten laps of the yard. Go.”
“Ah-come on...”
“I’ll keep you company.”
Yet he accelerated, overtook her, and pulled ahead.
Gritting her teeth, Amecitia sprinted after him.
* * *
“Hah... ha... please... I’m done... really... I can’t...”
She collapsed, spent, onto the sand. Thirty minutes of running-five slow laps of the vast yard-and her stamina hit zero the instant the fifth lap ended.
“Tired already?”
Henrik loped over, not a single drop of sweat on him after ten full laps.
‘That’s not Second-Grade stamina. Rank means nothing...’
She stared up at him, chest heaving.
Watching him sprint ten laps with a weight three times heavier than hers, Amecitia decided Henrik was less man than monster.
“Professor.”
A question had been itching at her.
“Is it a question, Amecitia?”
“Yes. Are all Hunters... like you?”
“Hm...”
Henrik rubbed his chin, as if scrolling through a mental list of colleagues.
“Not every one. But most. The rest are dead.”
“Dead-?!”
The word cracked like a whip. People died to things weaker than a low-rank demon?
Henrik read the shock on her face and went on.
“The demons we Hunters target are mostly mid-rank. Low-ranks are left to students and rookie knights-bad return on investment to waste senior manpower.”
“Ah... I see...”
She understood the logic without feeling it. She had never faced a mid-rank, so the danger stayed abstract-until she remembered the newspaper headline of Henrik single-handedly saving a city. That hadn’t sounded easy.
“Professor, was the mid-rank you caught last time... tough?”
Pure curiosity now; the taunt she’d planned had evaporated.
“A hair’s breadth. A second slower, an ounce less preparation, and the corpse would’ve been mine.”
Amecitia swallowed. If this monster called it close, how strong were mid-ranks?
Fear flickered, chased immediately by excitement.
One day, could I do the same?
Rumor said the reward for a mid-rank kill could rescue a debt-crushed family.
“Amecitia, stand up a moment.”
Henrik’s voice cut through her daydream. He circled her, eyes scanning like a tailor sizing a mannequin.
“Um... Professor?”
He didn’t answer, only produced a notebook and began scribbling.
“Right, my turn for questions. First-weight?”
“...Pardon?”
Of all things-weight?
“Must I answer?”
She twisted her toes in the sand, cheeks warming.
“I’m tailoring your stamina regimen. Numbers, please.”
“Forty-six... kilos.”
“Height?”
“One-sixty-eight.”
Henrik stopped, closed the gap, and raised a hand to her crown, comparing levels.
Up close, his face was level with hers-no, an inch below.
Small?
She’d thought him towering; barefoot in the yard, he wasn’t.
Must be the slum-kid diet, she mused.
Henrik noted the measurement without comment, wrote “168 cm,” and underlined it twice.
He’s really seeing me.
A surprised laugh slipped out.
Henrik glanced sideways.
“Something funny?”
“N-no! That’s not it!”
“Five laps, was it? You look plenty rested-finish the other five.”
“Professor?!”
Henrik folded his arms, sat on the bench, and stared at Amecitia.
“Run.”
“Please... Professor.”
She grabbed his trouser leg and hung on, but he shoved her off with his foot; in the end she had to sprint around the training yard.
* * *
“Faster. Too slow.”
“H-help... somebody...”
“Quicker. Another five laps sound good?”
The man’s voice and the girl’s shrieks rang across the yard; Grimory lifted her head and followed the noise.
A commoner by birth, she rose early. Farm stock never slept past five-someone had to feed the animals.
Book in hand, she strolled quietly and soon reached the oval.
‘Running again today.’
Amecitia Flammeur.
Eldest daughter of Count Flammeur, born so high above a tenant farmer’s daughter they might as well live on different planets.
Yet the man beside her was the surprise.
Henrik Dusk.
Brand-new Professor of Demonology, the lone hunter who’d taken down a mid-rank demon and made headlines.
Everyone knew he wasn’t weak; Amecitia hadn’t, and she’d challenged him outright.
Their first class had turned into a private duel.
A week of demonology had passed since.
Grimory watched from the same distant bench every morning.
Amecitia’s training had become oddly fascinating.
The first two days she’d crawled like a dying bug; now she kept pace-barely-with Henrik’s orders.
‘Should I be running too...?’
The thought flickered, but only Amecitia was forced into real PT.
Everyone else jogged a gentle two or three laps between lectures.
Grimory, frail since birth, was excused even from that; she attended theory only.
‘Not the most enthusiastic professor I’ve met.’
Still, the theory was good.
Ten years a hunter-did that show? His knowledge felt useful.
‘Maybe if I listen hard enough...’
She closed her book and headed for the classroom.
Henrik’s demonology started at seven sharp-perfect for her schedule.
‘Lucky it doesn’t clash with my separate magic-major lectures.’
Magic and demons.
She pictured the day she’d reach her goal, pushed open the door.
“......”
“Morning, Carmine.”
Carmine, already inside, answered with a small nod.
She sat, opened her text, and heard voices drift in from the corridor.
“Hey, why hasn’t Olivia shown up lately?”
“Dunno. She’s been sleeping non-stop.”
“Someone should drag her out. Professor’s about to blow.”
“Tried. She won’t wake up, no matter how hard I shake her.”
Students passed.
Grimory narrowed her eyes at them.
Behind them the corridor filled with red fog.
No one noticed.
Except her.