NOVEL NEXT Ch. 17
Chapter 17
“Grimory!” Amecitia shouted, voice cracking.
She tried to stand, sword in hand, but her body wouldn’t obey; every drop of mana had gone into her blade, and nothing was left in the tank.
‘I dropped one and let my guard down-idiot!’
She ground her molars so hard they squeaked.
‘Move, legs. MOVE.’
Thud-thud-she punched her own thighs, but the muscles stayed dead.
“Ngh-urk!”
The demon closed its fist around Grimory’s throat and lifted her off the ground.
She clawed at the iron fingers, legs bicycling in mid-air.
Graaah-!
Her nails raked the demon’s forearm, tearing furrows in gray flesh.
“למה הרגת את בני ארצך?-(static crackle)-Hunters-(garble)-herbs-?”
“Gh-what... are you saying?”
The demon tightened its grip, voice rising to a hiss.
“אתה מריח כמו עשבי תיבול-(more static)-same stink-(garble)-where did you steal that poison?”
“Ghk-!”
Grimory’s vision sparked white at the edges.
Then-
CRASH!
The storage-room door burst open and a black-cloaked man rolled in.
Ping!
A dart no thicker than a pencil leapt from the wrist-crossbow on his arm and buried itself in the demon’s chest.
“Both of you-close your eyes.”
One quiet sentence, and the whole world felt safer.
Amecitia knew that voice before she saw his face.
Bang!
A flash-bang detonated, flooding the room with magnesium-white light.
The demon shrieked, palms pressed to its seared eyes.
“-!!!”
Whiiirr-clank!
Wire sang through the air, followed by the crunch of breaking bone.
Thud-grind-crack!
The floor jumped under Amecitia’s knees; she flinched so hard her teeth clicked.
‘This... is a Hunter.’
One blow.
Henrik had come through the door, zipped in on a wire line, and punched the demon’s sternum into gravel.
Smack!
He yanked his fist free; a black mana-stone the size of a plum sat in his palm.
Crunch-crunch-POP!
He closed his fingers; the stone exploded into glittering dust.
“Cough-cough!”
Grimory, dumped unceremoniously in the dirt, snatched her hat and crammed it on.
‘Nobody saw-right?’
She tugged the brim low; dust hung thick as curtain, hiding her face.
“Either of you hurt?”
At the familiar question she scrambled up.
“Professor...”
Seeing Henrik, she exhaled so hard her ribs creaked.
“Grimory-good, you’re upright.”
“Yes, sir. But Amecitia-”
“Mana exhaustion. I’ll take her to the infirmary.”
Henrik knelt, slid one arm under the motionless girl, and lifted her as easily as a book.
He scanned the room: one demon crushed to charcoal, one flash-burned to ash.
“One down, one to go.”
“Yes... but...”
Cradled against his coat, Amecitia stared at the floor.
“I got careless... my mistake...”
Mistake?
You?
Grimory darted over and flicked her forehead.
“Your mistake? Try mine. If I’d remembered there were two plates instead of one-”
“No! If I’d trusted my gut and split my stamina-”
“Enough.”
Henrik’s single word snapped their mouths shut; they knew bickering solved nothing.
A bobbing lantern appeared down the corridor.
“Huff-huff-Henrik, you-you absolute-maniac-give me-one second-dying here-”
A silk-robed blond staggered in, clutching Henrik’s coat-tail before sliding to the floor.
Ted.
“The situation’s contained,” Henrik said. “We’ll debrief at the faculty meeting.”
“You-you’re impossible! Hey!”
“The student comes first. The plan was mine; the blame is mine.”
Ted pressed his temples.
“My head’s killing me...”
Henrik carried Amecitia in his arms and marched out of the basement.
“Dean?”
The Grimory jumped when the dean stepped into view.
“Oh-Grimory. You all right?”
“...Yes.”
She slid a hand across her throat.
“Being unreasonably sturdy is kind of my trademark.”
-shff!
The faint cuts on her neck vanished.
Ted watched the inhuman recovery with no surprise at all.
“No one noticed?”
“Not yet...”
Grimory tugged her cap lower; some silent covenant passed between them.
Ted exhaled, relieved, and ruffled the crown of her hat.
“The Church may have asked, but I’m the one who admitted you. If it gets rough, tell me. Henrik will understand-he’s soft-hearted under the frost.”
“I know.”
A ghost of a smile crossed her face.
For an instant she had seen it: Henrik’s expression the moment he’d flung open the door and found a demon choking her. He’d smiled-thin, cynical, invisible to most, but unmistakably satisfied, as though the script were playing out exactly as he’d written it.
‘Ah... the smell!’
Only then did she catch the faint herbal tang clinging to their uniforms.
Henrik had prepared. Before calling the students he’d burned wake-herbs that succubi loathe; the smoke had seeped into their clothes, dulling the demons’ power to force sleep. The herbs had already granted her and Amecitia immunity.
The students hadn’t been bait flung thoughtlessly into danger-he’d taken out insurance.
‘Terrifyingly cold... and meticulous.’
She stared after Henrik as he walked the corridor. He paused long enough to tap her shoulder.
“Well done.”
Then he moved on.
‘Yet... strangely gentle?’
Ted appeared beside her.
“Heading to the infirmary too? I’ll let the nurse know.”
“Not for treatment-just to visit.”
“Amecitia.”
“She’s my friend.”
Grimory smiled and trotted after Henrik.
* * *
“Dean! When exactly does the dean intend to arrive?”
-bang!
A professor slammed the conference-table; the crack echoed through the vast chamber.
“Patience. Something’s detained him-he’ll come.”
The colleague beside him checked his pocket-watch.
Faculty meeting had been scheduled for five; it was now six, and neither the dean nor the department head had appeared.
“And that-that heretic! The one who teaches demonology-why isn’t he here either?”
He jabbed a finger at an empty chair. On the table sat a name-plate:
Professor Henrik Dusk, Chair of Demonology
Henrik was missing too.
In the noisy centre of the room, Oliver Mandolin, newly hired professor of Knighthood, wore the awkward smile of a man trapped between loyalties. Every time Henrik moved, the academy convulsed; Oliver was sure another incident was brewing. Worse, rumours swirled that sleeping students were failing to wake, and his own pupil Julia had been unconscious in the infirmary for two days.
‘Julia... are you awake yet?’
“Oliver, you look distracted.”
“Ah-sorry, sir.”
A gauntleted hand settled on his shoulder: Carlo Mandolin, his father and head of the Knighthood department.
“Concern for a student is admirable, but widen your lens. Ask what lies at the heart of the incident, not just one pupil.”
“...Yes, Father.”
The heart, of course, was Henrik. Most professors still wrote him off as the eccentric who’d punched a student on day one. Oliver, however, had seen him disarm Amecitia bare-handed; in a department where combat grade equals rank, that sight had upended every assumption. The thought that Henrik had stirred up something new filled Oliver with dread-and fascination.
At that moment the door creaked open.
“Ah-terribly sorry. Affairs detained me; I’m late.”
The conference-room door swung open and Ted stepped inside.
“Well now, Dean-if you’ve business you really ought to- huh? Why are you...?”
The professor who’d been greeting the dean trailed off, blinking at the man who followed Ted in.
“Let’s begin the meeting,” Henrik said, sliding into a chair.
Henrik? With the dean?
There had always been talk that the dean and Henrik were connected. A slum-born hunter climbing all the way to a professorship at Sefira Academy was unheard of, after all.
But the timing felt off. If they’d walked in together, didn’t that mean the dean’s announcement involved Henrik?
The room held its breath, every eye on Henrik. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care; a sideways glance was the only acknowledgement he gave before staring straight ahead.
“A-hem! Yes, well-I asked you here because an increasing number of students aren’t waking from sleep.”
Ted cleared his throat, pulling attention back to himself, and plunged straight into the agenda.
“Does anyone have a roster or information on the affected students?”
Oliver raised a hand.
“A student in my lecture, Julia, hasn’t woken up; I moved her to the infirmary two days ago.”
“Very well. Anyone else?”
One by one the professors lifted their hands. When the tally finished, sixteen names had been spoken.
Silence settled, heavy and grim.
Students unable to wake meant something had gone catastrophically wrong, and no one in the room had the slightest clue what that something was. The road ahead looked black.
Yet, for some reason, Ted’s usual bright smile never slipped.
“D-Dean, is this really a time to grin!?”
“Ah... actually,” Ted hedged, shooting Henrik sidelong glances, as if willing the other man to speak for him.
Reading his old friend’s wish, Henrik sighed and opened his mouth.
“There’s no need to worry any longer.”
“Come again?!”
“My students and I have resolved the incident. Every student transferred to the infirmary is already awake.”
Henrik folded his arms.
“Then...! Julia-Julia’s awake?” Oliver leapt up, dizzy with relief.
“Don’t know the names, but everyone in the infirmary opened their eyes. Go see for yourself if you like.”
Oliver exhaled, shoulders sagging. “Thank you. I’ll check as soon as we’re adjourned.”
He felt his father’s glare, yet the news that his cherished student had awakened eclipsed everything else.
“So our crisis meeting turns into a post-mortem. Listen closely, then, while Henrik and his pupils explain how they cracked the case.”
With a flick of magic Henrik conjured a chalkboard and began sketching the outline. As he spoke he studied the faces around the table.
Sefira Academy prided itself on being elite; a low-rank demon roaming its halls defied common sense. Someone had deliberately unleashed the succubus-and Henrik intended to name the culprit.