NOVEL NEXT Ch. 18
Chapter 18
The faculty meeting yielded nothing.
It devolved into a post-mortem: each professor reciting how the case had been solved, nothing more.
Warnings were voiced, of course. Sefira Academy was a premier institution; a low-rank succubus roaming its corridors was no everyday incident. Some demanded a full inquiry.
Yet the moment they heard what Amecitia and the Grimory had accomplished, a few eyes began to glitter with recruitment plans for their own departments.
Henrik stared out a window, indifferent.
A demon accomplice might still be inside the academy.
He had known it for years.
But the day the school would be turned upside-down belonged to a future timeline.
Still, the groundwork was already being laid, and the knowledge gnawed at him.
‘Sooner than scheduled, but I have to claim it.’
Sephirum-the treasure buried beneath the academy.
An ore more potent than silver, the only mineral that could scar Baal’s flesh.
When the meeting adjourned, the professors filed out.
Oliver practically sprinted away, anxious about his favorite student.
“Then, Dean, I’ll take my leave.”
Carlo-Oliver’s father and head of the Knights Department-remained until last, bowed politely to Ted, and exited.
Only Henrik and Ted were left.
Henrik spoke while Ted tidied chairs.
“Ted, grant me a day off.”
“Leave...? Suddenly?”
“I need to attend to something.”
Henrik thrust a crumpled form into Ted’s hand-an excuse note scribbled mid-meeting.
“If you insist, of course it’s approved. ...All right, consider it done.”
Ted nodded, bewildered.
“Oh, and the herbs I asked for-could you source them?”
“Name it. If it’s anywhere on campus, I’ll clear you for unlimited access.”
Another nod from Ted. Henrik chuckled and left the room.
* * *
He needed time-now.
Before whatever lurked inside the academy moved, he would seize the Sephirum and forge it into a weapon.
Of course the demons wanted it too. To them the ore was lethal poison; they would never leave a single chunk in human hands.
In the previous timeline they had acted early, strangling supply lines so no Sephirum reached mankind.
This time would be different.
Henrik had no intention of surrendering an ounce.
‘Quite the opposite. I’ll strip every piece from them.’
Only four major deposits existed on the continent.
Henrik knew the academy’s underground better than anyone.
During the war, when demons overran the land, he and other survivors had sheltered in the ruined school-and there he had learned every secret passage.
He had once possessed Sephirum himself.
One of the four stones, coated onto the weapons of the last survivors, but it had not been enough; they had barely scratched Baal.
To kill the demon lord he needed an intact, sizable chunk.
‘This time will be different.’
Henrik smiled thinly.
He would claim the ore alone.
Ted had granted his single-day leave: from the moment the meeting ended until tomorrow he could roam the academy unchecked.
The academy sprawled across a mountainside, divided into five main buildings:
- the Main Hall, housing the dining hall, basement storehouse, and assorted labs;
- Magic Hall, crowded and popular, home to the Department of Magic;
- Knights Hall, facing the training yard;
- Theology Hall, part church, part seminary;
- and Liberal Arts Hall, shared by every elective.
Henrik’s destination was a second-floor corridor at the rear of the Main Hall.
Because the building had once been an old castle, it bristled with hidden devices.
One was the entrance to a storeroom; another-still secret-was the passage Henrik sought.
A dead-end alley of stone.
A wall that looked perfectly ordinary.
Henrik smirked and began tapping bricks:
third red brick-twice;
white brick beneath it-five times;
bottom red brick-three times.
The wall rumbled and swung inward like a door.
Henrik glanced back; the corridor remained empty.
He slipped inside; the wall rumbled shut again, seamless as ever.
* * *
Ten minutes down the hidden stair and Henrik stepped into a cavernous underground maze.
‘Still enormous, no matter how often I see it.’
He lit a lantern and clipped it to his belt.
The labyrinth was bewildering, but he had already walked it three times:
first, to shelter survivors;
second, to retrieve a saint’s bones;
third, to hunt for Sephirum clues.
To Henrik, the twists felt as familiar as his own living room.
Henrik moved slowly through the maze.
Every so often a trap snapped at him, but he already knew every trigger by heart.
Whoosh!
A volley of blades whipped past; he simply twisted aside.
Whoosh!
A giant mace swung for his head; he ducked just enough.
He brushed off lethal devices as if they were children’s toys, face never changing, and kept walking.
Clatter-clatter... clatter-clatter...
Far ahead he heard iron chains scraping across stone.
Something’s here.
He drew a long breath and tightened his grip on his bow.
The Ancient Castle’s Labyrinth was no place to relax.
Grrrrr...
A low beast-growl rolled through the corridor.
Henrik flattened himself to the wall as the sound grew louder.
Clatter-clatter...
When the clanking reached the turning ahead, he eased one eye round the corner.
A skeletal guard-dog, nothing left but bone and violet flame flickering between its ribs.
Why is a hellhound down here?
Hell’s watchdog-hellhound-chained and patrolling.
The exposed heart-flame and massive frame marked it as a full adult: mid-rank monster that never needed food, a living weapon.
If a hellhound was stationed inside the Academy, the summoner-at least a high-rank demon, maybe one of the seven sovereigns-was already here.
Was it guarding the same ore he wanted?
He considered putting it down, but the moment he did its master would know.
Not yet.
From the pouch at his hip he pulled a handful of ingredients.
No time for a proper potion; he’d whip up something quick.
Hellhounds hunt by scent-this will blind that nose.
He gulped the mixture.
The taste was vile; his stomach lurched, the reek alone enough to gag.
He clenched his teeth and kept it down.
“Hoo...”
When the nausea passed he breathed through his mouth; a foul odor began to ooze from his own skin.
Crude, but it would deaden the hound’s olfactory nerves long enough.
He stepped into the corridor just as the beast caught the sound of a human footfall.
Ruff! Ruff!
Thud-thud-thud-thud...
The floor shook under its charge.
At the last instant Henrik pressed himself flat to the wall.
The hound skidded to a stop inches above him, snarling at the stench.
Thud... thud...
It padded past, heading back toward the entrance.
Now!
Henrik sprinted for the maze’s heart.
Arrows and flames burst from hidden vents; he vaulted, rolled, and burst through the glowing exit.
The medicated stench kept the hound turning the wrong way.
He wiped sweat from his brow and straightened his coat.
A wide stair rose before him; at its summit waited a massive stone sarcophagus.
Step... step...
At the top he stopped, surprised.
So it wasn’t looted-no one could touch it.
A dome of divine fire blazed around the coffin, golden flames crackling with power.
Even a sovereign’s vessel would burn to ash against that.
He brushed dust from the lid; strange glyphs he’d never seen covered the surface.
...?
His own eyes blazed gold, and the runes etched into his skin answered, flaring in unison.
The unknown symbols rearranged themselves with a clatter, sliding like tumblers in a lock.
Click... click... click...
Each time the runes on his arm matched those on the barrier, the seal loosened.
Suddenly the alien letters looked as familiar as his own name.
A new truth, unseen in any previous regression.
“Our great king... Mael-”
The name was scorched away and unreadable, but it was clear this was a king’s tomb.
‘I don’t remember it, yet it feels familiar. Did I pick it up somewhere in passing?’
As the characters on the stone tablet and the ones etched into his skin resonated, burning brighter, Henrik pressed his palm against the slab.
At that moment-
Clack-thunk!
The stone coffin opened as if some colossal lock had disengaged.
‘What in the world...’
Henrik couldn’t finish the sentence.
He had come only to retrieve the Hidden Sephirum, yet he had stumbled onto a secret so enormous it left him stunned.
What link existed between the Divine Power now spilling from the sarcophagus and the runes carved into his body?
A memory flashed: Velperia, the Sovereign of Sloth, gaping at his arm.
[Those runes-?! No, this is impossible! How do you bear them!]
She had definitely recognized them.
Staring at the characters on his skin, Henrik pictured the black wings that had once wrapped around him.
‘Who exactly was the woman who sent me back?’
Each new truth about the runes only tangled the threads further. Silent, he pushed the lid of the stone coffin aside and stepped into the maze.