A Regressor's Guide to Hunting in the Academy

Chapter 20

Ten years ago, Grayson could barely control mana.

He was the youngest son of a plain black-smith family, not some noble house, and learning sorcery was never supposed to be easy.

The surname “Volkan” wasn’t aristocratic; it was a maker’s brand. Every apprentice who mastered the forge earned it, so townsfolk could tell which hand had shaped a blade.

The same custom had given Henrik the name “Dusk”: when a hunter is acknowledged by a master, he sometimes takes that master’s name as his own.

“Don’t disgrace the name Volkan.”

Grayson had heard the warning his entire life.

Unlike the elder brothers who had inherited their father’s shoulders, Grayson took after his mother-slender, frail, lungs that protested at coal smoke. He could not lift the great hammers, so she had slipped him a different future: the trick of feeling mana, of coaxing sparks from will rather than steel.

But commoners with talent rarely rise. His mother had possessed the same gift, yet died before she could learn more than parlour tricks.

Determined not to waste her fragment of knowledge, Grayson practised alone until he slammed into the ceiling of what a village boy could teach himself.

Then the newspapers began to sing of Henrik Dusk: slum orphan, self-taught, who had hunted mid-rank demons single-handed and claimed a professor’s chair at the Academy.

To Grayson, the story felt as distant as a dragon’s fairy tale.

‘Or so I thought.’

He stared holes into the back of the man trudging ahead of him.

Henrik had dragged him straight from the corner of the smithy, through iron gates taller than church spires, and into the Academy’s Liberal-Arts Hall.

The building’s grandeur had nearly made Grayson wet himself, but Henrik hadn’t paused for awe; he’d marched to Demonology Classroom 3.

Creak-

The door swung open to reveal Grimory studying alone.

“Oh? Professor, I thought today was cancelled.”

Grayson’s face flamed.

Beauty-no, beauty too small a word. Grimory looked like summer sunlight deciding to walk in human shape, and Grayson’s already threadbare confidence unravelled on the spot.

“Grimory, can you teach this kid a little magic?”

At Henrik’s request she glanced past the door frame. A boy in soot-smudged canvas, tools dangling from his belt: unmistakably smith-born.

“A blacksmith?” She tilted her head. “You want a blacksmith taught?”

She stepped closer, inspecting him like a curious gem.

Proximity detonated inside Grayson; he sat down hard on the floor.

“A loser like me...”

The mutter slipped out before he could stop it.

Grimory snorted. “Gloomy personality to match.”

“Think you can teach him?” Henrik asked.

“Won’t know till I try. But I’ve only just left the basics myself.”

“That’s all I need. I’ll handle the rest.”

“Well, if that’s enough...” She sidled to Henrik and smiled conspiratorially. “Nothing’s free. I need a new demon field-guide-something with high-bloods and rarer breeds. Could you compile one?”

“You’ve already memorised the last one?”

“Every page. Curiosity’s a curse, Professor.”

“Fine. I’ll slot the work in between lectures.”

“Thank you!”

Deal struck, the two of them looked down at Grayson-now curled like a shrimp in the corridor, whispering, “I’m just leftover coal-dust... should crawl back to the forge...”

Henrik and Grimory shared the same thought:

First, we fix that personality.

* * *

Grayson suffers an acute deficit of female exposure.

In the forge, every customer is male; the only woman he ever sees is his mother.

He has, in all his life, never once spoken to a girl his own age.

...

He sits rigid at a desk, chin glued to chest.

Up at the lectern Henrik and Grimory shake their heads in unison.

Because Grayson cannot even meet Grimory’s eyes, a normal lesson is impossible.

“Grayson.”

He peeks up, catches Grimory’s gaze, blushes crimson, and snaps back to staring at his boots.

“Haah...” Grimory sighs.

Today’s hat-an elegant woman’s beret-offers no curtain to hide behind.

Henrik rubs his temples.

“All right. We’ll run with him exactly as he is.”

For once, the professor surrenders.

He was a professor and a Hunter, nothing more; long ago he’d given up trying to be the sentimental sort who dispensed dating advice to greenhorns.

You could still hear a lecture without lifting your head.

That was the conclusion he’d reached.

When Henrik nodded toward Grimory, she began the lesson for Grayson’s sake, as though she had no choice.

“Hello, Mr. Grayson. I’m Grimory. Today I’ll cover the basics of magic in Professor Henrik’s place, if that’s all right?”

Grayson’s chin kept sinking toward the floor; Grimory, flustered, glanced at Henrik.

“Y-yes... that’s fine. Please go on.”

The answer came muffled, head still down, fingers fidgeting.

Grimory forced a small smile and continued.

“How much do you already know about magic?”

“Almost... nothing. When I was little I handled mana with my mother, and that was it.”

At his words Grimory wrote “mana” on the board.

“Then let’s start with what mana is. Mana is the soul of a person- the essential power inside every human.”

“......”

“Using that mana, people pay it away, like a transaction with the rules the gods set down, and create phenomena. That’s magic.”

Pop! A chunk of ice appeared in her palm.

“And a person’s mana often carries individual traits, like fingerprints. We call those traits attributes. Put the two together and you get attribute magic.”

Whoosh!

The ice grew larger, shaping itself into a winged horse.

“Fire, water, earth, wind- these four are the basic Great Attributes. I have an affinity for water. Professor, which attribute do you have?”

Henrik shook his head.

“No talent for magic; I wouldn’t know.”

“Ah... I see. Sorry. Then, Mr. Grayson, what about you?”

Grayson had finally lifted his head; he gathered mana between his hands.

“Uh... um... mm...”

He could only clump the mana together; the idea of an attribute made no sense to him. He’d never checked, never been told what he might have.

“Then let’s find out right now.”

Grimory smiled, stepped close, and clasped his hands.

“All right, pool your mana. I’ll help.”

“......”

Grayson sneaked a look at her earnest face, lifted his head, closed his eyes, and focused.

Flash!

Their joined hands blazed with light, then shifted into a yellow mana.

“Earth. You have an earth attribute, Mr. Grayson. A born blacksmith’s gift.”

“......”

The sensation was brand-new; dazed, Grayson stared at the yellow, glittering mana drifting above his palms. It felt different from the brute strength he’d always squeezed out of himself- as though something deep inside was being drawn up.

“Hold on to that feeling! It’s the foundation of attribute magic. And you’re forcing your mana too hard. Try praying, relaxed; control will come easier.”

Following her advice, Grayson pressed both hands together and concentrated. He wanted to shape something small, the way she had.

Tick... tap!

After a long stretch a pebble formed between his fingers- gray, the color of his own name.

“Wow! Well done! You’re a fast learner!”

Grimory’s praise lit her face.

“......!!!”

For some reason Grayson flushed scarlet again and jerked his head down.

Clack- the tiny stone slipped from his fingers and hit the floor.

“Oops.”

Grimory picked up the sorry little lump and examined it.

“Not bad for a first try. Keep practicing and you might manage a proper ore.”

At the compliment Grayson’s expression brightened.

“Then let’s practice more.”

Henrik nodded, dropped into a chair, and watched.

Hand in hand, focusing, feeling, understanding- hours passed.

Three hours of attribute drills later, Grayson could reliably produce a fist-sized stone.

“Amazing! You’re as quick as any first-year in the Department of Magic!”

The praise was over-the-top, but for Grayson- whose self-esteem scraped bottom- it worked.

‘So she really did learn how to handle people from Amecitia.’

Henrik chuckled quietly to himself. Taming a wild colt wasn’t easy; looked like the pair’s time together had paid off.

“Enough. That’ll do, Grimory. I’ll take it from here.”

Deciding Grayson had risen far enough, Henrik traded places and produced a single task.

From the pouch at his belt he drew a small ore and set it on the desk.

“Topaz ore. Use your attribute magic and try your skill on it.”

“Really... will it work? Someone like me...”

“I know it sounds vague, but trust it anyway.”

At Henrik’s word Grayson gathered mana and lifted the ore.

Suddenly he flinched, stopped, and stared at the professor.

“Is it supposed to sound like this?”

Henrik only smiled faintly, saying nothing.

“What’s wrong?” Grimory asked, slipping in close with bright curiosity.

Grayson gazed at the stone.

“I can hear it- a whisper, tiny... I can’t make out the words, but it’s there.”

“......?”

Grayson stammered at the alien sensation. Grimory tilted her head, but Henrik snorted a laugh.

“Keep going. Think of it as a talent that belongs only to you. Follow the sound-there’s your answer.”

“Yes, sir......”

Henrik’s words sounded dubious, yet Grayson began to trim the raw stone.

Piece by piece he peeled away the rocky crust, as if scratching an itch.

Sometimes he pinched off a flake, sometimes he slid his thumb and-shhk-sent another shard flying.

‘A future Master, indeed.’

Henrik marveled at the boy’s concentration.

Ore Whisper.

That talent would one day make Grayson a Master more than any other.

He could hear the voices sleeping inside the ore-where to strike, how to shape, what would make the metal flow.

And the gift had blossomed the moment he began to channel attribute mana.

Barely awakened, it already let him work without hesitation: fast, effortless, exact.

He was simply obeying the whisper.

Minutes later the rough stone began to resemble a jewel, the way puzzle pieces click together.

“Huh......?”

Halfway through the shaping, Grayson felt something shift.

Gloved hand, mana gathered just as always-yet the stone responded differently.

Chunks that used to need two or three hard rubs now popped off with a single casual flick.

“......”

As he kept carving, a hidden core of glittering crystal emerged.

“Whoa......!”

Grimory’s eyes sparkled at the sight.

When the gem was done, the classroom fell silent.

Not a sound.

Then Grimory’s bright voice cut the hush.

“Wow, pretty stone!”

In her palm stood a perfect six-pointed star, the finished gemstone balancing upright.

“I... did it......”

He could hardly believe it.

One short lecture on magic, and his craft had taken a giant stride toward completion.

“Well done, Grayson.”

Henrik’s praise was brief, almost brusque.

Yet it filled Grayson’s chest until it hurt.

No one had ever praised him.

Not his iron-willed blacksmith father, not the older brothers who had inherited the family’s brawn.

No one had thought him worth a kind word.

But Henrik had seen him, and Grimory-instead of disliking his awkwardness-had coaxed him onward and taught him spellcraft.

“From now on, take a lesson from Grimory once a week.”

“Excuse me?!”

Both student and teacher yelped and stared at Henrik.

“Grayson, learning magic is the shortest route to finishing your craft.”

“Magic......”

He had no choice but to believe.

Today’s experience would stay with him for life.

The little boy who once played with mana beside his mother now stood one step from a new art.

His heart flared hot again.

“Yes, sir!”

It was a rare sight: Grayson, usually gloomy and unsure, grinning wide and answering at the top of his voice.