A Regressor's Guide to Hunting in the Academy

Chapter 8

Back when Grimory was a brand-new Hunter, rumor called her one of the academy’s rare beauties.

He’d assumed she was just another pretty noble; her file said commoner-and top of the entrance exams.

That was all Henrik’s past life had needed to know.

After she graduated, talk of her dried up and vanished like a dead mouse.

Next: Amecitia.

He’d heard that name even before he came back.

Last survivor of the ruined Flammeur line, she’d torn across battlefields until she fell while slaying the Demon of Greed.

Last came Carmen.

Future Hunter, future junior.

Nothing special on paper-only a pocketful of secrets.

Leave her alone and she’d wander up eventually; she always did.

They’d all made names for themselves once; give them the right push and they’d sprint ahead.

‘Of course, if I train them properly I can keep them as TAs,’ he thought. ‘Plenty of free time to hunt for the treasure buried under the academy.’

The prospect thrilled him-and weighed on him.

Left to their own devices they’d still bloom; talent wasn’t their problem.

But bloom only to die pointless deaths.

‘If someone’s going to raise them, it might as well be me.’

Henrik stamped all three applications and started prepping lectures.

‘Where the hell do I even begin?’

Killing demons was easy; teaching people was new.

Under the moon he wrestled with lesson plans, losing track of dawn.

* * *

Day of class.

The lecture hall was empty-exactly as feared.

Amecitia’s heart sank.

Only two students sat in the cavernous room: Grimory, mid-row and familiar, and a boy she didn’t know in the back.

‘Even for an unpopular elective, this is ridiculous.’

She took the front row from habit, not enthusiasm.

A sideways glance caught Grimory’s face: striking looks half-hidden under a pulled-low cap.

Everyone knew the valedictorian who’d read the freshman oath at induction.

‘She must’ve failed to register for the big courses too. Tough break, top of the class reduced to this.’

Amecitia almost opened her notebook out of reflex, then caught herself.

‘Wait-why am I taking this seriously? I’m only here for the credit.’

Six credits stood between her and second year: four from her chosen major, two from any electives.

Her hands moved anyway, flipping pages, scanning headings.

Digging into the professor had been equally automatic.

Rank 2 Hunter, demonology lecturer-Henrik had started hunting at thirteen.

Ten years’ experience; even she had to respect the résumé.

‘Ten years catching mice makes you an expert, I suppose.’

Another tidbit had surfaced: Henrik was connected to Dean Ted.

‘Nepotism? Maybe. But the dean doesn’t hand out posts lightly. I’ll test him myself.’

She’d aced the academy’s combat exam, earning Rank 1 and whispers of Rank 2 soon.

Plus she had her secret weapon: the Imperial Knights’ captain.

As a child she’d wandered into the palace woods, lost, cornered by minor demons-until the visiting captain saved her.

Since then the Order had been her north star; she’d trained, hunted low-rank demons, aced every test.

Confidence bred schemes.

‘I’ll nit-pick his lecture, challenge him to a duel. Even if I lose to a Rank 2, he’ll see my skill. Might earn a spot in the Knighthood lectures.’

Precedent existed: a senior had pulled the same trick last year.

She was sure it would work.

Creak-

The door opened. A man in neat cobalt hair-most of it still defiantly spiky-walked in.

He surveyed the room with flat eyes and nodded.

“Three. All present. First day, so I’ll call roll.”

“Grimory.”

“Yes, sir.”

Graceful, quiet.

The professor almost commented on the low cap, then let it go-top student, she’d manage.

“Amecitia Flammeur.”

“That’s me-Amecitia Fl-”

The professor cut her off before she could launch into a grand self-introduction, flicking his head away as if it were unnecessary and continuing the roll call.

A deliberate slight, plain as day.

“Carmen MacClane.”

“...Present.”

Short and sharp.

When no more names remained, the professor glanced between Grimory and Carmen.

“Only three of us-no point hiding in the back. Come sit up front.”

They gathered their books and took the seats beside Amecitia.

Scraaape.

Amecitia did not look pleased.

He waved off my introduction... On the very first day, when every professor usually plays the charming host!

The first-day self-introduction was sacred.

It let you learn who shared the classroom, gave nobles a chance to forge connections, and warned common-born students whom to flatter and whom to avoid.

This man had reduced all that to a barked name.

She carried her family’s pride like a banner.

The house might be crumbling, but it had produced knights of the Imperial Guard for generations.

“Pfft!”

A stifled laugh burst from the next seat.

“...?!”

Grimory was biting back a giggle at the sight of her glaring at the professor.

How dare-how dare he humiliate me!

Cheeks burning, Amecitia shot her hand into the air.

“Professor! The self-introduction is the most important ritual at the Academy. Even in this... modest... class of three, proper presentation matters!”

Perfectly logical, she told herself.

Yet the professor’s expression chilled-bored, almost, as though she were a gnat.

“True. But your files already tell me everything I need.”

“That isn’t what I-”

“Fair point, though. I skipped my own introduction.”

Infuriating man!

She wanted to shout, but two pairs of eyes-Grimory’s and Carmen’s-were watching.

Gossip traveled fast; she couldn’t afford to look hysterical.

“...Fine. Let’s hear it, then.”

She flopped into her chair with theatrical sullenness.

The professor didn’t even twitch; he simply began.

“My name is Henrik Dusk. Hunter. Demon slayer. I have no taste for empty courtesy, so let’s pretend the slight never happened.”

The lack of reaction left Amecitia’s cheeks hotter than anger ever had.

Henrik-he’d offered his given name as if it were a thrown gauntlet-met her eyes with a smirk.

“I started hunting demons at thirteen. Ten years on the job. I won’t claim to be the best, but I know tricks worth passing on.”

Ten years.

Since he was thirteen.

The other students swallowed hard.

It sounded like a lie, yet his gaze never wavered.

“In this course you’ll learn demon species, traits, weaknesses, and how to exterminate them efficiently.”

Exterminate. Efficiently.

Amecitia’s mind snagged on the words.

A mere Rank 2 presumes to teach us combat technique?

She hadn’t expected much, but still-some of her classmates had already reached Rank 3.

Most professors in the Knighthood Department held Rank 3 or 4; students trusted their lessons.

Could she trust a Rank 2?

Doubt flickered, then curled into contempt.

Rank 2, lecturing on combat-exactly what I predicted.

A charlatan here to milk the Academy’s coffers with tall tales.

He probably sweet-talked the dean the same way.

She folded her arms, eyes narrowed.

Make one mistake, professor. I’ll challenge you to a duel on the spot.

Henrik opened his book.

“Questions? No? Then we begin.”