NOVEL WEB Ch. 2
Chapter 2
The next day, the morning of the 30th.
One day before the Sovereign of Sloth would perform her rite.
“Seriously, who asks for this much stuff...?”
Downstairs in the tavern, Ted was already scowling over breakfast while he waited for Henrik.
On the table sat a cloth pouch stuffed with herbs and a glass vial of holy water.
“You sure the ingredients are exact?”
“I stayed up all night getting these, man.”
“Thanks.”
“Now you have to tell me-what are we even using this junk for?”
Henrik ignored the question and checked inside the pouch first.
Maple flowers.
Lizard liver.
Scarab shells.
Red-spotted mushrooms.
Bay seeds.
Green herb.
And holy water.
He nodded, then looked at Ted.
If Henrik told him the real story, would Ted believe it?
‘Not a chance.’
At this point, talk of a future war against demonkind would sound like a bard’s fairy tale.
But he absolutely needed Ted’s help.
The human identity the Sovereign of Sloth was hiding behind:
‘The only daughter of Baron Vendal.’
Her name-Velperia.
While disguised as a human she had devoured living offerings to grow stronger, then burst onto the scene and ravaged the region in the chaos.
Ted had died in that onslaught-right in front of Henrik’s eyes.
“Hmm... think of it as a health supplement?”
“Out of nowhere?”
“I took a commission. Came in before you arrived, so I need to clear it first.”
Ted, who knew Henrik dabbled in potion-making, shrugged. “Who’s the client?”
“Baron Vendal.”
Henrik lied.
“Vendal?”
“Yeah. I’m heading over there. Care to tag along?”
“Hmm...”
Ted pondered.
“And once this job’s done, we hash out our own thing for real?”
“Promise.”
“Then let’s do it.”
Ted hitched up a shoulder. “I was already thinking of visiting; the baron’s daughter is a student at the academy. Good excuse to take a look.”
Henrik nodded.
“How about I have them send the carriage in your name? A Craft won’t have to beg for a ride.”
“Ha! With my pedigree it’s like eating cold porridge-easy!”
Henrik gave a wry smile at the man in front of him.
Ted Craft-second son of House Craft and Henrik’s oldest friend.
A noble who spoke like an equal because of one big shared incident: the so-called Calamity of House Craft.
Back then, Ted, a fledgling mage, had been kidnapped by demons; Henrik met him in some cave while tracking demonic traces. Half desperation, half commission, Henrik hauled him out.
Whenever they drank, Ted still brought up that memory-though it wasn’t a pleasant one.
“I’ll send the message-hurry up!”
Ted left the tavern; Henrik carried the ingredients upstairs.
A small room curtained off.
A thick layer of dust coated the tall bookcase and desk.
Books of every sort lined the shelves; apparatus cluttered the tabletop.
“Flask... lamp... good, everything’s here.”
Bellows, a miniature cauldron, porcelain mortar, flask, lamp-everything needed for brewing.
Henrik set the lamp under the cauldron and sparked the bellows.
He needed three combat potions, starting with the muscle enhancer.
He poured about 300 mL of distilled water into the cauldron and waited for a boil.
While it heated, he ground scarab shells into powder with mortar and pestle.
Scritch, scritch, scritch-until no chunks remained.
Next he dropped the lizard liver into the boiling water.
“Whew...”
Henrik took a steadying breath; this was the tricky part-transmutation.
He stretched his hand over the cauldron and focused. A strange tug, as if something were leaving his body, and the etched runes flared bright.
“Success.”
Now he added the powdered scarab shells.
Pop!
A puff of crimson smoke sparkled in the air.
It was finished.
A potion only Henrik could use.
He had just perfected a muscle enhancer tuned to the body he’d owned ten years ago.
In battle, one draught would let Rank-2 Henrik hit with Rank-3 force.
‘I have to rely on drugs for now, but soon I’ll claw my way back to Rank 3.’
Right before regression, Henrik had operated at Rank 5.
He’d never sat the official Imperial or Academy exam, yet he’d traded blows with certified Rank-5 elites.
Rank 5 was the ceiling for ordinary humans-only a handful on the continent ever reached it.
With exotic potions, relics, and the Saint’s blessing, he could even nudge the line of Rank 6, the inhuman tier.
Still, none of it had worked on Baal.
These brews were the backbone of his combat kit; he couldn’t fight without them.
‘Left to do: reflex accelerator and painkiller.’
Quietly he lifted the next sack of ingredients.
The tricky part had been the muscle enhancer; the rest was just swap-and-stir.
‘Same base, different ratios and mana balance.’
By the time every vial was corked, dusk had fallen.
Muscle enhancer.
Reflex accelerator.
Pain suppressor.
A complete field kit-and holy water to boot.
‘Not perfect, but good enough.’
Whatever the brews lacked, experience would cover.
Henrik Dusk.
The finest Hunter alive-‘the demon stalker,’ they called him.
He was oiling his blade when a knock rang out and Ted strode in.
“Henrik, the carriage is here. Knights and all.”
Ted looked so pleased Henrik felt a twinge of guilt.
Time to leave.
* * *
Once, angels, demons, and humans had gone to war.
The spark: Baal’s treason, the usurpation of the Creator’s authority.
He dreamed of a world built for demons alone and dragged every realm into battle.
Armed with stolen god-power, Baal crushed the angelic hosts.
Then humanity stepped onto the field-and the scales flipped.
Led by the hero Raphael, the angels sealed Baal inside Gehenna, the demon realm.
They slammed the gate shut forever.
Historians call it the First Divine-Demon War.
Ten years from now, demon stragglers on earth will crack that seal, and the Second War will begin.
Ted yawned.
“Why the sudden history lesson?”
Henrik kept his voice flat.
“How would you feel if you met one of Baal’s seven sovereigns, Ted?”
“What are you on about? They’re locked in Gehenna.”
True-every demon sovereign had been sealed with Baal.
“Locked away, yes. But they can still reach us.”
“How?”
“Vessels.”
“Vessels...?”
Ted echoed the word, head cocked like a parrot.
“Demons are transcendents bound by contract. Their job is to break life that’s reached its term, keep the world balanced.”
“Pretty vicious for a maintenance crew.”
“The Creator didn’t count on their greed. Baal and his lieutenants were sealed, but their contracts didn’t vanish. They circle us, waiting.”
Ted listened like a model student.
Everyone knew Henrik had no peer when it came to demon lore.
“Even sealed, they can push thought-forms into our world-whisper, bargain, bait.”
“Persistent bastards.”
“Give a sovereign time to root in a vessel and you’ll never pry it out. Strike early.”
Ted clenched a fist.
“So if we spot a sovereign’s vessel, we kill it fast.”
“Quick study.”
Ted beamed.
“Hey, I’m still the Academy dean. New knowledge is always welcome.”
“Right, forgot.”
“Where’d you even learn this stuff?”
“Watch closely and it’s obvious.”
“Then why bring it up in a carriage?”
Henrik watched the woods slide past the window.
“Forewarned.”
They rolled through a copse and the Vendal estate appeared-close enough to town that you could walk there for lunch.
“Henrik, watch yourself with the nobles.”
“Why bother?”
“It’s for your own good.”
Henrik had never cared much for titles.
Back in the kidnapping cave, when Ted first met him-
[Second son of the Craft duchy? So what?]
Ted loved that attitude, but it sometimes looked like recklessness.
At the gate, soldiers spotted the crest and flung the doors wide.
A steward sprinted up, bowing breathlessly as the carriage stopped.
“Good heavens, Lord Ted! A-an unannounced visit-had I known, I’d have prepared the grandest welcome!”
The man straightening his back was dripping sweat. He couldn’t help it; he’d sprinted here on legs as thick as tree trunks.
His face shone with grease, eyes darting everywhere, giving him the air of a merchant who’d lucked into a title rather than a born noble.
Gold chains and jeweled rings clinked and flashed with every frantic bow.
Ted spoke.
“So you’re the Baron Vendal I’ve been hearing about-recently minted and doing rather well for yourself.”
“Haha! The honor is mine, Lord Ted!”
The man beaming before him was indeed Baron Vendal.