A Regressor's Guide to Hunting in the Academy

Chapter 9

“First, I’m going to teach you the basic building block that every demon is made of.”

Henrik lifted a stick of chalk and sketched a demon on the board-small, round, and almost cute, like a blob of soot.

“Before we talk about this little fellow, let me ask you something.”

He set the chalk down and surveyed the room.

“What exactly is a demon?”

Silence.

No one answered.

‘Hah, trick question. Who doesn’t know that?’

Amecitia snorted under her breath, mocking him.

“Amecitia, you look confident. Care to answer?”

“Uh...”

Caught off guard, she stood.

“Demons are the agents of destruction in the cycle of life.”

“Correct. Sit.”

Grumbling, she dropped back into her seat.

‘Asking that in the Academy-does he think we’re toddlers?’

Yet when she glanced sideways, Grimory and Carmine were leaning forward, taking notes, so she swallowed her irritation and listened.

“In the cycle of life, demons handle destruction-used to keep an overgrown ecosystem in balance. Then Demon King Baal severed that cycle and rebel.”

Henrik’s face darkened at the name.

He paused, cleared his throat, and pushed on.

“Regardless, demons are composed of several elements. The most common, the core component, is a creature called ‘Fig.’”

“That thing...?”

Amecitia tilted her head at the blob on the board.

“Break any demon down far enough and you’ll find chunks of Fig. That’s why they can regenerate no matter how often you cut or tear them. And this-”

He drew a tiny circle in the center of the blob.

“-is the demon core, or ‘m-stone.’ Unless this is destroyed, demons revive indefinitely.”

Wait.

Amecitia’s brow creased. She remembered a conversation with her captain.

[Captain, how do you kill a demon?]

[Any creature dies if you cut off its head. Keep it simple, Amecitia.]

When she was sixteen she’d beheaded a low-rank demon that had appeared in her family’s territory. The body had stayed down; she’d checked.

Personal experience contradicted the professor. Her eyes sparked.

“Professor.”

Her hand shot up.

“Yes, Amecitia? A question?”

She rose, grinning. “You’re wrong.”

Grimory and Carmine gaped. Henrik merely lifted an eyebrow and set the chalk aside.

“All right, which part?”

“Demons can die without destroying their core.”

A moment’s silence; then Henrik gave a conceding nod.

“True-if you wield holy power. But that’s rare, and no one here can. Still, good point.”

“That’s not what I meant.” She stamped her foot. “I’ve killed one without holy power.”

Henrik’s brows twitched, irritation surfacing. Misreading it as surrender, she pressed harder.

“I beheaded the demon in our territory and confirmed the corpse. It never moved again. So your theory doesn’t hold.”

‘See? Your fancy theory is trash.’

She smirked.

Henrik remained impassive.

“It’s not theory, it’s common knowledge. Destroy the core or they regenerate. That’s why intact cores are scarce on the market.”

“But-”

“And a low-rank demon can fake its death easily. You were duped.”

Her cheeks flamed. “I transported the body myself!”

“Then it played dead until you left.”

“It was low-rank-no core at all!”

“Low-rank means a tiny core. You simply missed it.”

“Grrr...!”

Trembling, she marched to the front and faced him.

“Return to your seat, Amecitia.”

She didn’t budge.

“No! The Imperial Knights’ captain himself told me: behead a demon and it dies!”

The room froze.

An awkward silence slithered between the desks.

Henrik’s expression stayed flat, but an ominous aura curled behind him.

‘No reasoning with a spoiled brat. Fine, she’s just a rich little girl with a sword.’

His head throbbed.

The future famed demon-slayer was once an impossible brat.

‘Maybe a knock on the head will help.’

He began to clench his fist-

Someone tugged Amecitia by the collar.

“Who dares-?!”

She whipped around. Grimory had her sleeve bunched in his fist, eyes wide with worry.

Quick-witted as always, he’d sensed Henrik’s irritation and was trying to yank her back from the brink.

“Amecitia... I understand how you feel, but... this is too far.”

Behind Grimory, Carmine snickered as though the whole thing was a joke, and the sound snapped Amecitia’s reason back into place.

“I apologise, Professor.”

When Grimory bowed his head, Henrik exhaled in weary relief.

“Few people truly understand demons. You’ve nothing to apologise for, Grimory.”

Then he looked straight at Amecitia.

“You learned the wrong lesson from the wrong person. Forget it, and pay attention to what I teach from now on.”

Snap!

The last thread of Amecitia’s self-control severed.

There was one insult she could never swallow:

mocking the Imperial Knights’ captain.

The hero she idolised would not be ridiculed.

“What did you just say?”

She turned slowly, voice low.

Henrik smiled, having found her trigger.

“You. Learned. Wrong. Knowledge. From. The. Captain.”

No more restraint.

Plan or no plan, she was done listening.

She yanked something from her pocket and flung it at Henrik.

Smack!

A white handkerchief struck his chest, fluttered, and landed at his feet.

“What is this, Amecitia?”

“I challenge you to a duel, Professor.”

Grimory gasped; Carmine giggled louder.

“Amecitia!”

Grimory grabbed her arm, but when Henrik calmly nodded, he sank back into his seat.

Henrik studied her with icy calm.

“Do you mean it?”

He sounded as though offering a final chance to retreat.

“Every word. I won’t listen to your nonsense any longer.”

They stood toe-to-toe, sparks practically flying between them.

“So you think I’m weak because I’m only Rank 2?”

“I can demonstrate Rank 2 skill any day. Otherwise how could I teach demonology, Professor?”

Henrik closed his book.

“Ah, youth-reckless enough to charge in fearless.”

He stepped closer.

“Very well, I accept. What do you want if you win?”

Here it comes.

Amecitia answered at once.

“If I win, you resign your professorship.”

“Agreed. And if I win?”

“Expulsion, demotion-whatever you want!”

She was already Rank 2 in strength; she simply hadn’t taken this month’s promotion exam, so she was still listed as Rank 1. Her secret technique would clinch victory.

‘Time to pay for underestimating me, Professor.’

Amecitia smirked; Henrik chuckled under his breath.

“When?”

“Right now suits me fine.”

“Then meet me in the training yard-immediately.”

The training yard.

Perfect. At this hour the Knight-Department cadets would be in class; a corner of the yard would still be visible to them. An audience was guaranteed.

“The more spectators the better,” she said, nose so high it might scrape the ceiling.

Grimory caught her sleeve again.

“M-Miss Amecitia... he’s a professor... you should apolog-”

“No! I’m in the right! Everything he said is garbage! And you-top of the year, aren’t you? Will you just sit there and take it?”

Grimory gave a helpless shake of his head.

“Don’t run, Professor. I’m listed Rank 1, but my skill is equal to Rank 2.”

“Is that so? I’ll be watching.”

‘Enjoy your composure while it lasts. I’ll wipe that smug look off your face.’

Amecitia forced her boiling stomach to settle.

Rank 2-she was effectively Rank 2. In a straight contest of power she could even cast spells; victory was certain.

“Let’s go, Professor!”

She strode out, boot-heels ringing.

‘Teach with that level of skill? Not on my watch. After I trounce him, I’m taking the Knight-Department classes where I belong.’

Dreaming of her grand future, she headed for the yard beside Henrik.

News of the duel blazed across the academy, and within minutes a crowd was already gathering.