Chapter 10
“Hey, hey! Acitia Flamur and the new demonology professor are dueling!”
“Seriously?! Who challenged who?”
“Sounds like Acitia lost it and threw down the gauntlet.”
“That’s total insubordination! ...Wait, though. If it’s that demonology guy, maybe it’s possible?”
“This is gonna be epic, man! Move, let’s go!”
“They’re using the training yard right now. Hurry!”
The students’ reasoning was simple.
Every glance at Henrik dripped doubt.
Rumors had soaked the academy: a commoner from the lowest rung of the slums, ridiculously young, handed a professorship just because he’d bagged a mid-rank demon and beco “trendy.”
In short, plenty of people questioned his qualifications.
This duel was the perfect litmus test.
News of Henrik vs. Acitia set the campus ablaze.
A brand-new professor versus a brand-new freshman-professors and seniors alike couldn’t resist the gossip.
“Henrik... please...”
In the dean’s office, Ted pressed his forehead to the desk, palms clasped in prayer.
He’d been the one to drag Henrik here; he could admit that much. But who knew the man would start breaking things on day one?
Ted’s head throbbed.
“Shall I halt the match, Dean?” his secretary asked sharply.
Ted shook his head.
“No, let it run. Headache or not, it might be necessary.”
“Necessary, sir? A professor fighting a student-necessary?”
“Exactly. Henrik’s na is everywhere, yet no one knows what he can actually do.”
“You rate him that highly?” The secretary nudged her glasses.
“Watch soone six years and you learn. Lately he’s grown even stronger...”
Ted pictured Henrik hunting the Demon King.
A leap in power, a hardened mind-overnight, almost. Astonishing.
“No lasting damage will co of it. We’ll sweep up afterward.”
Acitia Flamur, eldest daughter of House Flamur.
Ted chuckled at the mory:
[“I’m going to be the Imperial Knights’ captain one day!”]
The bold little noblewoman who’d introduced herself with that declaration.
He’d approved her scholarship to prop up her fading house.
He never dread she’d collide with Henrik.
Then again, he should have.
‘Both of them, pride sky-high-of course they’d crash.’
Henrik’s official rank: 2.
Acitia: currently 1, but she already fights at 2.
Remarkable for her age-proof of talent.
On paper, they look even.
Ted, however, saw the ending crystal-clear.
“No matter how brilliant the prodigy, experience leaves a gap nothing else can close.”
Henrik would win.
Overwhelmingly.
‘He’s stuck at Rank 2 for now...’
Ted’s eyes weren’t painted on.
Henrik had the latent potential to hit Rank 3 soon-and aim for 4.
Years of observation said so.
‘Especially when he’s hunting demons-relentless.’
Ted gazed out the window at the training yard.
A ring of spectators already circled the pair like vultures.
‘All right, professor from the slums. Ti to show the world. Enjoy the playground.’
* * *
Center of the wide training yard.
Henrik and Acitia faced each other.
“Before we begin, let’s confirm the stakes,” called Oliver Mandolin, professor of Knighthood, looking from one to the other.
Henrik had planned to finish this quickly from a corner; Acitia had other ideas.
She’d chatted up Oliver during class and roped him into refereeing.
“Freshman Acitia Flamur, if you win you demand the dismissal of Professor Henrik Dusk-correct?”
“Correct!” She thrust her wooden sword at him.
“Professor Henrik Dusk, if you win, Acitia must grant you any single request-correct?”
“Correct.”
Henrik was grateful for a knight-professor’s oversight, but he still kept his guard up; hunters never fully trust knights.
Acitia either didn’t know or didn’t care.
One hand glowing with spell-light, the other brandishing her blade, she showed off to the crowd.
Proud as a peacock-and still a teenager who’d just turned nineteen, a high-born girl burning with her own righteous fire.
An age when puppies don’t yet fear tigers, when personal justice feels absolute.
To her, strength probably looked like numbers on a scoreboard.
That was inexperience talking.
Henrik intended to teach her the reality:
No matter the rank, so gaps can’t be closed-except by living through them.
He would make her feel the chasm of experience.
Crushingly.
One day she’d graduate and beco a war-hero.
To steer her there alive, he had to break that proud nose and show her the ground now.
He lifted a standard training dagger.
He’d simply grabbed the first weapon that looked usable-anything would do.
“So you pick up a sword because I’m holding one? Must be nice to have so little confidence.”
“......”
That caught Henrik off guard.
She clearly thought even less of him than he’d expected.
He’d sensed people doubting his talent before, but never dread she’d rate him this low.
‘A decade of experience ans nothing to her?’
A short, humorless laugh escaped him.
If this were the man he’d been before regressing, she’d already be missing a limb.
Well, she was still an academy brat; a lesson was in order.
“We’ll see. Try and find out.”
“You really don’t belong in a classroom. I wish the Imperial Knights’ captain had taken the professorship instead.”
The knight-captain? That fossil?
Henrik froze.
The Imperial Knights’ captain-the pig-headed relic who’d ignored every warning Henrik gave before the last war.
‘She thinks I’m worse than him?’
The idea was so absurd he actually laughed.
“Ha... hahaha.”
Even ten years ago, no one had ever put him beneath that man.
“I’ve changed my mind.”
“Sir?”
Henrik tossed the training dagger aside. Empty-handed now, he tilted his head at Acitia.
“Bare hands will do.”
Plan revised.
He would still go easy-just enough to hamr the point ho, very thoroughly.
Besides, the skeptical stares around them practically begged for a reminder that losing to a student was unthinkable.
He’d uproot that doubt at the root.
“B-bare hands...? You’re serious? I’m ard!”
“Plenty.”
Referee Oliver stepped closer.
“You truly intend to duel unard, Henrik?”
Henrik held his gaze and nodded once.
“Very well. If I judge the situation dangerous, I will stop the match. Agreed?”
Another nod.
“Suit yourself.”
Oliver returned to his spot and threw up his hand.
“Both sides-ready!”
At the signal, Henrik and Acitia set their stances.
“Begin!”
Oliver’s hand chopped down; Acitia charged.
* * *
“I’ll make you pay for underestimating !”
Snarling, she blasted a jet of fla from her right hand.
-FWOOM!
Scorching fire swallowed Henrik.
‘Even weakened, that should sting.’
Certain the spell had landed, Acitia whipped her sword in for a follow-up strike the instant the flas died.
“Hup-!”
Steel sliced only fire and empty air.
‘Gone?! I hit him!’
A voice spoke behind her.
“Behind.”
Low, clear, impossible.
-CRACK!
A fist drove into her lower back, bending her like a bow and launching her forward.
All air punched from her lungs.
Desperately, she slashed backward; the blade whistled through nothing.
This ti the voice ca from the front.
“Front.”
-THUD!
A straight punch snapped her head back, lifting her off her feet.
“Argh!”
She tumbled across the floor three full rolls.
‘H-how can bare hands-’
Sprawled on the stones, panic clawed at her.
“I can read every move you make.”
Henrik stood over her, calm as if he were toying with a puzzle.
Experience, he’d called it-ti to spell out what that ant.
‘Don’t you dare look down on ...!’
His relaxed expression stoked her fury.
‘Just a Rank 2... showing off like he’s sobody!’
She forged a fierce spell in her right hand and began pressing it into her sword.
Her secret trump card.
“Acitia-stop!”
Oliver Mandolin, Professor of Knighthood and today’s referee, recognized the technique and lunged to intervene.
But-
“It’s fine. Let her continue.”
Henrik strolled forward, perfectly relaxed, and addressed Oliver.
“Henrik Dusk, do you actually know what you’re allowing?”
Oliver stared as if Henrik had lost his mind.
“I know. I can handle it. And I’d like the students to see this.”
“See what, exactly...?”
“That rank isn’t everything.”
Henrik held Oliver’s gaze while he spoke.
Oliver caught the unspoken clause: prove himself as a professor and teach his pupils a lesson at the sa ti. As a newly appointed teacher in the sa boat, he understood.
Henrik also knew sothing else.
Ten years from now, when the seals on the high demons broke, combat ranks would an nothing. Those numbers only gauged how much skill and stamina a person currently possessed; they were a blurry snapshot of true strength.
Henrik looked calmly at Acitia.
“Give it your best shot. Whatever you’ve got.”
His permission snapped the last thread of her reason.
She wanted to wipe that composure off his face-wanted to slam her sword straight through that smug mask.
The instant her restraint vanished, she turned coldly rational.
Layer upon layer, she fed spell after spell into the blade.
Two layers. Three.
A fourth on top of those.
Fla infusion.
Durability boost.
Sword-force discharge.
Elental vent.
The wooden training sword beca a blazing fla-blade, crackling with power.
It took considerable ti-ti in which Henrik could have closed the gap and ended things. Instead he waited, silent, motionless-the very picture of an untouchable superior.
The murmuring crowd quieted.
Only dry swallows could be heard.
“If you want death that badly, I’ll oblige.”
Acitia charged the motionless Henrik, vicious magic sword raised.
She aid for his throat.
Whoosh!
The blade sliced empty air.
Henrik shifted a single step and evaded her effortlessly.
“Ghh!”
Snarling, she whipped the sword in a follow-up arc.
Whoosh-whoosh!
She never touched a hair on his head. Then, in the middle of her swing, Henrik simply vanished from her sight.
“Again-behind you.”
An icy voice whispered down her spine.
“No matter how powerful the ability, it’s aningless if it doesn’t land. Conversely-”
Crack!
A sharp pain at the base of her neck cut her world to black.
“-even a simple strike can be fatal.”
“Referee.”
Henrik’s single word snapped Oliver out of his daze.
“H-Henrik Dusk wins!”
A flawless crush.
“B-bare-handed...?”
“He’s only Rank 2... right?”
“That wasn’t even a contest.”
The stares aid at Henrik had flipped completely. He was no longer so novelty hire riding a mont of fa; that much was undeniable now.
Henrik turned to Oliver.
“Thank you for your trouble.”
“...Not at all, Professor Dusk.”
Oliver’s tone-and his form of address-had changed. Henrik gave a small, quiet nod.
“See you around.”
“...Indeed.”
Oliver began dispersing the crowd while Henrik walked to the unconscious Acitia and looked down at her.
Twitch-
Monts later she jolted awake and scrambled to her feet.
“H-how did this...?”
Realization crashed over her: she had been knocked out-overwhelmingly defeated.
Her fists clenched; she bit her lip and lowered her head.
Henrik spoke.
“Acitia-look at .”
The voice was gentler than the one he used in class or during duels.
Trembling, she lifted her gaze. The man she had dismissed suddenly looked enormous.
‘This can’t be happening. I couldn’t even touch soone who fought bare-handed?’
Her chaotic eyes caught the countless scars etched along Henrik’s forearm.
Big ones, small ones-if his arms bore that many, how many more must cover the rest of him?
‘A demon-hunter...!’
She’d misjudged him-badly.
Ten years was enough to turn anyone into an expert, even at catching mice.
He’d been a Hunter since he was thirteen; there was no way he could be weak.
Maybe that was why Grimory-the top student-had tried to stop her.
“Acitia. Didn’t I say I’d grant you one wish?”
She flinched at Henrik’s voice.
“Major in demonology.”
“......”
So, expulsion it is-just as she’d-
Wait, what did he just say?
“...Pardon?”
Acitia’s head snapped up, tears and snot streaking her face.
She scrubbed her cheeks with her sleeve so she could see him clearly.
He held out his hand.
“I’ll even teach you the combat skills you’re missing. I’ll make you the greatest demon-blade there is.”
No one had ever offered her a hand like that.
Not even the knight-captain she idolized.
Shaking, she pushed herself to her feet, brushed the dust from her clothes, and took it.
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