Episode 155

Eleven students surrounded me. Surprisingly, none of them were puppets.

Or is it really a surprise?

For a puppet, the worst-case scenario would be sustaining visible injuries. Unless they were complete lunatics, few would bother checking if others were still breathing. But if their skin cracked and flaked away like shattered porcelain, suspicion would rise. Maybe they had built-in instincts, commands drilled deep—like avoiding harm at all costs.

The moment Talis collapsed, two students beside him lunged at me. I kicked the table from underneath. As the food soared into the air, I snatched up empty beer mugs with both hands and brought them down hard on their heads.

With a loud clatter, both hit the ground.

I went easy on them.

If I'd aimed for their faces, the shards would have torn them to ribbons.

"You bastard!" An exceptionally burly student swung at me next. His speed was impressive for his size, but that was all he had. I caught his wrist midair and flung him toward a rickety table. His weight broke not one, but two tables. This was not my problem, though. They were the ones who started it. In the end, they were just small fries. Dealing with them was simple, if a little irritating.

Was it eight or nine? By the time I finished, a sword hissed through the air. One of the lurking students had drawn his sword.

"No weapons!" Glenn shouted, his voice sharp with alarm.

The attacker's eyes were glazed, wild with madness, and he let out a guttural scream before lunging at me. I focused my internal energy into my fingertip and flicked the flat of his sword. His wrist jolted violently, forcing him to drop the sword. At the same time, I struck him across the cheek with the back of my hand. The impact and pain were no different from a full-force punch. Just like the burly student before him, I sent him flying with exaggerated flair.

"I heard the Badnikers' youngest was a reckless fool. Is that true, or just the Iron-Blooded Lord's lie?" A deep voice cut through the chaos. It belonged to the tavern owner.

Even while fending off the others, I hadn't taken my focus off him. It wasn't just his age. The aura he exuded was leagues beyond what any student could possess.

"You're wasted as a tavern owner," I remarked.

He snorted and lunged at me. Mana coiled around his fist, unusually strong and clear. The refined glow visible to the naked eye marked his mastery.

Nice.

Grinning, I gathered my internal energy and met his strike head-on.

Our fists collided midair with a thunderous crack.

Unlike swords, fists rarely clashed in open combat. For two strikes to connect so precisely without prior coordination meant one thing: my reflexes were sharper than his.

"Are you looking down on me?" he demanded.

As expected, he realized the gap between our skills. Snarling, he unleashed a fiercer assault. I dodged with ease, studying his movements carefully. This was a man well-versed in hand-to-hand combat. In an empire that traditionally scorned unarmed martial arts, it was rare to find someone with such refined boxing skills.

As we traded blows, I pieced together the clues. He was relatively young, his face didn't fit the role of a tavern owner, he masked his aura until the last moment, and his hand-to-hand combat was impressive. The sword was powerful but drew attention. That was why specialists in infiltration and covert ops trained to rely on concealed weapons and their bodies.

"Are you part of the Imperial Special Forces?" I floated the question, thinking of Barter. The flicker in the man's breath gave it away.

So much for suspense.

It had been a while since I enjoyed a proper fight, and I wanted it to last. Still, I couldn't ignore such a glaring opening, so I reached out and grabbed his collar.

Even as his reflexes kicked in and he caught my wrist, his expression froze the moment our skin touched. The instant he held my wrist, he recognized the gap between us. Then, I yanked him forward, drove a fist into his gut, then threw him into the kitchen.

Silence fell with the crash.

I glanced at Glenn, curious about his reaction, but his oversized hat and thick-rimmed glasses obscured his face.

"You..." A groan came from the kitchen. The man staggered out, glaring at me with bloodshot eyes. "If you lay one finger on His Highness—"

"Shut up and get me more tomato beer," I barked.

"What?"

"I only got half a glass. Didn't even eat yet. I'm starving."

Glenn, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "Marco, do as Luan says."

"Understood." Marco nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, but I could still feel his gaze burning into me. In the meantime, I picked up the fallen table and brushed the crumbs off its surface.

"Your Highness... run away..." Talis' voice drifted to me.

I couldn't help but ask, "He isn't a thug but a loyal servant. So that stunt in the classroom was your doing?"

Glenn studied me briefly before ordering, "Talis, leave."

"Your Highness?'

"Now."

"U-understood."

Talis and the students stumbled out, some dragging their unconscious comrades like defeated soldiers.

Figures.

No matter how arrogant a noble, few had the guts to bully someone from the imperial family. Especially not Talis, an authority-worshiper. The stronger the power, the deeper his fear.

Glenn spoke again. "Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Shoot."

"You could beat me half to death here, and no one would care."

I stared at him, waiting for the punchline. His expression stayed deadly serious. "If you're holding back because you fear the imperial family, you don't have to."

I didn't know what kind of nonsense this was, but I had no intention of beating Glenn. Not because I believed him, but because I'd never planned to in the first place.

I said nothing. He fell quiet too, though I noticed the faint tremor in his chin. I asked, just to be sure, "Do you like getting hit or something?"

"D-don't be ridiculous."

"Then why say something like that?"

Glenn shut his mouth, so I pressed on, "You looked into me. You brought your lackeys to rough me up. And now you can't even answer a question?"

Still no response.

"Speak up. I might look like this, but I'm a good listener."

Glen burst into laughter, the kind reserved for terrible jokes. "As you said, I did my research. That's when I found out about your reputation—the only stain on the Iron-Blooded Lord, the scum of the Badnikers, the trash who never received any blessings."

"I also sold the family's treasure sword," I added lightly.

"If I let someone like you beat me to a pulp, no one will see me as a true member of the imperial family. Our authority will hit rock bottom."

I hummed in response.

"Remember what I said before? I have hundreds of siblings."

"Yeah."

"Still, fewer than ten are officially called prince or princess. So what happened to the rest of my siblings?"

"Your Highness." Marco's voice came from the kitchen, quiet but sharp, as if trying to stop Glenn from speaking further.

Glenn forced a smile. "Most of them are either dead or missing. I don't even know who's still alive. So what was the criteria? How did they decide which ten children would be allowed to bear the Scarlett name? How did a failure like me end up as the Third Prince?"

Glenn adjusted his hat and continued, "It is the color of my hair. That's all it came down to. Not status, not talent, not achievements. Just hair. The brighter and more vivid the shade, the more you're worth. It's no different from grading livestock at a slaughterhouse."

A hollow laugh escaped him. "That's the truth behind the imperial family. A cesspool run by senile old men obsessed with symbolism, and lunatics drunk on the color red."

At that moment, Marco returned with the tomato beer.

Catching sight of his murderous glare, I asked, "You didn't spit in it, right?"

"I don't play with food."

"I will believe you," I said before solemnly swapping glasses with Glenn.

His silence confirmed it was clean.

After a few sips of the uniquely flavored tomato beer, I said, "I get it now."

Glenn was confused.

"You're a puppet too," I remarked.

Of course, I didn't mean a literal puppet. But to me, his life didn't look much different from one.

"What?'

I splashed the rest of the beer in his face.

"Your High—" Marco was startled before lunging at me. Unlike before, his fist carried killing intent. He meant to kill.

Without even looking, I waved my hand. Marco couldn't react in time; his forehead slammed into the back of my hand, sending him flying into the wall.

I turned back to Glenn, who gaped at me. "If you hate the imperial family and your hair so much, shave it off. Your sister at the academy even dyed hers. What's your excuse?"

"That's—"

"I get it. The Badniker blood in my veins is a burden too. Thanks to our illustrious family head, expectations weigh heavy on us. But so what?"

Honestly, Glenn looked so pathetic I wanted to slap some sense into him. Given his age, I figured he was too pathetic to hit, so I held back.

"Sure, your hatred runs deeper than mine. The imperial family's authority overshadows that of the Badnikers. However, is that necessarily a bad thing?" I asked.

"What's your point?"

"I decided to use my bloodline to my advantage. Just hearing the name Badniker lets me filter out the weaklings who grovel on the ground or the pathetic ones intimidated by it. The family holds real power, so I can borrow money when I need it and get help in many ways. Most important of all," I said, locking eyes with him, "I don't take pride in the name. To me, the Badniker name is a tool, not a burden. Now, look at you."

I clicked my tongue at the tomato-beer-soaked prince. "You don't like the imperial family, so you hide your hair under a hat? You refuse to be called a prince and hate being treated like one even more? Are you a child?"

I could see Glenn clenching his fists, but I didn't stop criticizing him. . "Remember what you said when I used honorifics last time? You told me not to. That's your true nature. The moment you get emotional, you give orders. You don't ask. Just like how you handled those bastards who left the tavern or the ones lying unconscious.

"You come from that background, yet you complain about hating the imperial family or how the church has other intentions? Pathetic. I thought you had some depth, but you're just stuck in a teenage rebellion."

"What do you know?!"

To me, Glenn's words just sounded like he had no counterargument. I stood and said, "You're paying for the meal, right? The food and drink were decent, but the atmosphere was terrible. I'm leaving."

"Wait, s—" His mouth opened halfway, as if he were about to bark another command, maybe "Stop" or "Sit down," before he stopped himself.

I snorted and walked out.

Glenn's glare burned into my back, but what could he do?

Sure, I'd ranted in the heat of the moment, but the trip wasn't wasted. At least one thing became clear. Glenn Scarlett was not a member of the church.

***

I returned to the Yellow Building and visited the hero disciples one by one to share the latest situation. Classes stretched throughout the day, so by the time I finished, the sun had long disappeared below the horizon.

I led the hero disciples back to the hideout, where Seren and the other female disciples were already waiting.

Did they use the kitchen?

The table was covered with bread, grilled meat, sausages, and a hearty stew.

I grabbed a sausage and asked, "What's the count?"

"Twenty-one of them were puppets. There might be some errors, but applying this ratio to the entire academy means at least 200 students are puppets."

Silence settled over the room.

Charles broke it, her voice steady despite the fear behind it. "Hard as it is to believe, I've seen people who don't breathe. Denying this would be delusional."

From her tone, it was clear Charles had already accepted the situation. I appreciated her composure. She wasn't the type to make a scene. Unfortunately, not everyone shared her mindset.

Charis wasn't convinced. "T-this has to be some kind of event, right? It doesn't make sense! This is Cartel Academy, the safest place in the empire after the imperial palace!"

Pam looked frightened. "Shouldn't we ask someone else for help?"

"If we call the Imperial Knights or the active heroes of the Hero Society—"

"You might've forgotten, but this is an island. It's not that big, but there is only one bridge to the mainland, and Dean Alderson watches it closely," I interjected.

"If we use magic tools—"

𝒇𝙧𝙚𝓮𝔀𝓮𝒃𝙣𝓸𝒗𝒆𝒍.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Something like a communication crystal? The man who could become an Archmage would have planned for that." I glanced at Pam, who looked drained. "Get a grip. Remember what you learned during training camp. It doesn't matter when or where the church attacks. The academy was the last place we expected this, but preparing for the unpredictable was the whole point of training."

I clapped my hands, and the others gave small, uncertain nods. I could still sense hesitation. Some of them clearly hadn't accepted the gravity of the situation. I needed to drive it home. "To be honest, what we're seeing now is just the experimental phase. There are ways to spot a puppet now, but that won't last."

"What do you mean?"

"What happens when they develop breathing puppets? Ones with real blood and veins under their skin?" I questioned.

"What will happen?"

I glared at Charis for asking such a foolish question and replied, "No one will be able to tell them apart. It'll be a disaster once those puppets graduate from the academy. These students are proven talents. It will only take a few months at best for them to rise to the top of the empire.

"Think about it. The Imperial Knights, the Hero Society, and heirs of noble families will all serve the demon king. This isn't a joke. The empire's largest educational institution will become a training ground for church members."

Only then did the hero disciples' expressions harden.

I wasn't exaggerating. If this continued, events would unfold exactly as I predicted. I knew that the war against the Dark Church would start within ten years.

A thriving Dark Church and a crumbling empire...

It occurred to me that the fall of the empire had likely started here, with a puppet army bred in this very academy.