I’m the Slit-Eyed Character at the Academy, but I’m not the Mastermind – Chapter 412

Knight Pjol remained confined to his room as before.

Aside from the occasional visits from Daike, during which they exchanged a few words, his days passed in near-total silence.

Yet Pjol did not find it stifling in the least.

Time simply slipped away as he immersed himself in meditation and prayer, or let his mind wander back to old memories.

Joining the Trash Knight Order, earning the recognition of Baron Kelven, and pledging his unwavering loyalty.

The glorious days spent alongside his comrades.

Those had been joyful times, right up until the final battle where they had been utterly confident of victory turned into a crushing defeat, and before Baron Kelven began to change in strange ways.

Then came that secret meeting, where the Baron spoke of his desire to form a contract with a demon, and…

“Pjol, you go first and try it. You can do that much for me, can’t you?”

An absurd order, demanding that Pjol attempt the contract with a demon in his stead as part of some experiment.

But Pjol had not hesitated to obey.

Because it was his lord’s command.

Because he believed there must be a good reason for it.

Because he was a comrade with whom he had shared life and death.

Back then, that was what he had thought it meant.

‘I believed it was loyalty.’

He had severed the contract immediately after experiencing the demon’s power, but the price had been devastating damage to his body.

A knight who could no longer wield a sword. Could such a one even be called a knight?

Yet Pjol harbored no regrets. Not until recently, when he had spoken with Daike, who dreamed of becoming a knight himself.

‘Blindly following a lord’s orders… that’s no different from being a hunting dog.’

Blind adherence to a lord straying down the wrong path marked one as third-rate.

On the other hand, correcting a lord’s mistakes, no matter the misunderstandings it might cause—that was the mark of a second-rate knight, and the true essence of a ‘knight.’

So, what he needed to do now was…

“Stop the lord who walks the wrong path.”

But could he manage it alone? With this broken body of his that could collapse at any moment?

It would be ideal if he had comrades who shared his resolve, but he could hardly count on that.

‘Moreover, too much time has passed since the contract with the demon. If it were broken now…’

At best, death. At worst, his very soul would fall into the demon’s clutches.

Pjol continued to wrestle with his thoughts.

What should he do? How could he guide Baron Kelven back to the righteous path?

On a late night like any other, burdened with worries and anxieties, a commotion erupted outside.

“Everyone, assemble!”

“What? What’s going on?”

Even the instructor guarding Pjol outside the door jumped to his feet in surprise.

“All the knights have vanished! We need to form search parties and patrols—gather quickly!”

“Th-this damn it!”

“Looks like no sleep again tonight!”

Tadadadak…

The hurried footsteps of instructors echoed from all directions.

Those sounds gradually faded into the distance. Once he was certain no presences lingered, Pjol lifted his foot.

Thud!!

His kick sent the door crashing off its hinges.

Even in this state, he had once reached the 7-star realm.

Though his body was ruined, smashing a wooden door was child’s play.

He scanned the surroundings warily for a moment, but detected no approaching signs of life.

‘Did they not even consider I might attempt an escape after staying so obediently?’

If so, that was disappointing indeed.

The instructors of Annwood Academy were an elite group, handpicked from the finest of the fine.

‘And yet, they let such a gap slip through with this.’

It seemed no organization in the world was truly flawless.

Pjol had known such times himself.

Times when he had believed both himself and the group he belonged to were perfect.

“…”

But that, too, was a tale from the past.

For now, Pjol decided to focus on the present, on the tasks right before him.

“Bickerd and Redington—where are they being held?”

“In the cabin in the western forest.”

Finding their location proved easy enough, thanks to a soldier who moonlighted as an informant.

Pjol headed straight there. Why seek them out first, of all people?

Unlike him, Bickerd and Redington had been captured red-handed during the abduction.

They must have endured brutal torture in the meantime, likely clinging to life by a thread.

‘It would be only proper to grant them a merciful end with my own hands.’

Having suffered under Caron, the master of torment, even a successful rescue might not let them live as normal men again.

They, too, would crave death at this point.

Upon arriving at the cabin in the western forest, Pjol surveyed the area. No sentries were in sight.

Creak-.

Gripping a sword in his right hand, he cautiously pushed the door open.

The one who greeted Pjol as he entered the cabin was.

“Pjol?”

“Eh? What’s this? Here to rescue us? If so, I’ll just accept the sentiment. Life here’s not half bad, actually.”

“…”

Pjol unconsciously tilted his head in confusion.

He had expected them to be barely hanging on, but what was this?

They looked perfectly fine. Even their cheeks were plump and healthy.

“What in the world is going on here?”

“We don’t know either. No torture at all. Just a barrage of questions. Well, maybe that counts as torture. He kept repeating the same pointless conversations all day long.”

Clang!

Pjol sliced through the restraints binding the two men.

Redington rubbed his wrists and spoke up.

“It was noisy outside earlier. Something happen?”

“…The Baron has escaped. Seems the knights slipped out with him.”

“Ah, so it came to this in the end. This’ll spark a big fight, won’t it?”

Redington stretched his limbs, working out the kinks. For all his lazy airs, he had survived hundreds of territorial skirmishes.

He did not fear battle. The mad lion Lowell… well, she might be a slight exception?

“Let’s move for now. Stay here too long, and we’ll get recaptured for sure.”

As Redington and Pjol stepped toward the cabin door, they soon turned back.

Bickerd stood there motionless.

“What’s the holdup? Aren’t you coming?”

“…Wait a moment. I have something to say.”

“What’s with the dramatic buildup? Spit it out quick—we don’t have time.”

Was he tense? He breathed in, then out.

After repeating that several times, Bickerd seemed to steel himself and opened his mouth.

“Let’s stop the Baron.”

“Huh?”

“Stopping a lord who’s gone astray—that’s the role of a knight, right?”

At his words, Pjol and Redington exchanged glances. Then, suddenly, they burst out laughing with a ‘Pfft!’

“Wh-what? Why are you guys laughing?”

“Well… it’s just that the guy with anger control issues is suddenly spouting something so sensible.”

“I don’t have anger control issues! I’m perfectly normal!”

“Yeah, yeah, there he goes getting mad again! Help! There’s a lunatic here!”

Redington fled, dodging the charging Bickerd.

Soon caught and toppled to the ground, Redington spoke up.

“I don’t mind either way. I’ve always been the type to chase after anything fun.”

“You’re not scared of facing off against the mad lion again?”

“Well… yeah, that’s maybe 99% of it?”

“You’re such a clown anyway…”

Their gazes met in the air before shifting to one side.

“Pjol, what about you? What’s your plan?”

Pjol’s thoughts aligned with theirs, but he needed confirmation.

Confirmation that their resolve was ‘genuine.’

“…To think you’d prattle about blocking the Baron’s path right in front of me. You’re out of your mind.”

Shing-.

Pjol drew his sword. A vivid blue aura enveloped the blade.

“Surrender. Change your minds now, and I’ll spare you.”

“You’d kill us without weapons? No knightly honor left in you?”

“I cast that aside the day it all went wrong.”

“…Damn it!”

Bickerd snatched up a restraint shackle from the floor and gripped it tightly. He couldn’t die like this.

He had to stop Baron Kelven and atone for the sins he himself had committed.

“Redington, let’s go! We’ll attack from both sides!”

“No thanks? If he hits me, I’m dead.”

“Ah, come on! This is ridiculous!”

As the two bickered, the shackle flew toward Pjol.

It hurtled with enough force to split bone. Pjol twisted his body, narrowly evading it.

The edge grazed his cheek, tearing a shallow cut that drew a trickle of blood.

“Oops, didn’t land it?”

With the feint meant to lower his guard failing, a smile vanished from Redington’s lips.

Seeing them like this, Pjol smiled inwardly.

It appeared both Bickerd and Redington were in earnest.

‘I figured Bickerd, born to be a knight, might feel that way, but…’

Redington, the quintessential layabout, was a bit of a surprise.

Come to think of it, he had only turned into such a slacker after the Baron lost his way.

So, had his days of idleness all this time been a way of showing doubt, or maybe even quiet defiance?

‘Real perceptive of me to pick up on that only now.’

It looked like more than just his body had fallen into ruin. His knack for reading people had taken a hit too.

“What are you waiting for? If you’re not coming over, we’ll head your way?”

“Yeah, Bickerd! You charge in first and get yourself killed! I’ll handle the leftovers!”

“You son of a—!”

Bickerd and Redington going at it like always.

Was it just wishful thinking, or did their squabbling remind him of the old knight order’s camaraderie?

‘Maybe things aren’t beyond saving yet.’

Pjol steeled his resolve. The Trash Knight Order.

He would bring it back to its former self.

“Cut the fighting. We’ve got more than enough real battles waiting for us down the line.”

A pitch-black night.

The three knights emerged from the cabin.

---

The next day, Trash Village was thrown into absolute chaos.

“The knight order escaped?”

“Apparently the instructor on duty nodded off. They busted out of the prison and slipped away through a secret tunnel.”

“Even so, ditching their own lord, Baron Kelven? Are those idiots even real knights?”

“At least we’ve nailed down one thing. Every last one of them is tangled up in this whole affair.”

It was basically the same as rounding up the suspects already. The instructors and soldiers felt a strange sense of relief, even. All that was left was to track them down and take them out.

The real issue, though.

“We’ve got zero clues on where they’ve holed up.”

“There are way too many defunct mines around here. If we don’t move fast, they could vanish for good.”

“Even holding the perimeter is stretching us thin—now a full search? We’re short-staffed to the point of absurdity!”

Complaints bubbled up from every corner.

In a situation where the entire knight order might launch a surprise assault at any second, how could the tension not skyrocket?

“I-I’m gonna die! Th-the knights are gonna burst out from under the ground!”

Rezé was bouncing around wildly, as if she’d rather die than let her feet touch the dirt.

The other students weren’t faring much better. Unease hung heavy over everyone.

“You look weirdly chill about all this?”

“Keke, I’ve always kept my cool, haven’t I?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true…”

Typical Luna. Her instincts only kicked in at the most offbeat moments.

Why I felt more relaxed than anyone else there.

Because this was all just a segment of the ‘story.’

‘I was getting worried with so many hidden elements popping off unexpectedly, but… it’s sticking to the script after all.’

No reason to sweat if everything was unfolding exactly as I remembered from the story.

It was right around then, as I stretched out a long, lazy yawn.

A cluster of kids came into view from the distance.

Alex, Raymond, Yuridia, Victoria, and even Rodelin and Lowell.

The stars of this episode had all converged in one spot.

“You’re running late.”

“Keke, a little something came up last night, you see.”

“What the heck could anyone even be doing out that late…”

Yuridia was in the middle of shooting me a dirty look when Luna let out another drawn-out yawn.

She’d spent the entire pre-dawn hours going at it with Lowell, then buckled down to refine a brand-new technique, so no surprise she was wiped.

“Ahem, well, if it’s that sort of ‘something,’ I suppose it’s unavoidable. Just… try to keep it moderate, okay?”

Yuridia whipped her head away, cheeks burning a deep crimson.

Moderate what, exactly? Pillow fights?

What a peculiar kid she was.

“Anyway, no need to fret. I’ll pass along any intel I’ve picked up.”

She must have been darting all over the place since dawn, scraping together whatever scraps of information she could.

The sharing of details kicked off without delay.

The knight order’s breakout.

Pjol, Bickerd, and Redington—the ones who’d been locked up—had slipped away too.

The vanishing of the lord’s son, Nade.

The fact that the emergency exit snaked right into the mines.

No traces suggesting they’d headed off to some other village.

A handful of other tidbits floated around, but nothing tied to the incident itself.

“They say Baron Kelven’s escape attempt flopped. Or more like, there aren’t even signs the knights tried pulling him out.”

“Fleeing without their key figure? Doesn’t that strike you as fishy?”

“Perhaps Baron Kelven wasn’t pulling the strings from the shadows after all.”

“Consider this angle: what if there weren’t just one culprit, but two?”

A knight who’d tumbled into corruption by striking a deal with a demon.

He should’ve been turned in from the start, but Baron Kelven—desperate to recapture their lost days of glory—chose to cover for him instead.

And fed people to the demon as offerings, pumping up its power in the process.

“That tracks. They were mutual pawns in each other’s games, but when things got dicey, they cut him loose. Ditching their own lord like that—talk about a lack of honor.”

Rodelin’s input lent even more credence to Yuridia’s theory.

“This isn’t looking good. Nade’s gone missing too.”

“It’s got to be a straight-up kidnapping.”

“We can’t waste another second. Lady Lowell, we have to assemble tracking teams immediately. Manpower’s tight, so why not blend students in with the instructors for mixed squads?”

Supplementing the shortages by pulling in students.

On the surface, it sounded like a smart move, but it was anything but.

You couldn’t take on a 50-plus-strong knight order with splintered, underpowered groups like that.

Still, doing nothing wasn’t an option either.

“Hmm…”

Lowell lapsed into contemplation.

In the original tale, this was where Alex would pipe up about the risks to everyone, sparking a drawn-out debate that eventually uncovers the true perpetrator.

Letting it play out untouched would’ve been fine. But I raised my hand and jumped in anyway.

‘I need to pump up Luna and Rezé’s stats in the meantime.’

Ah, will those kids ever grasp the depth of my paternal(?) devotion, sacrificing like this for their sake?

Every eye in the group locked onto me, and with Lowell’s piercing stare boring in, I opened my mouth.

“Miss Yuridia’s theory has one glaring hole in it.”

“And what’s that?”

“You mentioned one knight made a pact with a demon, but what explains the rest of them chasing after him?”

“Well… isn’t it plain as day? They’re allies, right?”

“They’re sidelined by old wounds, sure, but they’re knights through and through. For a bunch like that to abandon their lord—Baron Kelven—and bolt off together? It flat-out doesn’t make sense.”

“Ah…”

That’s right. Fleeing from their lord was bad enough, but trailing after a demon-bound knight? That defied logic even more.

And yet, they’d all vanished as one.

Like it was the most obvious choice in the world.

“It points to ‘something’ pulling them all together. The question is, what?”

The kids sank into thought.

Yuridia, in particular—the one who hated coming up short—grunted and furrowed her brow in concentration.

I was watching the scene unfold at my leisure when someone gave my shin a sharp nudge.

Glancing down, I found Lowell standing there, arms crossed tight like she had a bone to pick.

“Looks like you’ve sniffed out a clue or two. Drop the posturing and lay it out. Oh, and factor in that a wrong guess costs you 10 demerit points.”

“Keke, now that’s a steep penalty. What do I get if I’m spot on?”

“I’ll make one of your wishes come true, whatever it might be.”

The corner of Lowell’s mouth twisted into a smirk.

A posture screaming she refused to accept her loss from yesterday, and layered on top of that.

‘Doubt.’

You could call it a straightforward test to measure my true value.

But offering up a blank check like that? Bold move.

A wish on demand. As if she had any idea what I’d ask for?

“You sure you want to go there?”

“Why so wordy all of a sudden? Starting to doubt yourself?”

Her ego ran just as deep as anyone’s, it seemed.

Alright, then.

Here we go.

Time for the master class explanation.

–TL Notes–
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