"Go to hell, you gay pervert!"

A massive fist, carried by icy winds, collided with Coren's repulsive face, producing a muffled thud.

In the silent training arena, the sound stood out strikingly clear.

Everyone froze, including Professor Kaid.

For a moment, countless gazes stared in shock at the abrupt incident unfolding in the arena, leaving them speechless.

Only Moen, watching the revolting, effeminate man twisting his face in agony underneath his fist, flying backward, and fainting before even having the chance to scream, felt an overwhelming sense of satisfaction.

"Ah... that was refreshing."

He let out a deep breath, feeling his mood lighten.

If it were to be put in words straight out of a cultivation novel, it would simply be described as having achieved 'clarity of mind.'

What use was noble decorum or external appearances? None of it surpassed the satisfaction of dealing with this disgusting pervert once and for all.

Had it not been for Professor Kaid being present, knowing there'd be no further chance to act, he might have rushed over to deliver another blow.

"Moen Campbell!"

But the thrill of a strike lasted but a moment, as the next, a mountainous pressure bore down on him, weighing his body down slightly.

Professor Kaid let out a thunderous roar of fury, the powerful aura emanating from him rising in intensity.

What had he just seen?

Someone had dared, in his class, right in front of him, to attack another teacher?

This was Santa Maria College, the Empire's premier institution. Here, even the esteemed imperial princess was nothing more than an ordinary student, bound to obey the school's rules like everyone else!

"Moen Campbell! What in the world are you doing?!"

Professor Kaid stretched out his large hand toward Moen, determined to subdue this lawless individual before anything else.

Yet as he extended his arm, he saw Moen raise both hands in surrender and, in a perfectly standard gesture, execute a military salute from a certain country in his previous life:

"Wait, wait, Professor Kaid, I fear pain, don't grab me, I won't run."

"You!"

Cade's hand froze mid-air.

Not only did the boy strike someone and then choose not to flee, but he also stood his ground so casually and composed. Never before had Kaid encountered someone quite this brazen!

"Moen Campbell, do you even understand what you've done? Striking a teacher at Santa Maria College—even with your special status—you must face severe punishment!" Kaid’s tone had darkened ominously.

"Indeed, striking a teacher is a matter deserving punishment," Moen nodded, then spread his hands and said, "But I didn’t strike a teacher."

He paused before seriously clarifying:

"I struck a bandit, a revolting bandit. I merely saw a bandit infiltrate the academy and decided to rid society of danger."

"You dare spout nonsense!"

Professor Kaid was nearly apoplectic, his head drowning in fury:

"You repeatedly malign an upright and exemplary teacher—what ulterior motive could you possibly have?"

"I’m not slandering anyone. I’m merely speaking the truth."

"You—scoundrel!"

Kaid was livid, itching to personally step in and teach Moen a lesson.

But this was, after all, the academy—the rules prohibited him from carrying out private punishments.

Especially considering Moen’s prominent family standing.

Thus, Kaid was left wrestling with how best to handle the situation.

Meanwhile, the students in the stands, initially stunned, gradually began to process what had just transpired.

What exactly just happened?

Moen Campbell actually struck a teacher?

This was far too sensational!

Most of the students were, in fact, mere spectators excitedly feasting on gossip.

Spotting such a rare scene, they quickly broke out into fervent chatter.

At this point, almost none of them delved into the issue of right versus wrong. Instead, they reveled simply in the unfolding drama.

And then—

"Moen Campbell, how could you do such a thing?"

A sudden accusation rang out amidst the noisy crowd, cutting sharply into the atmosphere.

At once, the arena fell silent again.

Moen’s eyes narrowed slightly as his gaze swept across the audience.

No leads.

The speaker's position was not the same as the first.

"Yeah, Moen Campbell, how could you strike a teacher?"

"Striking a teacher is wrong!"

"Professor Coren is such a good person..."

"Moen Campbell, even as the duke’s son, you shouldn't act this way—the academy isn't a place for you to do as you please…"

"Apologize now."

"Yes, apologize!"

With someone leading the way, previously intimidated students—high on self-righteousness yet hesitant about speaking out due to Moen’s status—now suddenly shed their reservations.

Surely, the front-runner bore the brunt of backlash, but seeing someone take the risk emboldened others.

Moreover, even if Moen Campbell held power and influence, with the crowd split among many noble students, including high-ranking elites, it was unlikely he could enact vengeance against them all.

Thus, under the banner of justice, the accusations flew resolutely.

Some faces even grew flushed with excitement, basking in the thrill of confronting an "evil dragon" like Moen Campbell.

Indeed, the arrogant duke’s son Moen Campbell was now cast as the villainous beast.

They, on the other hand, were the noble champions standing tall against tyranny with righteousness on their side.

Normally they might not dare oppose him—but here, taking the high moral ground entailed no risk.

—By this point, what Moen had done was entirely secondary.

"You all..."

Kaid frowned, sensing the students' emotions had taken an unusual turn, preparing to intervene—

"You reminded me of something."

A clear and crisp voice rang out, as Moen suddenly stepped forward two paces, standing prominently before them all.

Tidying his slightly disheveled school uniform from earlier, he calmly faced the crowd, offering an immaculate and gentle smile:

"Me, Moen Campbell—the well-known duke’s son."

"..."

The arena fell utterly silent.

Everyone stared at Moen, aghast.

What was happening?

Moen Campbell actually wanted to use his title as the duke’s son to provoke opposition from the masses?

"Even a duke’s son can't behave with impunity!"

A voice declared from the crowd.

"Exactly! Even a duke’s son shouldn't act this way."

"Moen Campbell, you're being overly arrogant!"

"Apologize to the teacher first."

This sparked another chain reaction of condemning voices.

"No, I think you misunderstood me," Moen said evenly amidst the scathing remarks, his face composed.

His gaze traversed the crowd, searching for something amidst the chaos while calmly stating:

"I’m not attempting to oppress anyone using my status; I merely aim to prove that I am right."

"And how will you prove it?"

Moen turned to address his audience with a faint yet intimidatingly cold smirk.

"Haven’t I told you? As a duke’s son!"

Moen’s smile remained polite, yet his tone was frosty and unyielding:

"How long do you think it would take for the resources of a ducal household to uncover someone’s true identity?"

"..."

"A day should suffice."

Moen turned, addressing Kaid:

"Professor Kaid, I ask you this—if I can prove that Coren is indeed a bandit, does my earlier action still count as a mistake?"

"This..."

Kaid frowned deeply.

If Coren were indeed a concealed bandit, then Moen’s prior actions would be justified.

In fact, discovering a dangerous individual within the academy and taking decisive action would warrant Moen praise and rewards from the institution.

However…

This was a perfectly normal teacher. The idea of him being a bandit was utterly absurd.

Coren was robust, charismatic, and cheerful—qualities Kaid greatly admired.

When Dean Pink Bear recommended Coren to serve as an assistant professor, Kaid had been highly pleased with the prospect.

But upon further reflection, Moen—though notorious—had no clear reason to target a teacher without cause.

"Could it be..."

The image of Dean Pink Bear—known for his unreliable nature—surfaced in Kaid’s mind, planting a growing unease.

…

"But what if you fabricate the evidence?"

Just as some onlookers began to take Moen’s words somewhat seriously, the sporadic voice rang out once again, disrupting the fragile balance.

Like a stone skipped repeatedly across still water, it stirred up new ripples in the conversation:

"Precisely, you’re the duke’s son; framing someone should come easily for you, no?"

"Given time, Coren could be placed in even greater danger, couldn’t he?"

"Who knows? The ducal household might even resort to murder and cover-ups—the thought is terrifying!"

"Moen Campbell, we don’t believe you!"

Moen’s expression darkened.

Things were starting to take a troubling turn. If public opinion skewed further toward distrust of his intentions, his status would paradoxically work against his credibility.

Most people were instinctively suspicious of power they themselves couldn’t wield.

Ignoring them temporarily to lay out facts later—or should he instead...

"Indeed, it's easy to distort evidence after the event," a frigid yet loftily elegant voice interrupted, reverberating across the spacious battle arena.

"In that case, wouldn’t proving it face-to-face resolve the issue?"

This voice lacked volume yet emanated a natural regal authority, silencing the arena immediately.

"Student Council President?"

"Celicia?"

All heads turned instinctively toward the silver-haired figure now entering the arena, their expressions puzzled.

"Pres-pres... President, are you siding with Moen Campbell?"

The elusive voice tried once more to affix the label of favoritism tied to Celicia’s engagement with Moen.

This time, however, no one seconded the accusation.

The sheer weight of Celicia’s name eclipsed all others.

Despite her marital ties to Moen Campbell, no one dared believe she would stoop to blatant bias.

Thus, one of the louder dissenters finally steeled himself, face pale, and stammered:

"P-President... What do you mean by face-to-face proof?"

Celicia’s gaze lingered on a certain spot within the crowd, glinting briefly with mischievous amusement before she looked at Moen, asking coolly:

"Moen Campbell, will you take full responsibility for your claims just now?"

Moen froze for a moment, then nodded firmly.

"Of course."

"Falsely accusing and attacking a teacher; that’s no small crime at St. Maria."

"He’s not a teacher. He’s a bandit," Moen said earnestly.

Celicia stared into Moen's eyes. After a long moment, she suddenly nodded.

"Very well. I hope what you’re saying is true."

With that, she flipped her hand and pulled out a transmission stone of an extremely peculiar design.

Soon, the transmission stone connected, and an obedient voice came from the other side.

"Your Highness."

"Patch me through to Belland’s Third Intelligence Division."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The transmission stone emitted a burst of static before another, elderly voice came through.

"Your Highness, what are your instructions?"

"Search for wanted individuals in Belland and its surrounding areas within the last three years. Keywords: bandit, Coren, scar, bald head, male."

"As you command."

The transmission stone fell silent.

The entire massive training field also descended into complete quiet.

Everyone fixed their incredulous gazes on the young lady casually wielding a level of authority unfathomable to ordinary people, hardly daring to breathe too loudly.

Even Moen felt like cursing repeatedly in his mind.

As expected of Celicia—this kind of domineering stance, where she would practically dig up your entire family tree at any moment, made one feel the urge to cling to her thighs in black stocks and belt out a rendition of "Conquered."

Still, Moen couldn’t help but feel a bit uneasy—what if Coren wasn’t actually wanted...?

"Your Highness, the results are in," a sound came from the transmission stone before long.

"Go ahead."

"Coren Voso. Bandit. A small-time bandit active around the mountains near Lake Beporr for the past three years. Features include a large scar on his face. Estimated cultivation level: roughly late Second Tier."

"Late Second Tier?"

Celicia raised an eyebrow. "A bandit that weak could manage to remain active for three years?"

The sound of pages flipping came from the other side of the transmission stone, as if they were consulting a report.

"According to the information, Coren Voso’s cultivation is indeed low, but he possesses a mysterious fleeing technique. He’s extraordinarily cunning and has only ever robbed money, never harming lives or violating women. After several unsuccessful attempts to catch him, the authorities downgraded his priority status to the lowest level. Even the bounty on him is just five thousand Emils."

"Understood," Celicia replied flatly before cutting off the transmission stone.

In simple terms, the people below found him too difficult to catch and decided it wasn’t worth the effort. After a few token attempts to apprehend him, they gave up entirely.

No real threat, after all.

That’s how this guy, even with his name and appearance unchanged post-warrant, was still able to roam freely.

"But what I didn’t expect..." Celicia’s gaze turned icy.

"...was that our dear Pink Bear headmaster managed to pull off something so outrageous."

No matter how low the threat level, he was still a bandit.

Under normal protocol, a teacher joining St. Maria would need to undergo a rigorous vetting process. Even the faintest blemish within three generations would disqualify them from working at this elite academy, where nobles roamed in droves, and geniuses were as common as grass.

And yet, this academy—where even if your father had frequented brothels, you couldn’t get in—had somehow allowed a bandit to become a teacher?

If word got out, the academy would become a laughingstock across the entire empire!

Something even the dark god hadn’t managed to achieve, you, Pink Bear, nearly pulled off effortlessly.

"The academy’s greatest vulnerability... turns out to be its headmaster?"

Celicia almost found it funny—almost.

But there was no point getting angry over this; someone else would deal with him later.

Right now...

Celicia looked down at Coren, still lying on the ground.

"Still pretending to be dead, are we, Mr. Bandit?"

"..."

"Heh."

Seeing Coren remain motionless, Celicia reached out with her hand. An ice-forged longsword materialized in her grip.

"If you’re not going to wake up, mind if I use you to test my sword?"

"Wai—wait! I’m awake! I’m awake! Please move that sword away!" Coren sprang up with a jolt, staring in terror at the icy blade in Celicia’s hand.

"This feigned death technique of mine even fools Fourth-Tier warriors! How did you see through it?"

"I didn’t." Celicia lowered the sword, her voice chilling.

"I just figured that with Moen Campbell’s weak and feeble punches, it wouldn’t have been enough to knock you out for this long. So I thought I’d try bluffing you."