Having made up his mind, Idiot inadvertently lowered his head. At some point, Bread had woken up as well. She was still clutching his clothes, her wide eyes staring at him, her mouth opening and closing like a little goldfish.
Right—Mr. Kampa had mentioned that talking to her more often would help restore her ability to speak. If that were the case...
Idiot stood up and gently placed Bread on the stool he had crafted. Then, crouching down to her level, he looked into the girl's eyes. Bread, unsure of what was happening, stared back at him. A child and a smaller child, locked in mutual bewilderment.
...
Silence.
But this silence wasn't the usual kind, born from his desire to keep his thoughts hidden. No, this time it came from uncertainty. What should he say to her? Should it be something casual, or was there a method to follow?
"Uwaa~~ uwaa~~"
(Quinn: You little punk! Refuse a toast, and you'll drink a forfeit instead! Looks like you really don't need those ears of yours!)
(A flying dagger whistled past the boy's ear and embedded itself in the back of his chair.)
Right... probably just speak casually. Yes, casually...
...
But if it's casual, what should I say?
Wait—don't panic. One must always remain calm. Carefully analyze the situation, identify a breakthrough point. This world is riddled with deception; only through patience and keen observation can one uncover the truth and solve the problem at hand.
...Hold on. Is this really something that requires such thought? I'm only trying to teach her how to talk. All I need to do is speak to her. What I say... that's entirely up to me.
(Quinn: Dammit, these brats. Hey! Assistant! Hand out these manuals! Hey! Assistant! Assistant—Idiot, what's wrong with you? Have you really turned into a full-blown idiot?! Hey! No laughing! No one is allowed to laugh! Laugh again and I'll knock your brains into idiocy!)
Up to me, huh? That's a good angle. Just say whatever comes to mind. Think carefully—how do I usually think? How do I usually tackle a problem?
Ah. I've got it.
Decision made, Idiot instantly reached out and took Bread's little hands into his own. He was visibly excited. Though his face remained as expressionless as ever, his trembling betrayed the emotion surging within him. After all, this was the first thing he would ever teach this little girl to say. The first words mattered. And that made him a little nervous.
(Quinn: Hey! Idiot? I'm calling you! Are you deaf or what? Heeey~~!)
Taking a deep breath in, then slowly exhaling, Idiot raised his head. Facing Bread, he gazed at her pure and flawless face, into her emerald green eyes. Then, in a slow and deliberate tone, he spoke:
"Bread, repeat after me: 'Kill.' Say it with me—'Kill.'"
"Uuh~~?"
"'Kill.' And also—'Dismember.' 'Deceive.' 'Ma—gic—Cry—stal—Card.'"
"Uuu... uuuyaaa~~!"
"'Dismember' is a bit hard to grasp? Fine, then—'Dis—mem—ber.' Say it. Dis…"
"What are you mumbling over there?! Didn't you hear me calling?!"
Just as Idiot was deep in his "language lesson," a dagger came flying out of nowhere, scraping past his ear and embedding itself in the floor. The icy chill of its blade startled him back to reality. He finally turned around.
Quinn likely hadn't realized she had just spared a little girl's innocent mind from corruption. She waved a stack of papers at him and shouted, "Didn't you say you'd follow every one of my instructions to the letter? Then why are you acting deaf when I told you to hand these out? Get moving before I lose my temper!"
With no other choice, Idiot halted his lesson and took the stack of documents, distributing them row by row to the students.
Once done, he prepared to resume teaching Bread. But just as he opened his mouth, Quinn's sharp "Silence!" forced him to shut it again and return to his role as assistant.
Quinn surveyed the room full of students and finally relaxed. After clearing her throat lightly, she picked up a piece of chalk and wrote the word "Mission" on the blackboard, then began her lecture:
"Everyone, I'm sure you know this already—Saint Grace Royal Academy is a military institution. But it's not just that. This academy also serves as a private mercenary force for the empire when the army and government can't be mobilized."
"Our client is the Empire. But from another perspective, the Empire is the people. Therefore, we serve the citizens of the Great Deer Empire."
"With that in mind, Saint Grace has developed the 'Mission System.' It handles requests from across the Empire, including those from the royal family. These tasks are open not only to students but also to teachers and ordinary citizens, so long as they believe they're capable of fulfilling them. Rewards are provided by the clients. In addition to monetary compensation, students of the academy may also earn academic credits based on how well they complete the mission."
No sooner had Quinn finished than a wave of excitement swept through the room. Students eagerly leaned forward and shouted:
"Credits?! So if we complete missions, we don't have to attend classes and still won't be held back?!"
Quinn seemed completely unfazed, as though she had heard the question a thousand times before. No—she definitely heard it every year. With arms crossed and a chilling smirk, she replied:
"Heh. Yes, that's true. But only if you brats are qualified to complete those missions."
With that, she picked up a piece of chalk and wrote the letters A, B, C, and D across the board. Tossing the chalk aside, she continued:
"You all know the academic progression system. Earn enough credits, and you advance. Normally, this can be done by studying hard, doing your homework, and completing your projects. There's no need to take on missions if you're diligent. Even if your grades slip a little, a couple of D-rank missions can boost your standing."
"But…"
"If your grades are truly abysmal—well, then things get interesting."
Quinn smiled, a true queen's grin.
"In that case, you'll have to complete a lot of D-rank missions over summer break. Or, you'll be forced to attempt the higher-level C, B, or even A-rank assignments. The difficulty of each mission is assessed by academy staff, ranging from simple pet-finding or weeding tasks at D-rank, all the way to high-risk objectives like sabotage or assassination at the top. Let me be clear—if you get injured or killed during a mission, the academy bears no responsibility. Nor will we provide support or rescue of any kind."
"Why? Because this is a military academy. We train warriors, not pampered nobles who cry at the first sign of trouble. If someone rushes into a mission unprepared and dies as a result—then it's better they die now than become a future liability to the Empire."
Her voice turned cold as ice. The once-buzzing classroom fell into a heavy silence. No one dared speak.
The demon queen scanned the room with great satisfaction. She savored the stillness before continuing:
"So don't think being a noble entitles you to special treatment. For example—two royal princes once studied here. During a mission, they let their guard down and were kidnapped by bandits. When His Majesty was informed, he sent no reinforcements, refused to pay the ransom, and simply waited. In the end, the two princes escaped on their own and, after careful planning, annihilated the bandit group."
"This is real combat. You will receive no official support. If you don't want to die, then study hard. Don't delude yourself into thinking you're some protagonist who can defy the rules. Out there, you only have yourself. Understood?!"
Her roar echoed through the classroom. No one made a sound. Quinn, proud of the silence she'd instilled, let it linger for a moment or two before softening her tone:
"Still, just because you can't use official support doesn't mean you're completely alone. You're allowed to use unofficial help. There are no fixed methods for completing a mission. No one expects you to take down a hundred-man bandit group with just two people. You may call upon private forces, seek aid from your family or friends—even team up with fellow students."
"Remember: your goal is to complete the mission. How you do it doesn't matter. Why? Because on the battlefield, there are no rules—only victory."
"Alright, now that we've discussed the rules, let's talk about something lighter. The A, B, C, D ranks refer to mission difficulty, but beneath that framework, each of the academy's four departments has its own specialized mission classifications."
"For example, a D-rank task from the Arts and Literature Department might be tedious clerical work—copying documents endlessly. An A-rank mission, on the other hand, could involve negotiating a major business deal on behalf of a wealthy merchant. The Technology Department might task students with crafting a custom weapon or designing an architectural blueprint."