The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 554

Chapter 554: One Last Click

And it was one everyone would remember.

Especially Master Allan, who had practically seasoned and swallowed his very own words. No condiments required.

It had been close to ten hours now. Ten.

And yet, contrary to his earlier colorful commentary about a bird flaring its spiritual energy like a mating ritual gone wrong, that cadet—that child—had not let up.

No real breaks. No slowdowns. No mercy.

Instead, he made it look easy. Fast, even. So much so that by the time they realized it was nearly midnight, the audience hadn’t even noticed the hours passing. Their dry eyes and bladders, yes, but their minds, very much not.

It was like the world was catching up with his pace.

And when most of the audience would’ve bowed out after the first hour or two, tops—the auditorium was still full. Not just full. Glued.

Like a room full of dignified captives bearing witness to something they instinctively knew they might never see again.

Not that they believed anything else could surprise them at this point. Surely, they’d seen it all?

One of the masters even removed his ventilator mask, finally relaxing with the serene certainty that the worst was over.

Until Master Quinn leaned over, all grace and grim knowledge, and gently handed it back.

"What?"

"I strongly recommend you put this on again," said Quinn, like a man warning someone not to look Tortie directly in the eyes.

Because Luca was this close to assembly.

DING!

That was the sound of the detailing machine. A noise only audible to Luca—who had been patiently waiting for it like a small, kindhearted child waiting for recess.

It just couldn’t come any sooner.

Honestly, he had wanted to finish earlier. He’d even felt guilty seeing so many people staying behind to watch. When D-29 had finally told him it had been ten hours, his eyes had gone wide with concern.

Because that meant they hadn’t eaten?!

The members of DG and House Kyros were initially accustomed to nutrient solutions, but he’d since introduced them to actual food, and they had grown disturbingly fond of it.

Meanwhile, he was the only one who managed to eat anything—a carefully prepared wrap that had been packed for him ahead of time. Initially, he was planning on eating after the event. But before Luca left for the test, Xavier had handed something over. With directions to make sure he ate at least this while working. His husband even promised it wouldn’t interfere with work. And sure enough, it didn’t.

He was extremely touched.

And yet that made him feel even more concerned for everyone else.

So, yes. Luca wanted to speed things up. But he couldn’t exactly rush the detailing machine using spiritual energy, no matter how strong his intentions were.

He could have done it himself, technically. But both Sid and D-29 had staged a mini-intervention, citing reasons like "uniformity" and "dignity."

Luca hadn’t really understood, but both of them seemed quite firm about it. Maybe if he could just see Sid, he’d realize how the guardian mecha was practically vibrating with urgency, and D-29 had even brought up a research study about how mismatched finishes could lead to diplomatic incidents.

So Luca relented.

And good thing too.

Because at least in this way, he’d been able to save the Empire and the poor, innocent Marshal.

But like all things worth waiting for, the machine finally gave its melodic chime.

Luca, who had been working on tomorrow’s components while waiting (because of course he had), turned to finally look.

"Wow," he said with honest delight. "It’s kind of similar to Papa’s current mecha! It’s very pretty!"

He meant it too. He circled the black-and-gold frame with the pure admiration of someone untainted by modesty or self-awareness.

Meanwhile, the master mechanics present were valiantly attempting to look anywhere but directly at it, lest they fall to their knees and weep from sheer disbelief.

Master Allan, in particular, was shaking again. From exhaustion? From awe? Hard to tell.

And Master Quinn, who was helping prop up one of the older masters that had nearly fainted, quietly patted himself on the back for having the foresight to return that ventilator when he did.

But Quinn couldn’t even agree. Nor could he warn. Because the old man had made the terrible mistake of looking forward just as Luca began assembling the parts he’d distributed across the growing web of spiritual tendrils.

The tendrils had multiplied.

So had Quinn’s regrets.

He flinched, then urgently signaled for an assistant.

Just in case.

Because while they would all gladly die for the Young Lord, none of them wanted that death to be recorded as "cause: mechanical wonder-induced heart failure."

How many assistants would they need at this rate?

Because the Young Lord was not just building quickly. He was outpacing reality.

If their usual speed builds could be considered impressive, then this was a full-on spiritual blitzkrieg.

Click!

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