The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 558

Chapter 558: Where is Luca?

Oh, like an entire group and all of them at once.

"Kyle... I-is this alright?"

Ollie leaned closer, whispering as if the crowd could hear them through Kyle’s spiritual barrier. As if whispering would somehow reduce the absurdity unfolding below.

Kyle didn’t answer right away. He didn’t need to. His expression said it all.

No. It definitely wasn’t.

Not when this—this—was probably what the Captain meant when he mentioned that the Marshal had "asked" about the mecha he received.

"Just follow as directed," that was Xavier’s answer.

Very simple. Very logical. And apparently unhelpful.

So what was this?

"..."

A struggle.

An unexpected, slow-motion struggle to at least scratch the thing.

Back in the cockpit of a certain 90% baby that could not be named—for reasons of both fear and branding—Marshal Julian was experiencing something he had never experienced before.

An existential crisis.

"Everyone, seriously?!"

He slammed a hand against the armrest. "Forget about the blades! Try the plasma cannons! What’s the use of the blades if none of you can even get close enough?!"

The Marshal of the Empire. Commander of a fleet. Slayer of corruption. Veteran of seventeen campaigns. And now?

Babysitter of space snails.

He couldn’t believe it. He had been one of them. One of these bumbling mechas who were now flailing uselessly in the simulation. Was this how he looked before?

God. He must’ve been insufferable.

Twelve more mechas had been deployed in the name of "training and testing." They were supposed to demonstrate the Marshal’s tactical finesse and coordination.

Instead, they looked like a high-speed car chase—where all the cars had flat tires and two of the drivers had vertigo.

Outwardly, the spectators clapped in appreciation. Explosions dotted the sky. Plasma trails crisscrossed with impressive flourish. At a glance, one might even think this was performance art.

But outside the main arena, Master Quinn narrowed his eyes.

Something wasn’t right.

"Are they... holding back?" someone muttered. "Why hasn’t the Young Lord entered the fray?"

Was the military afraid of damaging the mecha?

Valid questions, if only that were the case.

Because in the sealed cockpit of a certain hidden marvel sat a builder who had just realized the problem.

"Oh no," Luca muttered, eyes widening.

The view panned back to the battlefield.

Fire scorched the ground. Mechas buzzed like flies. One who had been pursuing the Marshal even ricocheted off a barrier and spun three times before righting itself.

Julian’s face had turned several shades of grey. It was the face of a man who had just realized: he couldn’t beat himself.

He’d been the one to tell them about the ideal positions and weapons, but clearly none of that was working. And unless he wanted to disrespect this mock battle by just standing there to show the incompetence of the military, then he had better think of something else.

They didn’t need more volunteers.

They needed an intervention.

Meanwhile, one examinee voiced his concern.

"What do I do?" Luca muttered in the cockpit, brow furrowed as he tapped on the screen. "I think the mechas are having a hard time damaging the Marshal’s mecha. Maybe I should’ve also used the hybrid metal composite for the armor instead..."

It was a reasonable thought.

Unfortunately, Sid, a certified guardian mecha and reluctant voice of reason, had other ideas.

"Master Luca," Sid said dryly, "it’s not just the armor. It’s mainly because the Marshal is moving nearly twice, if not three times, faster than the others. It’s very difficult to even hit him at this rate."

Luca blinked. "Oh."

Sid continued, merciless. "And when they do manage to force him into a defensive opening, the components just happen to be resistant to that kind of impact or explosion."

"...Oh."

Luca wilted in his seat. "Then what do we do? How are we supposed to demonstrate like this?"

There was a pause.

Then, as if casually tossing out a lunch order, Luca asked, "Should we attack them instead?"

It was said innocently. Thoughtfully. Out loud.

And if anyone with a functioning moral compass had heard that, alarms would’ve gone off. Sirens. Full system alerts. Military panic levels.

But not D-29.

D-29, bless his twisted non-existent soul, thought it was a great idea. Brilliant, even. But what kind of repair mecha attacks others only to fix them afterward?

A psychopath. That’s who.

Which was why it was such a relief—a miracle, even—that someone normal-ish decided to intervene just in time before Luca was left with no choice but to go with his version of a solution.

A quiet message was sent to the marshal’s terminal.

[Uncle, attack them instead.]

Marshal Julian blinked.

The gears in his mind tried to process this with dignity, but they stalled halfway through.

"Does... does he not need this particular mecha damaged?" he replied cautiously, as if confirming he hadn’t just been encouraged to start a massacre.

"No," Xavier replied. "Any would do."

A pause.

[Actually, the more the merrier.]

Marshal Julian looked at the merriest death threat he’s seen in a while and thought to at least warn everyone.

He sighed and, on their shared channel, said, "Alright. We’ll switch methods. Prepare yourselves."

FUCK! he screamed internally. I’m gonna need a new mecha after this!!!

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify