The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 750

Chapter 750: The Wedding That Should Have Been

A wedding gift?

Yes. An actual, honest-to-goodness wedding gift.

Because long, long ago—so long that even the elders of the elders refused to commit to a year—an Orc Prince and an Elven Princess were arranged to marry in a historic political alliance meant to strengthen ties between their two peoples.

And surprisingly... it went well.

So well, in fact, that the Orcish Prince insisted on giving his bride a proper gift.

But of course, this was orcish tradition they were talking about. There was no way their king would send anything small or humble. That would be a disgrace. So what did he do?

He picked a galaxy.

Not a star. Not a planet. A shiny, swirling, sparkly galaxy.

Because, naturally, only the shiniest one would do.

The gesture was received beautifully. The couple drew closer. The bond grew stronger. And the Orcish Prince, in full husband mode, began lavishing his new bride with the finest things the orcs could offer.

There was food. There were treasures. Rare weapons. Personalized armor. Handmade silk cloaks stitched with beast sinew and embroidered love runes.

And muscles.

Lots and lots of muscles.

All of it, apparently, were tokens of sincerity from the orcish lover.

Princess Kira retold this part with a nonchalant smile, her chin propped in her hand as she lazily twirled a spoon in her ice cream cup.

"You know," she said, "it would’ve been considered even more impressive back then. Courting for orcs usually meant entering the arena and fighting it out."

Ollie blinked. "Fighting who?"

"Each other," Kira said casually. "Whoever wins and survives gets to pick a wife first."

"WHAT?!" yelped the scandalized blonde, nearly tipping his chair.

Luca choked on his shake.

"You can’t be serious!" The blonde cried in outrage. "What if—what if the person picked to be the wife doesn’t even like the one who won?! What if they hate each other?!"

Kira just scoffed like it was the dumbest question she’d ever heard.

"Of course not," she said. "That doesn’t happen. Only good matches smell good."

"...Smell good?" Luca echoed faintly.

"Mhm." Kira nodded. "If their scents are compatible, it means they’ll live a fruitful life together."

"EH???"

Both boys stared at her in disbelief.

But Kira looked so sure of herself that it was hard to argue. Apparently, scent-based matchmaking was a sacred tradition and worked so flawlessly that even the Orc Prince agreed to marry the Elven Princess because of it.

In fact, rumor had it the second proposal had been so grand, the other races were forced to reevaluate their own customs.

And if that logic held, then surely the wedding itself must have been even grander.

Of course it was.

The feast was legendary. The music lasted for days. The gifts included seven moons, one volcano, and a fountain that never ran out of that shiny liquid that hopefully wasn’t some biological fluid.

It should have been peaceful.

It should have been romantic.

It should have been a union blessed by stars and watched over by spirits.

And it was. At least until it wasn’t.

Because fate, as always, had other ideas.

And it all came crashing down before they could even leave for their chambers.

The wedding reception was in full swing. The music was booming. The food was flowing. The orcs were arm-wrestling trees outside and wrestling with each other inside, while the elves were twirling in slow motion under floating lanterns.

And then.

The double doors burst open.

Not just nudged. Not gracefully pushed.

They exploded inward like someone was eager to collect debt.

And through them came a figure.

A figure in silk. A figure in white. A figure wearing a wedding dress that looked exactly like the one the Elven Princess was wearing while still very much in the middle of locking lips with her new Orcish husband.

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