The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 1183: Into the Mold

Die Blast Forming.

In principle, the technique was actually rather straightforward.

Instead of gradually forcing a metal plate into shape through continuous pressure, it relied on carefully controlled shockwave detonations to slam the material into a precision mold with tremendous force.

That was the professional way of saying it.

In reality, it simply translated to:

Granted, they’d considered other approaches.

A modified hydraulic press would’ve worked, especially if it were made from the same material.

Another option, had Luca been the one taking the examination, would’ve been to simply overwhelm the Zelunium with sheer spiritual power until it obediently yielded. It was by far the most cost-effective solution in the eyes of one particular money-grubber and, honestly, the one that had Luca’s eyes sparkling the brightest during their planning meeting.

Unfortunately, Ollie was painfully aware that he possessed only a tiny fraction of his sworn brother’s absurd capabilities.

So after much deliberation, he’d requested this method instead.

Partly because he had no intention of collapsing unconscious after manufacturing nothing more than a single leg plate, assuming he even made it that far.

But mostly because, if he was going to suffer through this ridiculously troublesome licensure examination anyway, then he deserved at least one step he’d actually enjoy.

Besides...

The more they thought about it, the more perfect the method became.

Wasn’t this also the ideal way to continuously conceal parts of the manufacturing process?

With smoke billowing across the workstation and explosions rattling the entire arena every few minutes, who would have the presence of mind to carefully observe the little miracles quietly taking place in the middle of all that chaos?

Naturally, that wasn’t going to be the explanation they would give afterward.

For the interviews he’d likely be subjected to, they all agreed to simply emphasize the more practical reasons.

First, cost efficiency.

Designing and manufacturing highly specialized forming equipment for a one-off build simply wasn’t economical.

Then there was precision and forming force. Zelunium demanded pressures far beyond what conventional materials required before it would faithfully conform to a mold.

Finally, versatility.

A single mecha consisted of countless uniquely shaped components. Who in their right mind would manufacture an entirely different set of dedicated forming equipment for every single one during a licensure examination?

With arguments like those, wasn’t requesting a blasting zone the perfectly reasonable decision?

At least, that was what one thoroughly unhinged aspiring mechanic wholeheartedly believed.

The thought alone made Ollie’s shoulders tremble with barely restrained delight as he watched another successful blast complete its work.

The grin spreading across his ash-covered face looked so suspiciously delighted that the Mylor family could only pray the broadcast cameras weren’t capturing it in enough detail for future generations to replay forever.

__

Back in the stands, the organizers, who had finally recovered from nearly believing their careers had just ended in a catastrophic accident after receiving confirmation that the explosions were an intended part of the manufacturing process, quickly adjusted the arena’s holographic displays.

Ollie’s bright and bubbly smiling face temporarily disappeared, replaced by a series of reassuring announcements informing everyone that there was no cause for alarm.

They also explained that the transmitted volume would be reduced for the remainder of this particular manufacturing stage to minimize any unnecessary discomfort.

They could only be thankful that children generally weren’t permitted to watch the exam in person. Otherwise, quite a few of them probably would’ve ended up either in tears or bouncing off the walls from sheer excitement. Neither outcome would’ve been particularly surprising given the kind of fans one Princess Kira had cultivated...

The explosions continued.

One.

Then another.

And another.

Only after roughly the thirteenth blast did the audience, both inside the arena and watching from countless worlds beyond, finally begin truly recovering from their collective bewilderment.

Though truthfully, they probably would’ve remained frozen for much longer had Ollie not finished with the very first mold and was just about to inspect it for everyone to see.

Bodies leaned forward as if it would help them get a better look.

The heavy casing was pulled apart and a burst of thick white steam rushed into the air.

As the vapor gradually dispersed, it revealed a single vambrace.

The stadium fell into a chorus of startled breaths.

The piece of armor shimmered brilliantly beneath the arena lights, its surface so lustrous that it looked less like something forged for war and more like a meticulously polished gemstone.

Even the veteran master mechanics found themselves instinctively rising from their seats.

The sight was simply too strange.

How could something that had just endured such an unbelievably violent manufacturing process, with fewer preparation stages than usual, emerge looking so flawless and delicate?

Owen Mylor could only stare.

His mouth hung slightly open as he struggled to picture himself, of all people, piloting something that beautiful into battle.

Eventually, he turned toward the one person he trusted to explain anything remotely related to absurdity.

"Luca," he asked cautiously, "are you sure that mecha isn’t actually meant to be decorative?"

The golden-eyed cadet, who had been clasping his hands together while happily bouncing in place throughout the entire process, turned toward him with a bright smile.

"Hm..." Luca hummed thoughtfully. "Well, maybe you could think of it that way about half the time."

He paused before adding with complete sincerity,

"But that probably wouldn’t be a very good idea."

He placed a finger against his chin as though carefully considering the matter.

"After all... it might be dangerous?"

Luca couldn’t help recalling how a small piece of Zelunium had once punched a perfectly clean hole straight through the workshop wall during testing.

If they casually left something like that lying around all the time...

Wouldn’t that be bad for any building?

The innocent concern on Luca’s face somehow made the explanation even more alarming.

The rest of the group slowly turned toward one another.

No one looked reassured.

Duchess Amelia, in particular, shifted her gaze toward Cece, who, as the oldest person involved in the research and development endeavor, was supposedly the responsible adult among them.

Her expression clearly asked a single question.

Cece, the supposed adult, blinked innocently.

Completely failing to understand what everyone seemed so concerned about, the proud dwarf shrugged.

"What?" she said matter-of-factly. "Weren’t we going for something unique?"