The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 1217: Eligible Entries

But how could the people with the most to lose possibly be as unconcerned as everyone imagined?

Of course they weren’t.

That was precisely why everyone else had been allowed to listen in to their hearts’ content in the first place.

All thirteen listening devices hidden throughout the lounge and the four more planted along the hallway?

How could D-29 possibly have missed them the moment the various factions started smuggling them in?

Who did they think had conveniently made those door locks just a little easier to crack when the little system had spent half the night angrily whirring that the spies sent by their enemies were so painfully slow at breaking in that it eventually had to help them?

The infiltrators never even realized that while they nervously worked and assumed they’d narrowly escaped being caught, one long-suffering guardian mecha had actually been stepping in to stop D-29 from sabotaging the entire operation out of sheer indignation.

After all, the little system firmly believed its greatness had been insulted by such embarrassingly amateur attempts at infiltration.

"How could they?!"

It had apparently been so bad that D-29 even grudgingly admitted the Luxastra twins deserved points for the way they’d manipulated the surveillance cameras.

At least that had been creative.

Unlike these people, who’d even needed help with the doors.

So yes. The people responsible for the event’s security cared.

In fact, they cared so much that if these people wanted to see whether they could uncover even more information...

If they wanted to keep pouring time, manpower, and resources into spying on this one particular build...

Then they were more than welcome.

After all, the more obsessed they became with this mecha, the better it would ultimately be for the young cadets.

What no one expected, however—not even the teenage pilot—was the way they planned to test that suspiciously secretive mecha

The first hint came the moment Oliver Mylor stepped into the now-familiar testing grounds.

Just as the crowd erupted into enthusiastic cheers, an announcement suddenly echoed throughout the arena, cutting straight through the noise and catching nearly everyone by surprise.

[Attention, valued attendees. The final demonstration will commence following the scheduled calibration.]

[To provide a better demonstration experience, in addition to the ten randomly selected Imperial Military personnel participating today, audience members are also invited to express their interest in joining the upcoming race.]

[From all eligible entries received, ten additional participants will be selected via raffle. Interested individuals must possess a valid Professional Combination Piloting License and a registered mecha at the time of sign-up. Additional requirements, rules, and related information are available at the designated registration area for your reference.]

[Registration will begin shortly. Thank you.]

Several people who’d been about to react before the announcement even finished immediately found their mouths covered by the people beside them, who desperately needed silence so their twitching ears wouldn’t miss a single word.

Quite a few attendees were already halfway out of their seats, looking as though they might launch themselves into the air at any second.

Did they hear that correctly?

Other people could actually participate?

But then, just as they were about to chalk it all up to hallucination, the same ding-dong sounded and the announcement repeated.

"..."

"..."

That was all the confirmation anyone needed.

For the briefest moment, everyone had been frozen.

Then arena erupted.

"!!!"

Even the usually proud dukes attending the examination—an event they realistically had no business attending—shot to their feet the moment they realized what they’d just heard.

Beside them, their children, the respective leaders of their academy guilds, wore expressions of complete disbelief.

For one fleeting moment, they found themselves wondering just how insane Oliver Mylor had to be.

Then the thought vanished, swept aside by something far more urgent.

They had to get in there.

It didn’t matter if the participation waiver required them to shoulder every bit of damage their own mechas might sustain. They wouldn’t have minded paying for the opportunity either.

All that mattered was securing at least one of those slots.

The thing was, apparently, every faction that stood to benefit from the sudden announcement reached the exact same conclusion.

The most invested forces practically rushed the newly opened registration booths, determined to secure as many opportunities as possible to face that mysterious mecha firsthand. They might not be able to reverse-engineer its construction, but they were convinced a direct confrontation would reveal far more than passive observation ever could.

The next order of business was obvious: identify every pilot affiliated with their house who’d managed to obtain a ticket and get them registered as quickly as possible.

But they were far from the only ones thinking along those lines.

The master mechanics, who’d already had such a disastrous previous day that it was a miracle any of them had shown up looking remotely functional, nearly choked when they heard the announcement.

Yes, they were the judges. And by default, they were meant to care more about whether the examinee truly deserved a license.

But precisely because they were masters qualified to judge in the first place, they all understood how absurd that standard was in this case. The cadet had already gone far beyond what was required—what remained was not a question of he would pass, but rather he would do so.

And that was precisely what the demonstration promised to show them.

Truth be told, the final stage of the examination had never truly been the deciding factor. It hadn’t even been there before and was little more than a bonus.

The idea of demonstrating after the build process had only gained real prominence after the genius Luca Kyros volunteered to demonstrate his own examination mechas. But it was never something the licensing authorities could realistically incorporate into the standard annual examination unless they wanted the number of aspiring licensed mechanics to plummet overnight.

After all, how many examinees would actually pass if they were expected to do the same? More importantly, how many would even bother pursuing mecha manufacturing if obtaining a license meant meeting such an outrageous standard?

They’d be lucky if the current students didn’t quit the moment such a ridiculous announcement was made.

Sure, Luca hadn’t been the first person to volunteer for a demonstration in the long history of the Empire.

But before him, doing so had always been considered reckless and usually amounted to showcasing a groundbreaking component or some other singular achievement.

Certainly not combat-ready mechas that made even the masters look like amateurs!

Instead of attempting something bordering on the impossible, most candidates understandably chose to play it safe, especially since examination mechas were, by their very nature, still prototypes.

So for the current examinee to follow in the footsteps of Luca Kyros?

How unbelievably bold.

And how utterly exhilarating!

The sudden pounding of their hearts alone was enough to stir every master mechanic to attention.

They had each built custom mechas for some of the Empire’s finest pilots over the years...

So wasn’t it finally time to cash in one of those favors?

Master Allan, now somewhat better prepared for the whiplash he’d been expecting at some point, was the first to recover.

He immediately called Duke Samuel Zorath.

"Get everyone you can to sign up!" he barked. "And if there’s any justice in this universe, I want my best creation out there!"

Oddly enough, there wasn’t even a trace of noble courtesy in his voice.

He was outright screeching.

On the other end, Duke Samuel didn’t bother preserving his dignity either.

"Don’t you think I already know that?! Even sprinting over there!" he roared back.

The surrounding master mechanics stared for a second.

Then, one after another, they did exactly the same thing.

Communication terminals lit up throughout the designated area as the masters hurried to contact their affiliated houses, clients, apprentices, and anyone else eligible to enter the raffle, hoping someone had also managed to secure a seat in the arena.

The only exception was Master Quinn.

He quietly remained in his seat while every other master glared at him as though he’d personally betrayed them by keeping this entire matter to himself.

For the record, the elderly mechanic would’ve liked to point out that he hadn’t expected this particular development either.

Meanwhile, Star Net descended into chaos the moment the announcement spread, while the foreign powers scrambled like headless chickens after being caught completely off guard.

Sure, the people they’d sent could pilot mechas.

The problem was that most of them weren’t legally qualified to do so.

With the registration requirements being what they were, how were they supposed to sign up?

At that point, even ordinary Imperial citizens held a far greater advantage than they did despite all the effort those factions had gone through to infiltrate the event. And if their superiors learned they hadn’t managed to come up with a solution...

Wouldn’t they be completely screwed?

Even so, despite how bad everyone seemed to think they had it, none of them was panicking quite as much as Owen Mylor himself.

Hadn’t everyone assured him he wouldn’t actually have to do very much?

Then why, exactly, was the final demonstration suddenly asking for pilots?!