The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 1221: Voluntary Tributes

"Look, husband! There he goes! Wooooo!"

Watching the mecha his good brother had made practically explode off the starting line, Luca eagerly grabbed at Xavier’s sleeve while excitedly waving his newly updated sign.

It had apparently evolved into a composite piece sometime between that morning and the present, now with an additional smaller board displaying a single oversized headshot of Owen Mylor.

Luca waved the entire thing with incredible enthusiasm, completely unaware that, had anyone from his rather forgotten past seen it, it would probably have looked like he was demanding the teenager’s severed head alongside that massive ransom note.

Thankfully, the Empire collectively wore rose-colored glasses whenever Luca Kyros and his questionable creations were involved.

Rather than wondering whether they were witnessing some sort of public threat, everyone simply became even more convinced that there had to be some profound meaning behind whatever sign the golden-eyed cadet was waving.

And really, at that particular moment, it didn’t even seem like such an impossible hypothesis.

Not when their own jaws had practically dropped to the floor after witnessing that unbelievable takeoff.

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Anyone who blinked would’ve missed it.

Unlike every other mecha on the starting line, Oliver Mylor’s creation hadn’t seemed to need even a moment to accelerate. The instant the barrier disappeared, that pitch-black machine practically shot forward, leaving the other participants behind before most of them had even properly begun moving.

The sight was so shocking that even the master mechanics, most of whom relied on specialized chairs for assisted mobility, had actually managed to sit bolt upright in pure disbelief.

But if that was the reaction from the masters and the audience, then the people down on the testing grounds were having a much worse time.

The mechanic crews, haphazardly assembled by those lucky enough to secure participation slots, were currently experiencing varying degrees of distress.

After all, they’d been the ones standing closest when that damned thing launched itself.

"No... that—"

One mechanic, who’d actually fallen onto the ground from sheer surprise, trembled as he stared at the now-empty launchpad.

"J-just what the hell was that?!"

Suddenly, everyone understood why Oliver Mylor had positioned himself so ridiculously far away from his own creation.

Unlike the rest of them, who’d wanted to remain close enough to their respective mechas in case any last-minute problems arose, the blonde cadet had barely checked anything before scurrying away while repeatedly telling anyone within hearing distance to please move farther away from his launch platform.

At first, they’d thought the aspiring mechanic had simply lost his mind.

Some had even wondered whether he was being overly paranoid because he didn’t want anyone getting close enough to discover whatever secrets were hidden inside his build.

But now?

Now they realized it had probably been a simple matter of life and death.

Because with that kind of acceleration, anyone unfortunate enough to still be standing close to that launchpad would’ve been sent flying right along with it!

It was at that point that quite a few people suddenly thought it was probably a good thing only professional pilots had been allowed to participate.

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Admittedly, there’d been plenty who couldn’t help but grumble about the registration requirements, especially when Owen Mylor himself wasn’t even professionally licensed yet.

They’d wanted the opportunity to race against that mecha too, but couldn’t even submit their names for the raffle, so naturally, there’d been some resentment.

Safe to say, all of that disappeared the moment they realized that, had they actually been down there, they probably would’ve still been sitting at the starting line wondering where their opponent had gone!

Xavier himself angled his body slightly toward his bouncing and cheering wife as he watched the other mechas finally tear away from their platforms.

At least the pilots who’d managed to obtain professional licenses had enough experience to keep their wits about them and actually start moving despite the unexpected dilemma they’d just encountered.

With reaction rates like that, perhaps the future of the Empire wasn’t looking too bad.

Then again, that was saying something when the participants who’d managed to worm their way into this race like voluntary tributes were already people who couldn’t possibly afford to be slow.

It had practically turned into a competition over which prestigious house or faction had the greatest number of professional pilots they could throw at the raffle.

And when someone affiliated with them actually got picked?

Well, apparently, slots could change hands.

That was how Ivan Zorath, Guild Leader of the Silver Serpents, managed to replace Ian after the latter had actually won one of the coveted positions.

Truthfully, Duke Samuel himself had expressed quite a bit of interest in participating, especially after learning that Duke Caius had somehow managed to wrangle a slot away from his once-again arguing twins.

But Ivan had insisted with a well-placed, "Seriously?".

After all, he was the one who would eventually have to compete against DG during the Astral Cup. And while the patriarch might argue that Owen Mylor wasn’t even part of any such guild, Ivan remained adamant that the mecha still reflected a significant portion of DG’s capabilities.

Given that, wouldn’t it be far more useful for him to personally experience the kind of mecha they were capable of producing and accurately gauge just what they might be facing?

Besides, was it really appropriate for an upstanding duke to steal his slot when Ivan had already gone through the trouble of bribing Ian for it?!

The esteemed patriarch of House Zorath had wanted to say something to that.

Unfortunately, he really couldn’t.

At the very least, House Zorath was still faring better than House Vantari, whose members could only curse the fact that their pharmaceutical empire didn’t exactly give them the same extensive reach when it came to professional mecha pilots.

Of course, they still had a considerable number affiliated with their house, easily rivaling those of the other major families. The problem was that far fewer of their pilots had valid tickets to the examination, especially since the Vantaris had concentrated most of their efforts on getting more mechanics into the venue instead.

Not that they simply sat around and accepted defeat after realizing just how disadvantaged that left them.

The Vantaris had been extremely quick to approach several independent pilots without any particular backing, offering to sponsor their participation in the form of supplying technical support under one simple condition: every last one of them had to report their experience afterward.

As for the foreign powers, only the dwarves managed to get an affiliated pilot into the race.

And technically, the pilot wasn’t even one of theirs.

He belonged to a noble house that happened to maintain extensive business relations with them.

By this point, the Aeruns watching the broadcast from their seat of power were already beginning to realize that something had probably gone terribly wrong with the group they sent to the Empire.

They couldn’t contact any of their people.

Worse, as one slot after another went to instructors from various military academies, prominent Imperial pilots, or ridiculously stubborn fans who refused to surrender their places regardless of how much money they were offered, not a single person affiliated with House Luxastra seemed to make a move.

It was almost as though their people weren’t there at all.

With the slots already filled and the opportunity thoroughly gone, those who’d failed to secure a place could only comfort themselves with the thought that it didn’t really matter.

After all, the entire demonstration was being broadcast live.

They’d still be able to see everything.

They could still study the mecha from afar.

Surely, that would be enough.

Unfortunately, that particular delusion lasted only until the first confirmed hit landed.