The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 1226: THAT

Well, excuse them all, but the actual pilot by the name of Owen Mylor would also very much like to know the answer to that question!

Most importantly, he’d like to know just how the hell his older brother had managed to make something like this!

Of course, Owen had wanted something cool.

He’d been genuinely excited about getting his own mecha, and he was ridiculously proud that his brother was about to leave his mark on history as someone who’d also been nominated for a special licensure examination...

But not like

Had Luca somehow heard the teenager’s thoughts, complete with the frantic gestures Owen was making inside the cockpit, the golden-eyed cadet probably would’ve tilted his head and innocently asked, "Like what?"

But Owen was certain everyone else who understood just how abnormal this entire situation was would know exactly what he meant by that.

as in his brother somehow creating something so insane that Owen didn’t even know how he was supposed to rank the mecha anymore.

Or as in said mecha managing to get Duke Caius Azren himself to take a wary stance when Owen hadn’t even done anything notable!

How was anyone supposed to react if they learned that this mecha had basically just been existing this entire time, while all its supposedly terrifying pilot had done was scream bloody murder and misclick?!

Could he even reveal the truth without hurting anyone’s feelings?

Or their wallets?!

Probably not.

Because just imagining himself going over to Young Lord Ivan later and insisting that he couldn’t be blamed for the state of his undoubtedly prized mecha when he hadn’t even done anything yet was already enough to make Owen feel like even his shadow would get blacklisted before he could so much as enter the same Academy.

So maybe keeping quiet was the safer option.

Maybe he should just be low-key about this whole thing and let everyone think whatever they wanted.

Unfortunately, just when Owen was considering doing exactly that, the suddenly gentle giant discovered something rather concerning.

While the other pilots were clearly hesitant to approach him after witnessing what’d happened to Ivan, the same couldn’t be said for the different backers and factions behind them.

__

Take Master Allan, for one.

The master mechanic practically fell out of his seat the moment he watched the mecha he’d personally built for House Zorath’s heir crumple like that.

It was one thing to watch other machines get battered when he had absolutely nothing to do with their construction and knew none of the intricate decisions that had gone into them.

But it was definitely something else entirely to watch his own creation fold right before his eyes when, by every reasonable standard he knew, that simply shouldn’t have happened.

The materials alone had cost enough to bankrupt several lesser noble houses.

Master Allan had spent years being notoriously difficult about what he was willing to use, refusing to settle simply because something was considered high-grade. House Zorath had even funded entire expeditions just so he could acquire materials that met his standards.

He knew there was a scarcity.

That was precisely one of the reasons he’d agreed to work with the Zoraths in the first place. Their resources had allowed him to pursue the kind of craftsmanship he’d always wanted without being forced to compromise under even harsher limitations.

And yet all of that had apparently amounted to brittle metal when placed against Oliver Mylor’s build.

Beside him, Master Quinn watched with considerable interest, admittedly curious to see how the old geezer would react after witnessing one of his proudest creations practically fold in on itself.

Ordinarily, Quinn would’ve expected Allan to immediately demand a re-evaluation, accuse someone of cheating, and probably start screeching about regulations before the debris even finished falling.

But perhaps the past several months had actually changed the man.

Sure enough, Master Allan immediately opened a call.

The only difference was what came out of his mouth.

"Ivan! Get in there again! Test another weapon!"

"WHAT?!"

Ivan Zorath, who was technically the son of Allan’s employer, screeched back with complete disbelief.

"Master Allan, I can already tell you right now that if I go in there again, we’re not just losing this leg!"

"Don’t you think I know that?!" Master Allan snapped, practically rising from his chair in distress.

Obviously, this was going to be expensive.

But losing the opportunity to gather real data would be even worse!

Every dent, fracture, stress mark, and damaged component on Ivan’s mecha could be studied afterward. They could reconstruct what had happened, compare the readings, and finally get some idea of what exactly they were dealing with.

"If you don’t go back in there," Allan demanded, "then how the hell are we supposed to learn anything else?!"

Ivan went silent for a moment.

Apparently, that was enough for him to understand where the old mechanic was coming from.

His jaw tightened.

"Fine!"

He turned his damaged mecha back toward the golden figure in the distance.

"I’ll do it, but you’d better have a team waiting for me the second I come back, because I’m about to bring you some very expensive information!"

The call abruptly ended.

Master Allan slowly lowered his raised arms.

Then his gaze shifted.

Straight toward that bastardous Quinn.

The old mechanic sitting beside him had the absolute audacity to shrug as though he knew nothing.

Master Allan’s eyes narrowed.

He could practically see it in the disappearance of about eleven wrinkles from that all-too-familiar butt-face.

Quinn knew something.

He had to.

Otherwise, how could that blasted fossil sit there so calmly while everyone else was fighting for their lives?!

Unfortunately, the same realization seemed to be spreading far beyond the master mechanics.

The Imperial soldiers participating in the demonstration had already started contacting people like Deputy Officer Curtis to ask whether they had clearance to risk the mechas assigned to them.

After all, they were experienced soldiers.

How could they possibly fail to recognize the direction this demonstration was going when they’d already felt their asses clench more times than they cared to count?

Suddenly, those sympathetic pats from the veterans who’d participated in Luca Kyros’s licensure demonstration made perfect sense.

So that was what those looks had meant.

Those bastards knew.

Because seriously, what were they supposed to do with

Unfortunately, the order they received didn’t even come from Curtis, who had already been traumatized enough by the previous demonstration to understand exactly what they were asking.

It came directly from Marshal Julian.

His instruction was simple.

Continue participating fully.

According to him, this was a rare opportunity to train against a challenging opponent.

Only someone accustomed to creating trauma for other people could say something like that with a straight face!

But alas, at the end of the day, they were still Imperial soldiers with a certain amount of pride to uphold.

And regardless of how questionable their superior’s definition of "training opportunity" might’ve been, there was absolutely no way they could turn around and run from a junior cadet of all people.

So they tried.

They really did.