The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 1227: Problem Solved

But much like stalking—where the motto probably shouldn’t be encouraged—there were also instances like this particular demonstration when it’d be better to simply go for instead.

Because really, after staring death directly in the face and still finding the courage to attack what was rapidly becoming an insurmountable opponent, none of the participating pilots had anything to be ashamed of.

It was already admirable that they could survive having one very golden mecha flash right into their line of sight, not to attack, but to quite literally tank the blow that was about to come.

That alone had been mentally exhausting.

None of them had encountered this level of blatant goading from an opponent before.

Several of the older pilots couldn’t help feeling a vague sense of trepidation about the future generation if this was what the youngsters were becoming capable of.

Was this really how kids taunted people nowadays?

By literally getting in their faces?!

Forget having the self-assurance to wait for someone else’s attack.

This kid was actually chasing attacks down and deliberately putting himself in the way!

They could only pray this was Owen Mylor’s own unique brand of insanity and not some bizarre trend that represented his entire generation.

Ivan, upon overhearing the likes of Duke Azren grumbling about the youth of today over the shared communication channel, felt almost morally obligated to clarify that no, this behavior absolutely did not represent everyone around their age.

Only a handful of monsters possessed this level of audacity!

But nobody had much time to debate generational differences when practically every warning inside their respective cockpits was screaming URGENT.

One would’ve thought they’d spent several hours fighting on the front lines, when in truth, they hadn’t even been out there for half an hour!

It was absolutely ridiculous.

Had someone merely recounted this particular event to them afterward, most of the pilots probably would’ve accused the storyteller of embellishing history beyond recognition.

Unfortunately, they were living through it themselves.

It really was bad.

And the resulting damage alone was enough to bring a money-grubber like Luca Kyros to financial tears.

By that point, millions upon millions’ worth of high-end military technology had been thoroughly battered, crumpled, and left smoking across the course. Some mechas were missing limbs, others had their armor violently caved in, while several looked as though they’d barely remain operational long enough to limp back toward the repair crews.

Yet right in the middle of that extremely expensive graveyard stood one perfectly intact golden mecha.

Duke Caius, whose cockpit was flooded with so many warnings that his dashboard looked ready to personally escort him straight into the afterlife, stared at the glowing figure through his display.

Then something occurred to him.

His expression slowly changed.

"All this," he muttered in utter disbelief, "without that mecha drawing an actual weapon?!"

"HAH!"

What the hell was he even supposed to make of this situation?!

But just as the Duke of House Azren thought this bizarre nightmare might finally be coming to an end, a loud announcement suddenly blared throughout the entire arena:

"FINAL COUNTDOWN TO COURSE COMPLETION HAS COMMENCED."

The remaining pilots froze.

Right.

The finish line.

There was still a finish line!

__

Somewhere along the way, everyone had become so thoroughly absorbed in trying to beat the shit out of one particular mecha that they’d practically forgotten this was supposed to be a race!

And apparently, Owen had forgotten too.

The golden mecha, currently standing amid a collection of barely levitating scraps that used to be extremely expensive machines, suddenly turned toward the distant finish line.

There was a pause.

Then its entire posture seemed to stiffen.

Anyone looking at it would’ve probably interpreted the movement as its pilot calmly reassessing the remaining course.

In reality, Owen Mylor was panicking.

"BROTHER! THE FINISH LINE!"

"Ah! Right!"

"WHAT DO I DO?!

"Calculations show I won’t make it even at full speed like this!"

Ollie, who’d apparently also forgotten that extremely important part of a race, immediately looked toward the remaining distance.

There were still plenty of obstacles ahead.

Rock formations, artificial mounds, and various structures specifically designed to force the participants into taking more complicated routes stood between Owen and the finish line, and there wasn’t exactly much time left to navigate all of them.

Then the blonde seemed to remember something.

"Just hit the button!" Ollie suddenly screeched through the comms. "That shortcut worked for my good brother!"

"What button?!"

"That one!"

"WHICH ONE?!"

Thankfully, he didn’t overreact in the slightest (not) and remained perfectly calm (definitely not) as he located that clearly dubious golden button that anyone with better self-preservation instincts than a dodo would’ve found deeply suspicious.

Against all odds, and with even more verbal assistance from his shorter brother, the frazzled young Mylor still managed to hit it, only to be surprised the moment the entire arena seemed to darken.

"?!"

People instinctively looked around in confusion as the surrounding light noticeably dimmed, their attention rapidly snapping back toward the golden mecha when its luminous armor suddenly flared with almost blinding brilliance.

Something was gathering.

Then, without any further warning, a massive beam of that now-familiar light erupted straight from the mecha. Except this time, rather than scattering outward in every direction, all that gathered energy had been concentrated into a single devastating blast.

It tore straight toward the finish line.

Not around the obstacles.

Not over them.

Straight through them.

The tremendous beam carved across the course with such overwhelming force that everything unfortunate enough to be standing in its path was simply annihilated. Artificial hills disappeared, massive rock formations were blasted apart, and entire sections of terrain were leveled as a perfectly straight path was violently carved from Owen’s position all the way toward the finish line.

"..."

"..."

The crowd was thoroughly gagged.

Even those who’d spent the entire demonstration convincing themselves that nothing else could possibly surprise them were left staring at the newly created road with expressions that suggested their souls had temporarily vacationed.

And standing at the very beginning of that smoking path was the terrifying piece of modern engineering responsible for it.

But before anyone could recover enough to question what had just happened, the mecha shot forward along the very shortcut it’d just created.

Inside the cockpit, Owen Mylor was having another crisis.

Because he could swear on his entire future Academy career that he hadn’t intended for to happen!

He’d only listened to his older brother!

That was what Ollie had said!

Now, with instructions like that, how the hell was Owen supposed to know that apparently meant total annihilation?!

And how was he supposed to know he’d reach the finish line riding what was, once again, a black--mecha?!