The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] Chapter 1239: Far From Dormant

Meanwhile, just as one particular group managed to settle several important matters that night, somewhere far darker and considerably more remote, things weren’t nearly as peaceful.

"Wrap faster! Faster! Hurry up, you useless shits!"

A loud, raspy voice tore through the damp, reeking darkness of what looked to be an abandoned mining tunnel.

The place had clearly stopped being used for its original purpose a long time ago.

Now, beneath rows of flickering lights that barely managed to illuminate the cavernous space, countless people sat hunched over makeshift workstations, their exhausted faces slick with sweat as their trembling hands worked as quickly as they possibly could.

The air itself felt suffocating.

Dust clung to practically everything, mixing with an almost nauseatingly sweet yet strangely acrid scent coming from the piles of raw materials scattered across the tables. Those materials were being ground, packed, and pressed into crude stick-like cylinders before being hastily bundled together by workers who looked as though they’d been sitting there for far too long.

"If you don’t reach today’s quota, not a single one of you gets to eat tomorrow!"

A heavy leather whip slammed against the ground.

The sharp sound tore through the entire tunnel so violently that nearly everyone flinched at once, yet none of them dared stop working for more than a fraction of a second.

It wasn’t as though the workers were unaffected by whatever they were being forced to handle either. Even through sheer endurance, several were visibly struggling, their breathing growing heavier as dizziness and nausea gradually set in with every passing minute. The only ones who seemed perfectly comfortable were their tormentors, safely protected behind specialized gear that theoretically spared them from the very same effects everyone else was simply expected to endure.

Unfortunately, one particularly young worker was already reaching his limit.

Barely managing to cling to consciousness as every inhale left him increasingly lightheaded, the sudden noise startled him badly enough that his already sweat-slicked fingers finally slipped.

"!"

Several of the tightly wrapped sticks he’d been carefully bundling tumbled from his hands and scattered across the filthy ground.

The boy immediately went pale.

"Are you trying to die?!"

Heavy footsteps thundered toward him.

The supervisor stormed across the makeshift production area, his face twisting with rage as he stopped right in front of the trembling worker.

"If you keep making mistakes like that, how the hell do you expect us to finish everything before the Astral Cup?!"

"Ah! N-no, Master..."

"You don’t even have to prepare the burners anymore! We’ve already made things far easier for you, and yet you’re still going to act this ungrateful?!"

The young worker didn’t even attempt to defend himself.

He immediately dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold, dirt-covered ground as his entire body trembled.

"I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’ll do better! I’ll work faster, I-I promise!"

The supervisor stared down at him for several seconds before letting out a harsh, humorless laugh.

Then he raised the whip again.

It struck the ground right beside the worker’s head.

The young man recoiled violently, but the supervisor had already turned toward everyone else.

Several workers had made the mistake of looking over.

"What are you all staring at?!" he roared, his voice echoing throughout the abandoned tunnels. "Get back to work!"

That was all it took.

Every head immediately lowered.

Hands that were already shaking began moving even faster as the production line resumed its frantic pace, filling the tunnels once again with the sounds of grinding, wrapping, and hurried movement.

And amidst all that fear and exhaustion, nobody dared question why they suddenly needed to produce so much more before the Astral Cup.

__

But see, those were never details meant for people like them to know.

Because in the mind of a certain someone, tools only needed to know enough to remain useful.

They didn’t need to understand what they were making, where all of it would eventually go, or what would happen once everything had been put into place. All they needed to do was follow instructions and survive long enough to usher in the new world that was waiting for everyone else.

Like that, even their otherwise pitiful lives would at least amount to something.

Unlike those twins.

Those two had been given far more opportunities than most people could ever dream of receiving, yet somehow, they’d still managed to fail.

Far away from those abandoned mining tunnels, the still surface of a dark pool suddenly rippled.

Then a hand emerged from the water.

Prince Eren pulled himself out like something rising from the dead, his soaked clothes clinging heavily to his body as water streamed down his pale skin. He stepped onto the dark stone without any urgency, leaving wet footprints behind him as he slowly made his way out.

A servant who’d been waiting nearby immediately hurried forward.

"Your Highness."

The man bowed deeply.

Eren didn’t acknowledge the greeting.

He merely stopped where he stood, water still dripping steadily from the ends of his hair, as though his continued silence should’ve been more than enough indication that he was waiting for the report he’d expected to receive.

The servant swallowed.

Then he bowed even lower.

"Your Highness, as predicted, there’s still no word about the Luxastra twins. None of their people could be located either."

Silence.

The servant could practically feel his own heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Then Eren finally spoke.

"Tell me they at least lit it."

His voice was so quiet that somehow, it sounded considerably more frightening than if he’d shouted.

The servant visibly stiffened.

"Unfortunately, there were no indications that it was activated. There were also no reports of any major disruptions during the licensure examination."

For several long seconds, Eren said nothing.

Then his hand slowly rose.

His palm dragged across his face, wiping away the water still clinging to his skin as his fingers passed over his eyes. When they finally lowered again, whatever little expression he’d had was gone, leaving behind a gaze so cold and sharp that the servant immediately braced himself.

He’d expected rage.

Maybe something thrown across the room.

Perhaps even punishment for being unfortunate enough to deliver the news.

Instead, Eren merely asked, "And the rest of the distribution?"

The servant hesitated before quickly answering, "Still proceeding according to schedule, Your Highness."

"Good. Keep it that way."

The servant blinked.

"Continue the covert operations, but restrict access to the new product for the time being. Anyone too notable, anyone whose purchase might attract unwanted attention, doesn’t get one just yet."

That finally made the servant raise his head before he could stop himself.

"...Your Highness?"

After everything they’d done to increase production, they were going to refuse willing buyers?

Eren’s eyes shifted toward him.

The servant immediately lowered his head again.

"If you want to increase demand," the Elven Prince said simply, "create the illusion of scarcity."

The servant froze for only a moment before understanding finally dawned.

"Yes, Your Highness."

He bowed deeply once again before hurrying away to relay the new instructions.

Eren didn’t bother watching him leave.

He continued toward his private chambers at the same measured pace, water still trailing from his body as he passed through the dim corridor.

Along the way stood a tall mirror.

For the briefest moment, his steps slowed.

But he never turned his head.

His jaw tightened instead, one hand gradually curling into a fist at his side as he walked past his own reflection without so much as glancing at it.

It was only a matter of time.

He’d already waited this long and sacrificed far too much to stop now.

What was a little more?

For now, he’d let them celebrate their victories and enjoy whatever illusion of peace they’d managed to build for themselves.