The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 707

Chapter 707: The Last Supper

Was this their last meal?

In all of Sergeant Sam’s short life, this was the first time he had ever encountered something like this.

And of all the places in the galaxy to experience it, the most elaborate meal he’d ever seen was happening right there—within full view of that still wiggling, half-dead, half-alive giant creature outside.

But somehow, despite that revolting sight, no one could look away from the feast spread before them.

There were colors.

There were smells.

And actual solid food.

It was like being teleported to another dimension, one where soldiers didn’t eat nutrient paste or drink metal-flavored energy shots.

“Line up properly,” someone from House Kyros called out, tone polite but firm.

And so, like children afraid of being scolded, Sam and his comrades lined up in an awkward mirror formation across from the Kyros soldiers, following every motion as if imitating a holy ritual.

They didn’t know what they were doing, but it felt sacred.

The whole time, Sam and Nia kept craning their necks, trying to peek at what the Kyros soldiers were doing.

“Do you think we’re doing it right?” Nia whispered, her voice low but anxious.

“I don’t even know what ‘right’ looks like,” Sam muttered back, trying not to look suspicious even as his head tilted a full forty degrees.

Marco, ever the voice of reason, sighed. “Maybe we should just ask instead of acting like stalkers.”

Sam glared at him. “Do you want to be the one to admit we don’t know how to eat properly?”

Marco’s lips thinned. “…No, but what even is proper?”

“Touché.”

Meanwhile, the rest of their squad looked hypnotized as the Kyros soldiers picked up dishes in an orderly, almost reverent sequence. Every time one of them lifted something new, a chorus of gasps and whispers rippled through the Zone Four soldiers.

“They said it’s called a fried egg,” one soldier whispered.

“Fried egg?” another repeated, as if tasting the words themselves.

“Fried egg!”

“FRIED EGG!”

The phrase traveled down the line like gospel until someone suddenly gasped loudly enough to make the whole row flinch.

“C-chicken!” the poor soul blurted out, eyes wide.

Heads immediately tilted in unison.

“What chicken?”

“Is that really chicken? I’ve seen a photo of it on Star Net. Is it really the same?”

“Oh god, that’s a tomato, right? My sister is part of the fandom! If I don’t survive to tell her about this, she’ll curse my spirit!”

They all leaned in closer as if witnessing a miracle—because for them, this was one.

From across the other line, Second Lieutenant Merren caught their stunned faces and, with perfect lip movement, mouthed two very critical words.

“Get everything.”

“You read that too, right?” whispered Nia, already preparing to accept everything the staff would give her.

“Yep, definitely,” Sam confirmed, nodding gravely.

Even Marco, who had been so against eavesdropping earlier, muttered under his breath, “She’s a ranking officer. It’d be rude to ignore her advice.”

By the time they reached the serving table, none of them could form proper sentences. The sheer glow of spiritual energy emanating from the food was almost blinding.

Their visual resonance couldn’t handle it.

Every tray was radiating like a divine artifact, and every breath they took felt like inhaling liquid sunlight.

If this was food, then just what had they been eating their entire lives?

At this point, Sam wasn’t sure if they’d ever get back to fighting the monster—or if this feast was their send-off. Maybe this was the Empire’s way of saying, “You’ve done your best. Enjoy your last supper.”

And then they were handed the same metal containers—the famous lunchboxes.

Sam stared down at his, feeling dizzy as the servers placed food inside in an arrangement that looked perfect to him.

There were white things, something that looked charred and smelled impossibly great, then little red spheres and things that definitely looked like leaves. That had to be a vegetable, right?

Sam was from a mining planet where it was quite literally rock and more rocks, but since joining the military, he had eaten lunches with things that were called vegetables. But none of them looked this alive!

Whoa!

More than that, the current soldiers, much to their luck, were seriously fortunate to have tasted spiritual relics before. They came in the form of candied peels. And he could still remember the number of fist fights that took place over those.

To think those were far smaller!

But this? This was definitely a full meal. In fact, what they had received would be more than enough to build generational wealth if anyone could somehow attempt to sell them.

However, he wasn’t crazy. If he was going to die tomorrow, then he was going to eat his heart out.

He hesitated, then picked up one of the small red spheres.

“Baby tomato,” someone whispered behind him.

Sam popped it into his mouth—then froze.

The moment his teeth pierced the thin skin, juice exploded across his tongue. It was… how to even explain it? It was everything at once. What word could even be used to describe that?!

His entire face contorted like someone experiencing divine revelation.

And he wasn’t even the only one.

All around him, familiar comrades were having their own epiphanies, well, at least until one of the House Kyros soldiers approached with a serious face.

“Sorry to interrupt,” the man said politely, “but I didn’t want anyone else to make the same mistake I did.”

Sam blinked. “Mistake?”

“Yes. The chicken and the egg—you’re supposed to eat them with rice. Like this.”

He demonstrated with the precision of a saint. “Also, if you put your roasted chicken on top and let the juice seep into the rice…” He paused dramatically. “…you might see your ancestors for a moment.”

“!!!”

Who were they to argue with such sacred instruction?

Instantly, everyone followed his example.

And the next thing anyone knew, the tent trembled with sounds that the soldiers from House Kyros could totally relate to.

Nia clutched her chest, eyes glazed. “Dang, of all people—it was actually Mom who came to mind…”

She sounded quietly possessed.

Sam didn’t blame her. He understood completely.

If enlightenment had a taste, this was probably it.

But how could enlightenment only be for them?

After all that effort to grow, how could one giant bloom not think about itself and its children?

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