The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 721

Chapter 721: The Storm

It was just that, who would’ve thought “The Storm” would be reduced to something else after the event that cemented his name in the eyes, ears, and boots of these impressionable soldiers?

Well, to be fair, it didn’t happen right away.

Duke Leander Kyros, the man, the myth, slayer of that galactic hazard, actually looked rather dignified when that saga of mass destruction ended.

The alleged father of the century and husband of an eternally patient wife stood there in a way that others would remember and talk about for the next decade.

When the last massive chunk of corrupted flesh hit the ground, everyone who had been watching felt their knees give out.

They stared. They blinked. They stared some more.

It was over… right?

Right?

No one moved at first. They were all still too stunned to process the sight of the once-terrifying bloom lying in pieces across the shoreline.

Then, as if a switch had been flipped, the soldiers watching from the shelter started reacting all at once.

One pilot patted his teammate on the back so hard that the poor guy almost fell over. Another pinched his own arm and yelped, “Ow!” before breaking into a shaky grin. Someone else just broke down laughing.

A group at the corner burst into tears, hugging each other like survivors of a divine disaster.

“The bloom’s down!” someone screamed.

“The monster’s down!” another echoed, and the whole shelter erupted into cheers.

Curtis, still half-stunned himself, opened a private channel to contact the Marshal, expecting to hear something official like, “Mission complete.”

Instead, he heard… that.

Static crackled before Duchess Amelia’s crisp, no-nonsense voice came through on what seemed like another channel.

“Leander! Look at this! Now we have to sweep all of this together into a pit because how do you expect to harvest this?”

Curtis blinked. “…What?”

Then came the Duke’s panicked voice.

“My wife! I swear, I tried not to harm the good-looking parts!”

Curtis’s mouth dropped open.

“The good-looking parts?”

The Duchess sighed audibly, her tone sharp. “More than the good-looking parts, now we have to figure out what to do with the remaining body parts! Those are the ones that could reproduce!”

“What?! Wait!” Leander’s voice jumped a pitch. “Do you think he’d like to keep those too?”

Curtis froze. “He… who?”

“Are you crazy?!” Marshal Julian cut in, his voice a mix of fury and exhaustion. “We’re getting rid of that part!”

“But what if—”

“No what ifs!” barked the Marshal. “Unless you’re telling me you want more competition? Do you really want this thing to take up more of his time?”

There was a brief pause.

The deputy’s brain short-circuited.

What in all the stars were they even talking about?

Well, what do you know? Despite how absurd it all sounded, it still marked the demise of the remaining parts of the aberrant bloom—dug up, hacked apart, and hauled away by one frantic father moving with the urgency of an entire army.

“???”

Future accounts would praise the Duke for his unmatched efficiency, tireless dedication, and overwhelming strength as he single-handedly expedited the operation that should have taken an entire army weeks to complete.

Reports would say that his movements were decisive, his precision extraordinary, and his leadership unmatched.

Speculations would arise in academic circles about what could have driven such urgency. Some would argue divine inspiration. Others would propose that it was his unwavering loyalty to the Empire, or perhaps a heightened sense of duty awakened by battle.

In truth, historians and researchers alike would have vomited blood if they ever discovered the real reason.

Because the true catalyst behind that superhuman effort was a simple, innocent voice over divine communication saying,

“Hello! Papa? Are you free?”

The Duke had just been pushing a particularly stubborn tentacle out of the sea when the voice came through. His whole mecha froze mid-motion.

“L-Luca?!”

He sounded like a man who had just been offered a ticket to paradise.

The answer, of course, was yes. Yes, he was free. Or at least, he was going to be free.

Immediately.

He finished tossing the last chunk of flesh into the containment pit with a renewed vigor that defied all reason.

To him, this was no mere message.

It was a summons from heaven.

And if his son was calling, then there was no force in the galaxy that could slow him down.

Well, of course, except his wife. But it was as if Duchess Amelia had realized that the poor guy had suffered so much in the past months and maybe needed a little salvation.

And so he was permitted to go.

She’d probably regret letting him run off like that in the distant future.

But what could she do? She already married the guy.

So just as the wife sighed with an exasperated chuckle, the husband and proud father blinked once, twice, and then moved faster than a storm, finishing the job in record time. By the time anyone thought to ask where he’d gone, the Duke had already vanished under the sea—propelled by pure paternal excitement.

If one were to describe it, it looked less like a military operation and more like a child rushing off to their first field trip.

In his mind, he was already imagining the moment: father and son, standing side by side, their mechas shining against the ocean glow, cutting through monsters as one. They would understand each other perfectly without words, their teamwork seamless, their trust absolute.

It was going to be glorious.

Or so he thought.

“Uhm, Luca, my son,” the Duke said a little later, his mecha’s sensors scanning the strangely calm waters, “is this really what I have to do?”

He had arrived expecting danger. Chaos. Perhaps a monster or two.

Instead, he was standing in what looked like an oversized fish tank, surrounded by peaceful silence until a jovial voice came through.

“Yes! Papa! That’s perfect!” came the cheerful reply through the comms. Luca’s voice was bright and full of excitement.

“Perfect?” The Duke blinked at the horizon. “What’s perfect?”

“Please tell me right away if the greatsword vibrates!” Luca continued, sounding completely serious.

The Duke froze.

“What?”

“Oh! And if possible, please describe what kind of tremble it would make!” Luca added, much to the confusion of everyone, especially ‘The Storm’ who had been reduced to this.

What was this job to begin with?!

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