The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 773

Capítulo 773: The March

Thud.

Thud.

Thud.

The ground trembled with each impact, light tremors rippling through the soles of everyone’s shoes. Conversations died off one by one. Murmurs stirred. Heads lifted. Necks craned.

Something was coming.

The kind of something that had people looking around as if suddenly alert.

The sound grew louder.

Thud.

Thud.

THUD.

Someone whispered, “Is that… drums?”

Another whispered back, “If it is, why does it feel like they’re punching the ground with them?”

The answer arrived before anyone could speculate.

A line of soldiers appeared.

Familiar, but usually dreaded. The kind where ignorance definitely meant bliss.

Federation.

They marched as one, moving so cleanly in sync that it felt less like people approaching and more like a single massive beast advancing on the venue.

The air thickened with pressure. Spiritual energy radiated from their formation in waves, the sheer uniformity unnerving even the battle-hardened veterans in the crowd.

Then again, who wouldn’t stand on guard when such a massive amount of spiritual energy was being shown off for a parade entrance?

Particularly when the ones doing it were quite literally the rather unstable enemy.

However, the budding unease was worse for those who could use visual resonance. Because more than just intimidating, the marching soldiers displayed intense cohesion not just in movement but also with their spiritual energies.

No clashing, no spiking, and no wavering. Instead, their energies wove together smoothly into what looked like a single unified blanket, layered and steady, as if all of them were breathing in perfect agreement.

Their control was both astounding and terrifying.

But why show such a thing?

Because, unlike the other delegations who could openly flaunt technology or weapons as they entered, the Federation definitely had more restrictions, so it was understandable that they would find a way to show their might.

The cadets wore one style of uniform—sharp, white, perfectly pressed.

The soldiers wore another—heavier plating, severe silhouettes, polished to mirror brightness.

They marched in perfect rhythm.

Left.

Right.

Left.

Right.

The drums boomed in the background, each beat matching their steps with mechanical precision. The sound rolled across the parade grounds like thunder.

The Imperial troops who entered first were more numerous, ideally stronger, and should have been far more intimidating in actual power. But the Federation…

They were very particular.

Above them, the sky broke into motion.

Unfamiliar mechas shot across the air in tight formations, their movements sharp and coordinated. Each carried enormous spear-like pylons that crackled with internal power before unfolding mid-air with a snap.

Huge banners unfurled—smooth, seamless, flawless.

The Federation crest exploded into full view.

Gasps erupted.

Some, particularly children, were in awe. Some probably gasped in hatred. While some were stuck with mostly disbelief.

Honestly, it was awkward for the audience because, unlike the fervent cheering earlier, the crowd was mostly suspended in animation as they waited for what else was to come.

Obviously, they figured it would be fine, but with the Federation just entering in like that, one couldn’t help but feel like wanting to run.

But then the marching stopped.

A single command was shouted, and immediately the army split into two flawless lines, turning their bodies sharply inward.

Their boots hit the ground in unison.

The air shook.

Every soldier brought their hand up in a uniform salute.

And the reason arrived.

Cassian Veyra.

He remained standing in the center like the universe had parted specifically for him. The Federation delegates followed behind him in smug, leisurely steps, but no one looked at them.

All eyes were stuck on Cassian.

Cold. Composed. Wearing a uniform that looked like it had been sculpted directly onto his body by the spirits of pettiness and tailored menace.

The drums intensified, beating faster, harder, louder, almost like an approaching doomsday.

Cassian didn’t flinch.

He walked straight down the aisle of soldiers, his presence alone making the air feel charged. The closer he got, the heavier the atmosphere became until people could only manage to breathe after he’d passed.

He reached the Federation’s designated position.

He halted.

He looked up at the massive flags that had unfurled in the sky.

Then he lifted his hand in a crisp, sharp salute.

That was the cue.

The drums stopped.

Silence cracked the venue.

BOOM!

Fireworks burst high above, showering the sky with sparks. They hissed and popped, and only then did the applause erupt.

Off to the side, even the live stream directors froze for a full second before remembering they were supposed to do their jobs.

One of them whispered, “Are we… sure this is legal? This level of intimidation?” Another whispered back, “Just film it.”

And then Cassian turned.

His eyes—sharp, cold, far too confident—met the nearest camera.

Or maybe the director.

Or the audience behind it.

No one knew.

Everyone screamed internally.

But the chills were real.

Star Net exploded.

[“IF ENEMY, WHY HOT?!”]

[“Was this the goal from the beginning?! To attack us with his face?!”]

[“HELLO?? WHY DO VILLAINS LOOK LIKE THIS??”]

[“Would it kill the universe to make evil people look a little more normal?”]

Within seconds, Cassian Veyra became a trending tag.

No one clapped harder than the people who absolutely shouldn’t be clapping.

__

Like young Owen Mylor’s friends who were clapping intensely, as if they had momentarily forgotten that the guy they were cheering for was the enemy.

Owen stared at them in disbelief.

He genuinely considered suggesting an eyesight test. But he quickly dismissed the idea because their eyes seemed to be working just fine when they immediately shifted to witnessing the parade of the Imperial Guilds.

So if it was not their eyeballs, then it was probably their brains.

The youngest Mylor shook his head exasperatedly, only to freeze when the skies suddenly darkened.

A collective gasp rose.

People pointed upward.

Above them, several enormous things slithered across the sky, their bodies twisting fluidly like real beasts. Their metal scales shimmered under the light, reflecting arcs of energy with every movement.

A loud hiss echoed across the venue.

Children were shocked, while adults initially stiffened until they remembered just where they were. The anticipation in the air spiked so sharply that some people forgot to breathe.

Then the ground parade began.

A gigantic mechanical serpent, easily the size of a starship’s hangar bay, emerged from the far entrance. Its movements were sinuous, tail sweeping left and right as though clearing an invisible path. Technically, it was only a float, but the Federation’s earlier theatrics had primed the crowd’s imagination to believe it was alive.

A burst of bright confetti rained down, sparkling as it drifted past the serpent’s metal fangs.

But what shocked people more than the float itself was the sight on its back.

Children were the first to point.

“Look! Look! It’s them!”

Sure enough, riding on the wide plated spine of the serpent were the members of the Silver Serpents Guild. At the front stood Ian Zorath and Ivan Zorath, flanked by members of their academy guild. Their uniforms were clean, sharp, and unmistakably flashy in a way only the Silver Serpents could pull off.

When Ian lifted his hand to wave at the crowd, the reaction was instant.

The screams were deafening.

The cheering turned explosive.

Adults, children, officials, and even a few dignitaries forgot their composure as the Silver Serpents glided down the parade path.

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