The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 774

Capítulo 774: The Twinkle

“SS!”

“SS!”

“SS!”

The chant grew stronger, vibrating through the walls of the monitoring room where Leah Azren watched with mild interest.

“It would be nice to have that robot. I suggest we purchase it,” she said thoughtfully.

Her brother blinked. “Huh? Sis, what are you even going to do with that?”

“I’ll use it on the Iron Panthers,” she replied as if this were the most natural answer in the world.

Her father, Duke Caius, nearly tripped over his own feet when he heard her.

“Leah! What are you even talking about?! Think about that later! You’re going right after them! You should be preparing to go out now!” he screeched, clearly distressed as more enthusiastic cheers erupted from the holograms showing the next float.

Giant floating panthers appeared on-screen, prowling menacingly through the air as the Iron Panthers Guild made their entrance.

Leah shrugged. “We’re already prepared, Dad. What’s there to worry about?”

She pointed at the hologram with a lazy flick of her wrist.

“Also, if there’s anything to be concerned about, shouldn’t it be the fact that they still haven’t gotten hold of DG?”

The father stared at his children.

His children stared right back with matching, questioning eyes.

Duke Caius pinched the bridge of his nose. He tried not to panic. Truly, he tried. But the more he thought about it, the more the panic clawed up anyway.

Because while it would have been a blessing on most days if DG failed to show up… today was not one of those days. Not when the real opponents were the other delegations, especially the Federation.

After hearing that those people would actually join the parade, the guilds had collectively lost their minds and taken it upon themselves to go all out.

While they had great initial plans to begin with, they clearly weren’t planning on something as intense.

And yet here they were, despite being done last minute, he was pretty sure most guilds had taken it upon themselves to improve their segment.

His children were practically rolling in with high-speed rings, showing off their unique multi-layered coordination in a synchronized exhibition.

The people of their House almost broke their backs trying to finish that exhibition course, but even he couldn’t stop them when the workers themselves didn’t want to lose face against the Federation.

Heck, even the Vantaris, who usually maintained the most modest and tame entrances, were going all out with complicated aerials that probably required multiple overhauls and a personality change.

But what about DG?!

Where in the universe were Leander and those kids?

But before he could continue spiraling, his twins waved goodbye and sprinted out to join the parade lineup. Duke Caius resigned himself to fate, only to pause when he overheard something from the corner of the monitoring room.

A distressed coordinator suddenly let out a shrill cry.

“Hello! Hello! Finally! Thank the heavens, the line connected!”

Duke Caius’s instincts flared.

He turned toward the sound, curiosity pushing him forward even though a small part of him knew that was rude.

The coordinator was practically pressing her entire body weight against the wall in distress.

“Hello! Please tell us you’re on standby to enter after the Gilded Stags! Please!”

The Duke edged closer.

Just a peek.

Just to confirm nothing was wrong.

But maybe he really shouldn’t have.

Because the moment he leaned in, he heard a very distinct, alarmingly bubbly voice come through the speaker.

“Ma’am, the guidelines for the guilds only prohibit any form of damage or harm, right?”

The coordinator froze.

“Huh? Yes?”

Duke Caius looked bewildered.

Then again, who wouldn’t be?

For back at the parade, at least two instructors became extremely certain that they had really read the wrong results.

__

Instructor Falco’s eye twitched.

Then twitched again.

If the chair in front of him had been a living creature, it would have been begging for mercy. Because Falco was practically pounding at the back of it with barely restrained force, his palms smacking in rapid, tense taps as he muttered under his breath.

“Now land and hold. Land and hold. Land and hold—Dominic, land and hold, you little—”

Beside him, Instructor Moore stared ahead with the dullness of a man who had seen too much. He didn’t even react to the pounding anymore. Instead, he silently mourned the few remaining strands of Falco’s hair, knowing with absolute certainty that today would claim the rest of them.

He understood the stress.

Truly, he did.

After all, they were instructors of that batch. The batch that had somehow managed to become the most controversial, most accident-prone, most publicly-devoured group of cadets in the last few centuries. It was impossible not to draw attention—students talked, other educators judged, and the public of the Empire watched them like a circus attraction.

And Moore… would like to believe they had handled it well.

For the most part.

Well, at least until today.

Because when Dominic and his guild finished their turn, and only silence and murmurs followed, Instructor Moore was certain he would have to carry Falco and maybe himself to either the medical bay or to the crematorium.

Because they were dead me—

“Huh?”

__

Voices rose around them—uneasy muttering, soft gasps, a few sharp inhales, and the unmistakable sound of educators grinding their teeth into dust. Then somewhere among all that, the pounding of anxious hearts swallowed the air.

Instructor Moore couldn’t tell anymore which thudding belonged to him, Falco, or the dozens of instructors collectively undergoing cardiac distress.

At this point, he wasn’t even sure if he was capable of determining the difference between hopeful hallucinations and reality.

He’d been so flustered that he wasn’t sure if he’d seen it right.

But then it happened again.

A twinkle.

Up in the bright morning sky, so faint he had to squint.

A glint. A flash. A sparkle that should not have been there.

Moore froze.

Then, without hesitation, he smacked Falco so hard on the back that the man lurched forward in his seat.

“Falco—look up!”

Falco whipped around, ready to scold him, but the words died in his throat.

Because Moore wasn’t the only one staring upward.

The entire row of educators was looking at the sky with identical expressions of dread and disbelief.

Falco followed their gaze.

He saw it.

And just like First Year Adviser Tori Arlow, Falco let out something between a hiss, a gasp, and a curse.

“Tell me… they’re kidding, right?”

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