The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 623

Chapter 623: The Soft Launch

Well, for one, he wouldn’t want to be in the position of the employees at the mecha registration department.

Second, he absolutely wouldn’t want to be the poor soul assigned to manage archive bookings from crazed master mechanics.

Third, he would sooner fling himself into a trash dump than join Killian Nox’s team of hard workers.

And fourth, he most certainly wouldn’t want to be an employee of the Mylor company.

Oh. Well. Scratch that. Maybe he would want to be part of the Mylor family. The pay, the prestige, and up close access to all the best goods—tempting.

But out of every possible choice, the absolute worst position right now had to be one held by Duke Leander himself, who was currently on the floor.

Rolling.

In despair.

Utter despair.

His dream had been so close yet so far, only for fate to snatch it away at the last second. What tragedy was this?! What cruelty of the heavens was this mockery?!

"Papa? Are you alright?" asked his worried son, who could only watch as his father cracked into multiple depressed pieces.

"I-I’m fine, my son..." the Duke croaked, trying to muster a smile. But it was a fragile smile, chin crinkled like wrinkled parchment, his face trembling as if he was about to burst into tears all over again.

And strangely enough, everyone understood.

Normally, they would think their leader had gone mad. This time, however, they were sympathetic.

After all, they were the blessed few. The lucky ones alive at this particular moment, chosen to receive their very own biomechas—carefully, painstakingly crafted by the hands of their Young Lord. On top of that, they had been allowed weapons as well, with the freedom to improve or modify them if inspiration struck.

And since the day they received their biomechas, their lives had changed. They no longer walked—they strutted. Heads held high. Chests puffed out. Their steps heavier not with exhaustion but with the weight of sheer pride.

Who wouldn’t?

They went to the training halls practically glowing with smugness and excitement. They polished their machines like they were polishing the rarest jewels in existence. And when someone asked to see their biomechas? They showed them off with the joy of a parent showing off their firstborn child.

Because who wouldn’t do that?

Second Lieutenant Anya Merren even wanted to sleep next to her custom weapon if not for the fact that it was longer than the size of her room!

Everywhere anyone went, it would be impossible not to hear anything about the new mechas. Whether it be about their greatness or the lengths people were now training to possibly qualify as the next recipients.

So it was a given, which member of their House (cult) didn’t want to see those glorious biomechas displayed out in the open like living proof of miracles?

Even Noah, who had ended his shift at the Daycare like it was any ordinary day, had been gently and reverently handed a new mecha space button. The poor man had collapsed on the spot from sheer shock and had to be dragged to the medical bay. Nobody blamed him. In fact, everyone understood perfectly.

Because Noah wasn’t just given a mecha. 𝕗𝚛𝚎𝚎𝐰𝗲𝗯𝗻𝚘𝚟𝚎𝗹.𝕔𝐨𝕞

No, he was given a mecha and a weapon designed specifically for him. Tailor-made.

He didn’t just pick from the excellent arsenal that had been prepared for everyone’s freedom of choice. The Young Lord had apparently sat down, thought of him, and decided, "Yes, this is what Noah should have."

From that day forward, Noah practically lived in the training hall whenever it wasn’t his shift. It became his temple, his sanctuary, his second home. In his mind, he reasoned that if he were ever robbed, he would happily give up everything else. His savings? Take them. His assets? Gone. His very organs? Harvest away. But the mecha? They would have to pry it from his cold, lifeless body before he surrendered that gift.

Because, as it turned out, Luca had even stashed a revive pill inside the mecha in case of absolute desperation.

So yes, those pilots who received such personal grace from their Young Lord naturally rose to the very top of the house’s private forum popularity rankings. Untouchable. Worshipped. Their posts could have been just pictures of floor dust, and still, they would have been showered with comments praising their good fortune.

Of course, their fame was only just followed by the ones who received access to the new base models meant for soldiers.

Excitement in the house was so high that it was practically vibrating through the walls. Every night, without fail, prayers were whispered for their Young Lord. Even those who never prayed a day in their lives found themselves awkwardly folding their hands, or secretly bowing their heads whenever they saw anything—anything—that reminded them of the heir. Which, frankly, was hard to avoid, since nearly everything they ate had been a direct product of his efforts..

Meals, snacks, desserts—every bite screamed of the Young Lord’s contributions. Their stomachs were practically shrines. In fact, more than that, each breath was as good as a reminder of who helped them take the next one.

So, obviously, the topic everywhere was his greatness. And that reverence only reached even greater heights after what D-29 gleefully referred to as the "soft launch."

Featuring himself. And Sid.

Definitely against the guardian mecha’s wishes.

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