The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 706

Chapter 706: The More Reliable Account

Thankfully, it was not, although one other account by a female tech specialist was declared unusable due to the sheer number of *bleeps* it contained.

Then again, if the other accounts they found were even halfway accurate, one couldn’t really blame her. Even their accounts would likely be filled with censored bleeps alongside prepositions and pronouns.

So just what did the other soldiers have to say about the Calamity of Zone Four?

If one asked a regular soldier about the events that took them by storm, they’d likely get one answer.

Everything.

However, since the higher-ups demanded a detailed report, Sam—a mecha pilot who had seen too much and yet too little—decided to provide one.

Hearing about the monster’s regeneration, regrowth, and reproduction almost killed any remaining morale they had.

Because while regeneration and regrowth were horrifying enough, those were also things they had encountered before. And yet even then, they had never encountered it on a being like this.

Worse, in his humble opinion, who would ever want to find out that such a colossal, many-limbed creature could reproduce? 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

And even worse—if it happened to be the only one for now, it might not stay that way for long.

Then wasn’t that guaranteed death?

Sam looked over to Marco, who was doing much better now. In fact, the guy should’ve been dead earlier, but look at him breathing and all thanks to the oddest medical team that House Kyros brought with them.

They were odd, offering unfamiliar things, strangely efficient, and occasionally too cheerful, but they worked miracles.

Sam was eternally grateful. He just wasn’t sure how long they’d all stay alive.

The same sentiment seemed to be spreading quietly through the ranks. Even while they rested, Sam could feel the palpable tension and helplessness.

People volunteered for patrol duty, not because they wanted to fight again, but because it was easier than sitting still. Others took to recording short messages for their families—farewell clips, words of apology, or reassurances they hoped no one would ever have to see.

They all knew they couldn’t actually send them out. The transmissions were restricted for safety. Still, it was a ritual that gave them the illusion of control, a moment of peace before the inevitable chaos.

Even the strongest soldiers—the ones known for keeping their cool—were quietly uploading their final messages into their mecha logs and terminals.

Then there were people like Marco, whose battered mecha had somehow been repaired earlier. The process had been so fast it made the engineers swear under their breath. And while it was mostly a matter of replacing entire limbs instead of fixing broken ones, Marco was convinced his old mecha had protected him to the very end.

Around them, Sam heard whispered prayers, snatches of dry humor, and the quiet rustling of soldiers performing tiny superstitious rituals.

Because honestly, at this point, what else could they do?

No one even dared to question the speed at which their wrecked mechas were being restored.

Or the fact that spare parts—supposedly impossible to find in the field—kept appearing in organized piles next to the repair tents.

Outpost Four had been destroyed, trampled by the land monsters. Their supply lines were a mess. There was no way this many components should exist.

And yet, somehow, there they were.

Like the medicines. Like rations. Like the strange healing pills that also worked for things that weren’t really open wounds.

But no one had the nerve to ask how any of it appeared.

It was an unspoken rule now.

Everyone had silently agreed that they would all ask permission before saying anything that might endanger their saviors.

Well—assuming they lived long enough to do so.

But to Sam’s growing unease, not everyone looked as terrified as they should’ve been.

Because while most of the Imperial soldiers looked like the living dead, the ones from House Kyros stood tall, calm, and... suspiciously excited.

Their mechas gleamed. Their movements were sharp. Their eyes were bright.

Sam blinked, uncertain whether to be reassured or horrified.

"???"

Nia, apparently, was the first to notice.

"Hey, Sam," she whispered, leaning close, "do you think one needs to be a different kind of unhinged to join that special force?"

Sam blinked. "Special force?"

"Yes, that one," Nia gestured toward the group of soldiers in question. "I mean, if that’s not a special force, then what else could it be? If they ever held those inter-division war games, wouldn’t everyone else just get obliterated?"

Sam gave her a long side-eye.

It was exactly that sort of comment that kept getting her into scuffles with commanding officers.

Still... she had a point.

Because there was no denying that those soldiers were different.

Were those... utensils?

Anya looked at her for a second, then smiled like someone explaining a very foreign concept. "Ah, no. That’s our lunchbox."

"...Lunchbox?"

"Yeah, though maybe it would be better to wait for it instead of explaining it now. It likely won’t make sense even if I try."

"But don’t worry," the second lieutenant assured her, trying not to chuckle as she remembered her own reaction back then, "pretty sure they have utensils for you guys, too."

"HUH?"

The collective confusion that spread among the soldiers of Zone Four was almost comical. Sam and Nia exchanged looks, their expressions hovering somewhere between disbelief and existential crisis.

What was a lunchbox?

And why would they need utensils in the middle of a corrupted zone?

The Second Lieutenant, clearly understanding their confusion, simply nodded. "You might want to get ready," she said kindly. "They’re probably going to call for dinner soon."

As if on cue, the space where everyone had been gathered suddenly filled with movement as figures who definitely did not look like soldiers suddenly appeared.

The mecha pilot’s jaw dropped.

They were dressed in neatly pressed uniforms, hair pinned, faces serene. And they were... carrying trays?

Sera’s brows shot up. "Are those—?"

Nia finished for her in a whisper. "Maids?"

Because there, amidst the rubble and tension of a battlefield, stood an orderly line of people who looked like household staff setting up tables and piling up closed trays.

Well, with their uniforms, they seriously looked like maids from noble houses, but with how they moved, they honestly looked more like soldiers.

Then as if that wasn’t enough, someone, somewhere, started ringing a small bell.

And it was very clear that House Kyros was, in fact, calling for dinner.

What do you know—much to the absolute shock of the people of Zone Four, they witnessed what could only be described as the fastest and most efficient line formation in history.

Within seconds, the soldiers of House Kyros had somehow arranged themselves into a perfect, disciplined queue, those questionable lunch boxes in hand, posture straight, eyes forward.

Just what on Solaris was happening?!