The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 715

Chapter 715: Despair and Wrath

Now, from far away, one Duke was silently wishing he were in the position of those confused soldiers on the ground.

At least if he were in their place, he’d already be breathing the same air as his family—smelly, possibly toxic air, but still the same air.

And yet there he was, in his lonesome—

(Ahem, the staff would beg to differ.)

Right, again, from the top!

There he was, in his lonesome, unable to reach them fast enough.

It was a tragic sight. A man of power, dignity, and unshakable authority... currently drooping like an unwatered houseplant in a luxury seat.

Every now and then, a soft, miserable sigh would escape him—one so heavy that it visibly deflated the morale of everyone in the room.

The attendant quietly motioned for someone to offer the Duke tea.

The tea bearer trembled. "He’s already had seven cups, sir."

"Then offer him eight!" the attendant hissed, desperate.

Another employee whispered, "Should we... should we distract him?"

"With what?"

"I don’t know, maybe a report? Or a picture?"

But it was too late.

The Duke of Kyros, Leander himself, had entered the phase of grief that no staff training manual could prepare them for: the dramatic lamentation of a father separated from his family.

"Why does the universe conspire against me?" he muttered, clutching his shirt with one hand while staring out the viewport like a heartbroken poet. "My wife, the children, my poor, poor Luca—how could fate be so cruel?" 𝙛𝒓𝓮𝙚𝔀𝒆𝒃𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝒐𝒎

"Your Grace, the transport will be ready in five minutes," an officer said cautiously.

"Five minutes?!"

That single phrase echoed with the despair of a man told that his son was going back to school.

The Duke stood abruptly, pacing like a caged beast. "If it were up to me, I’d already be gone! Why must we wait for clearance?!"

The staff collectively decided not to mention that clearance was required because the last time, the Duke’s words had probably struck a chord with Duke Vantari.

But could anyone really stop him when he looked like that?

He was practically chewing his own shirt in frustration now.

"If I go now, they’ll detain my men," he muttered, half to himself, half to the heavens. "But if I stay, I’ll die of longing!"

"Your Grace," someone ventured carefully, "you did insult Duke Vantari’s goatee at the last auction. Entering his sector unannounced might, um, cause... issues."

Leander froze, staring blankly at the unfortunate soul who dared to speak the truth.

Then, with the gravitas of a man meeting destiny head-on, he exhaled. "A scandal then. So be it."

__

Meanwhile, back on the battlefield of Zone Four, chaos had erupted again—this time not because of the enemy, but because of the Marshal’s latest order.

No one expected it.

Not the stationed soldiers.

Not the new arrivals.

And certainly not the pilots who were just about to return after their mechas were repaired.

But it wasn’t a request, and so they really had to evacuate.

"Wait, Marshal—did you say all manual mechas?" Curtis asked carefully, hoping it was just a bad signal or an auditory hallucination caused by exhaustion.

"Yes," Marshal Julian confirmed without hesitation. "All of them."

There was a long pause. The kind that made even the static on the comms sound nervous.

One of the fleeing mechas was hit—its thruster sputtered violently, smoke bursting from the impact.

"Thruster failure! I’m losing control—!"

Before panic could take over, a white-and-silver blur flashed across their view.

A biomecha under House Kyros intercepted the next strike, sword cleaving through the incoming tentacle with a crack that echoed across the battlefield.

The dismembered limb fell, and yet it was only one of the many.

"Move! Get them out of there!" barked another voice.

Several manual mechas rushed in, grabbing their damaged comrade and boosting them toward safety. It wasn’t graceful, but it worked.

They managed to pull away, just as another wave of tentacles emerged from the water.

The battlefield had transformed again—no longer chaotic, but desperate.

Duchess Amelia narrowed her eyes as she watched the monstrous bloom thrash in agitation. Its massive form heaved, churning the sea into whirlpools.

For some reason, to her, it felt as if the monster was extremely agitated.

Could it have realized that the prey were escaping?

Her mecha turned, blades gleaming as she ordered sharply, "Form up! Protect the retreating mechas!"

Instantly, the soldiers under her command began moving. The mechas surged forward in coordinated lines, blocking and dealing with the tentacles that were trying to hunt down the manual mechas.

The comms filled with hurried acknowledgments, clashing sounds, and shouted instructions.

Every second counted.

Every impact against their shields sent shockwaves through their systems, yet none of them faltered.

They just had to buy time.

But unbeknownst to the desperate soldiers, they weren’t the only ones running out of time.