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

”Do you just need an opening? Then let me try!”

The voice broke through the tense and desperate atmosphere.

Soldiers who heard the ironically calm voice froze for half a heartbeat, unsure whether their ears were playing tricks on them.

But then the comms crackled, and someone spoke—

”Duke Leander?” Marshal Julian verified, though even without receiving a reply, there could really be no mistaking it.

Because descending from above them—through inexplicable smoke, wind, and splattering seawater—was a figure that could belong to no one else.

The mecha’s arrival silenced the battlefield.

It didn’t crash or roar—it descended, slowly and deliberately, as if the heavens themselves had decided to drop a representative onto the field.

Soldiers stopped just to look, squinting against the glare just to make out its shape.

Then, amidst the spray of seawater and the clearing of their vision, their collective breath was stolen.

It was massive. Or at least its presence made it feel massive, towering, and definitely imposing.

The broad-shouldered mecha before them was both beautiful and oppressive. Its armor was matte black, absorbing the light around it like a shadow given form.

The gold trims accentuated the mecha in a subtle yet deliberate way, something extremely contrary to its presence.

And behind it, vast black wings unfolded. They were neither feathered nor mechanical, but something in between, like a fusion between metal and membrane.

Even through their monitors, the soldiers could feel the weight of its presence.

After all, it would be difficult not to notice the figure before them.

The arms and legs also looked heavily armored, and yet, strangely enough, they could almost feel the flexibility and strength of this medium mecha.

It was like a dark knight.

And as it descended, it commanded both fear and reverence.

__

If only the inside of the imposing cockpit matched its outside.

Because inside that fearsome, awe-inspiring mecha was one very determined father currently trying to make sense of his biomecha while in the middle of what was probably the most decked-out mechapilot cockpit that had ever existed.

It was most definitely beautiful, and every part deserved to be thoroughly praised. But it would have to wait, for right about now, Duke Leander was fighting for his life.

See, unlike the other pilots of House Kyros, the poor Duke had been deprived, robbed, and cheated of the simple right to see and experience his new biomecha.

Had things gone his way, there would’ve been a grand unveiling, a speech, a dignified demonstration, and perhaps even a joint flight with his wife and son—a proper bonding moment that would have been documented in the family archives.

But alas, fate clearly had a sense of humor.

It had been so unkind that he almost missed the battle altogether—if not for that old goatee finally losing patience and throwing him out.

But the moment he exited through the newly repositioned Dungeon-linked gate and saw the chaos below, he realized there was no better time to unveil Luca’s gift.

Thus, the man clad in a sleek, black, custom-fitted mecha suit—designed, of course, by his precious son—summoned his biomecha for the first time.

And the rest, as they say, should’ve been history.

Ha! If only it were that easy.

Because, as it turned out, maybe, just maybe, he should’ve taken a biomecha for a test drive first.

The cockpit whirred. The system lit up. Everything pulsed with responsive energy, and the Duke realized within seconds that this was nothing like the base mechas he’d tested before.

Considering that the mechas mass-produced by their House already operated with minimal delay, he didn’t expect to encounter something like this.

This one seemed to have none.

His only limitation now was the speed of his own body reacting to itself. Every muscle twitch, every slight movement of his hand, every tiny flinch—was perfectly reflected by the mecha.

His twitching pinky finger? The mecha’s pinky twitched. His startled flinch? The entire left arm almost punched the air.

By the time he managed to get the thing to hover, the Duke was sweating bullets. His once dignified breathing now resembled light wheezing.

But what kept the determined father going was his son’s confidence that he would be able to pick up the ability to pilot a biomecha the fastest.

Clearly, it was a miscalculation on his part, but Duke Leander would rather eat mud than embarrass his son’s creations.

So, as he realized how absurdly sensitive the biomecha was, he made sure to stay as still as possible so he wouldn’t be flapping around like a startled bird.

Although, how could sitting be easy when he kept feeling the need to sniffle and exalt his son, who had even thought about his back, his feet, and his stomach?!

Then again, the Duke, who barely moved, had managed to create the most gallant and imposing entrances, one that was forcefully recorded by one butler who figured it would later be expected.

It was just that by the time everything had finished, one Duke would suddenly demand the generous editing of the recording that would probably need to lose more than half of the material.

Because just how could he have known that things would be like that?

”Marshal Julian,” Duke Leander’s voice came through the comms, calm but edged with the weight of a man ready to act. ”So that opening, do you still need it?”

The Marshal didn’t look away from his display. ”That’s right. The cannon’s close to being ready, but we can’t afford to waste the shot while it’s like this.”

Leander frowned, his golden eyes narrowing as he turned his mecha’s gaze toward the creature.

The aberrant bloom that once sprawled across the battlefield like a nightmare had changed its posture. Its massive tentacles, once thrashing wildly, had now wrapped around its own body—tight and deliberate, as though forming a cocoon of writhing flesh and corruption.

It was an act of fear. Or self-preservation.

Either way, it made things complicated.

In the end, however, the weapon was also his son’s, so they should really get it right.

Therefore, Duke Leander then agreed, because just how bad could it be?