The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 491: Prototypes

Now, how could word not spread about this insane news when the Duke was practically skipping down the halls?

Yes. Skipping.

And with several dramatic twirls, the joyful father managed to enter the training hall to find the next victims.

Heads turned. Necks craned.

He undoubtedly attracted attention, and Duchess Amelia had to finally stop him from spinning like a top.

"Have you gone mad? What’s happening?"

"Me? Mad?! AHAHAHAHA! My dearest wife! The weather is glorious! My bones feel twenty years younger! And this father—this humble papa—is simply having the best day of his life!" Laughed the Duke, as he stood in a distinct fighting stance.

Amelia looked him up and down.

"Where is our son?" she asked darkly. "Did you take him somewhere again?"

"What?! Of course not! What do you take me for?! As a supportive father, I would of course support him in all his endeavors! And would be proud of his achievements!"

"A repeat offender."

"I—!!" He clutched his chest. "That hurts, Lia."

Duchess Amelia’s eyes narrowed, wanting to strangle the man so he’d cut to the chase. "Spit it out. What are you up to this time?!"

"You! How could you think like that! I’m up to nothing! I didn’t ask him for anything! It’s my precious son who said he was going to make something for me! His Papa! Hohohoho!"

"???"

"What is he making for you?" Threatened the duchess, who was at her wits’ end.

"A mecha." He said with a big smile, one that for a moment reminded the Duchess about how his son was a mini-me of this guy.

But then the superimposition was but a fleeting moment as the Duchess finally realized what her husband had just said.

"A what?!" She looked incredulous.

"My own custom mecha, personally made by the best son!"

A declaration. That was what it sounded like; for the Duchess and everyone else who heard those words, it ended up being hyper-focused on the new public enemy number one.

Duke Leander Kyros.

But thankfully, the Duke, whose upturned nose could reach the heavens, realized that there were just too many bodies to dispose of. So he finally relayed his purpose in coming to the training hall.

He wasn’t just there to gloat; he was there to gloat and recruit volunteers. Dual purpose. After all, one must have a reason for survival when going to the beast’s lair.

"Ehem!" He cleared out his throat, all serious now, "Honey, our son is in need of three A-class mecha pilots for testing of the prototypes. He needs three of them today, so I’m looking for volunteers."

And that was how every A-class pilot’s hand ended up being raised for a wild chance at being selected.

If only it stopped there.

Obviously, it didn’t.

Because now the entire training hall was packed with burly soldiers trying to look small and harmless and desperately eager.

Even those clearly not A-class were throwing themselves in, just in case the requirements got "adjusted."

Everyone wanted a peek.

A chance.

After all, these were the mechas they would hopefully get to pilot if they were any good, right?

Wrong. For apparently, these were the mechas they would get to pilot just because they were somehow lucky enough to be loyal to the House of Kyros.

When the news first broke out, several mecha pilots had to look for the nearest walls to keep them steady.

Because this was basically unheard of.

See, soldiers in the Empire of Solaris are under Imperial command, regardless of their status. As a result, even those led by the respective houses would utilize the standard Imperial mechas unless they were capable of equipping themselves with something better.

And more often than not, these individuals who use custom mechas do so because they can afford it, or they were skilled enough to receive a custom one from the military or their backers.

But to discover that their young lord was intending to replace not only the officer’s mechas but also the base models was something they didn’t account for.

So the new mechas weren’t just for the elite.

Not just for himself.

But also for them?

That was emotional whiplash right there.

They were obviously touched. But such a consideration would surely take time and resources. And it was something that might not happen in their current generation. But even then, they were happy to know that such a thing was in the works. At least their successors would have something they could look forward to!

Ideally.

But just a few hours ago, Duke Leander happened. With zero subtlety and full dramatic flair, he announced that his son was just about ready to test three mechas.

Testing.

He already had something to test?!

Surely, the Duke meant a part, right?

But then they saw them.

The actual finishing touches had not been completed yet. But the paint job didn’t even look wet!

Duke Leander wasn’t kidding!

But even if the cockpit was half done, they’d still find it great because who on Solaris could even substantially finish three mechas in that short time?!

However, they could only shock themselves after lowering their expectations because the mechas before them spoke for themselves.

Because even as giant toy models, those mechas still looked far better than the current manual ones that most of them were using.

And someone with a creative imagination would argue that if the mechas could speak, they’d be saying: "I can do things your current ride could only dream of."

It was offensive.

And a little seductive.

Especially when some of the mechanics, too tired to sugarcoat things anymore, started talking.

"I’m telling you...This will be a bittersweet experience for the testers."

"Huh? Bittersweet? Just what could be bitter about this?!"

"You say that because you haven’t seen the data or cockpit yet."

"What about the cockpit?"

"Once you’ve sat in one of these babies—" the mechanic paused dramatically, wiping imaginary tears, "—you’ll never want to go back."

Laughter rippled through the group, but it was nervous.

Because deep down, they all knew...

He wasn’t joking.

For when it ultimately came down to ending today’s initial test, the "poor" pilot ended up contemplating marriage to the prototype.

Luca, for one, wasn’t sure why he was getting this kind of reaction.

Somehow, he could understand that the mechanics who were beguiled and incentivized by the crepes were willing to live there to polish in exchange for food.

But then these pilots hadn’t had a taste. The mechanics had hidden the food for "safekeeping," and yet these grown men looked like they were ready to write poetry about well-calibrated joints.

Hmm?

"Xavier, what do you think they like about the prototypes?"

"Is it the improvement in materials, durability, or the new regenerative armor?"

"Or is it how the increase in CF would allow for a better piloting experience?"

Luca squinted at one of the pilots, who now looked like he was about to cry.

"Or do you think they’ve noticed the change in the energy grid’s flow?" Luca asked as he observed the increasingly fanatic reactions of the pilots.

Xavier’s answer came back calm. "I believe it’s all that and the cockpit. But if it’s them, it’s probably that small dedicated compartment."

"Huh? The emergency compartment???"

"Yes, because nothing screamed ’care for their well-being’ more than seeing you provide treasures for each person."

"Oh."

Yeah. Oh. Xavier thought, because just how was he going to explain this bit to his uncle?

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