The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 1007

Chapter 1007: Just One More

See, while there actually weren’t any synthetic nerves on the barrel, and Emil shouldn’t be feeling any physical pain from it being bent, he’d most definitely fear for his life because his calf would remain stuck wide open like that.

He would be unable to use his thrusters and would face the terrifying prospect of imploding if he ever attempted to fire anything.

Such a fine mechanism had always been a little too sensitive and finicky, which was the main reason Emil had to operate stealthily rather than participate actively in their offense.

But with what they just witnessed and the ban on bringing their version of master mechanics into the capital, Emil’s implant would definitely get stuck until they returned to the Federation to have someone actually fix it.

That guy was really screwed.

But what was even more distressing was Luca’s expression as he bent the heavy-duty barrel like it was nothing more than flexible plastic.

The leader of DG was extremely aghast, worried, and practically oozing with pity for the Federation cadets as he took a moment to look around the stunned people.

"Is it really supposed to bend this easily? Isn’t this dangerous?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine concern as he checked on the floppy barrel.

"If the other implants are this fragile, then what would happen when your enemy gets really close?!"

As if trying to make a point, the golden-eyed cadet made sure to bend it even more, furrowing his brows as he twisted the metal like he was trying to make a pretzel.

"See?! I think you should recommend they change this for your safety, sir!"

Luca held onto Emil’s leg, pointing out the "flaw" with an extremely concerned face while everyone else in the arena straightened their backs.

Rhys was simply stupefied.

How could anyone even respond to such questions? 𝒻𝓇𝑒𝘦𝘸𝑒𝒷𝓃ℴ𝑣𝘦𝑙.𝒸ℴ𝘮

No one had ever been worried about such a thing until today!

Which idiot would ever attempt to close in on enemy artillery with the sole intent of testing it for pliability?!

Since the onset of wide-scale cybernetic modification in the Federation, none of them had ever had to imagine this scenario until today.

And because critical things need to be said three times, Rhys wanted to emphasize that until today, he’d never heard anyone say:

"The other calf—you do have independent control of it, right? If so, could you please shoot a pulse?"

"I was hoping to see just how efficient synthetic spiritual pathways could be when redirecting spiritual energy."

"Even just one would do if you’re conserving your energy!"

"Pleaseeee!"

"..."

"..."

At this point, who’d be able to fight while listening to this?

Forget about any sort of flag or even winning a simple spar-turned-game; anyone who could look at DG’s jail, which was now filled with Federation cadets with glazed eyes and sunken cheeks, could tell the lasting effects of this match.

Those who were smart enough to figure out a way practically begged the other members of DG to strike them three times so they could escape the playing field where Luca prowled.

It was the only way out, but then even Princess Kira—whom they expected would happily attack them—engaged in defensive combat instead!

__

Rhys had to wet his lip, which had dried out from sheer anxiety, as he watched the timer closely.

They needed to last just a few more seconds, and that meant protecting their leader from any sort of surprise attacks.

It was an unfortunate scenario for Emil, but Rhys figured if the cadet didn’t make it today, they could provide sizable compensation to his family—they knew the risks when they allowed their son to go, anyway.

Besides, if Emil could just keep Luca interested in him, he’d be recognized for helping keep the heir of the Federation safe.

Rhys adjusted his stance.

He didn’t have a death wish, but returning home with a damaged Cassian would mean his own family would end up in a much worse situation, because unlike the other elites, he was the official aide and had the responsibility of keeping his master safe.

Surprisingly, his boss—who’d normally take this level of protection as an insult—didn’t say a word, likely realizing the gravity of their situation.

But just as Rhys finished signaling the few remaining cadets to reposition without being too obvious, a sudden, cold announcement cut through the air, accompanied by a sharp buzzer.

"Attention please. Match countdown timer. Ten seconds remaining."

Noooooo—

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