The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 1109

Chapter 1109: "Allegedly"

"As you could expect, with the support of the equally enraged Master Allan, Master Yorrick threw down his cane and screeched, ’You little—!’"

Kyle was currently reading through the investigation report while attempting to reenact portions of what’d been documented.

Unfortunately, because he was doing so with the exact same expression he’d use while reading weather forecasts, the dramatic recreation ended up having the opposite effect.

"Wait, wait, wait!"

A panicked blonde abruptly cut him off.

"So they basically fought again?!"

Ollie looked completely deranged.

He’d been listening to the findings this entire time, but even after hearing about elderly master mechanics nearly getting into what sounded suspiciously like a hair-pulling contest, he still couldn’t understand what any of it had to do with little ol’ him.

So the blonde stood up and pointed at himself.

"Kyle!"

The new husband, who was named as such, looked up from the tablet he was reading from to hear his wife say something familiar.

"Explain it to me like I’m five!"

Ollie jabbed a finger repeatedly into his own chest.

"Earlier, this was all about how the foreign nationals reacted to the return of their delegates. Then all of a sudden it’s our master mechanics entering into a fight with other equally old people?!"

The blonde looked genuinely baffled by the concept, his hair antenna standing rigid as if similarly outraged.

"Where do they even get the energy for that?!"

He waved both arms dramatically.

"Forget energy! Where do they get the back strength?!"

Honestly, Ollie had a lot of concerns.

Normally, this would’ve been hilarious. It would be easy to imagine how they rode on their scooter-like hovercrafts, bumping each other with their canes while verbally insulting each other’s ancestors like they weren’t all headed for the same place.

The gossip-enjoyer would’ve happily sat back with snacks while listening to stories about elderly mechanics declaring blood feuds over professional pride.

Unfortunately, he was currently the one being sacrificed to the gods.

That made things considerably less funny.

In truth, Kyle also thought his wife had every right to feel confused.

Actually, it wouldn’t have been strange if Ollie were outright angry.

Even his father, Minister Kordell, had returned to the dungeon space specifically to complain about how ridiculous the entire situation was.

Granted, the Minister also admitted that the plan was annoyingly effective, and the more they scrutinized it, the more well thought out it seemed.

Which somehow made it worse.

Surprisingly, the person who finally decided to translate everything into terms a sane person could understand wasn’t Kyle but the blonde’s own mother.

Marquise Julienne.

She stood by the doorframe, quiet as always, as she listened to all the ramblings like usual. Only this time, instead of just observing, she made a show of stretching her arm while saying, "It’s because the rest of them can’t lose horrifically."

"...Huh?"

The rather eccentric but normally jovial woman walked toward the center of the meeting room, a space they’d relocated to after collectively deciding that further agitating the bees resting in Jax’s medical bay room was probably not in anyone’s best interests.

Once there, she pulled up a blank projection board and began writing names across it with her finger.

One faction.

Then another.

Foreign powers.

Local powers.

Organizations.

Influential families.

Before long, a web of circles and connecting lines filled the display.

Only then did she begin her explanation.

"All of this boils down to one very important fact."

The Marquise tapped the board.

"None of the foreign nations or local factions participating in the Astral Cup can afford to lose badly and publicly."

Her finger paused.

"And after what happened recently, they’ve realized that’s a very real possibility."

Several gazes immediately shifted toward Luca, who sat there with his eyes wide in surprise.

Julienne noticed.

"Understanding why requires a bit of context."

She circled several of the larger powers.

"As you can probably tell, there’s a conventional hierarchy that most foreign nations like to maintain. Not necessarily because it’s accurate, but because it creates the impression of stability, valuation, and might."

Her hand moved across the projection.

"As such, they’d like to believe—and show—that we’re all wary of one another because, for the most part, we’re similarly competent, similarly powerful, or similarly influential economically..."

"Maintaining that perception is important because, to varying degrees, everyone relies on international relationships for resources, trade, and technological advancement. It’s a delicate balance."

The Marquise shrugged.

"And, to be fair, there’s some truth to it. The Empire may be large and powerful, but that size is both an advantage and a burden. We still need a steady flow of materials and resources, which means cooperation with other nations remains necessary, especially in the middle of this scarcity and fight against corruption."

Then she tapped another name.

"The Federation."

Several people immediately straightened.

"Internally, they’ve always been treated rather delicately."

She paused.

"And by delicate, I don’t mean like a flower."

Julienne made a face.

"I mean like a ticking bomb."

Several people nodded.

"Most races are wary of them, but few actively push for their removal. The prevailing argument has always been that they allegedly serve a purpose by keeping the Empire in check."

The Marquise immediately raised two fingers.

"Operative word: allegedly."

She even made air quotes.

The cadets stared.

"Because whether they actually managed to keep the Empire in check is another discussion entirely."

Then she looked directly at the group of young adults gathered.

They were most definitely young and fresh-faced, yet powerful enough to shake such an established narrative.

"And then you guys happened."

Julienne smiled, then gestured toward the personification of change.

"Particularly our dear Luca here."

The golden-eyed cadet seemed surprised by that, despite everyone agreeing wholeheartedly.

"In the span of roughly two weeks, centuries of perceived balance and decades of carefully cultivated Federation narratives were thrown straight into the nearest waste disposal unit."

"..."

"..."

Several people looked toward Luca.

Luca looked toward Xavier.

But what could the Imperial Prince say about something that was true?

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