The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 1217

Chapter 1217: Eligible Entries

But how could the people with the most to lose possibly be as unconcerned as everyone imagined?

Of course they weren’t.

That was precisely why everyone else had been allowed to listen in to their hearts’ content in the first place.

All thirteen listening devices hidden throughout the lounge and the four more planted along the hallway?

How could D-29 possibly have missed them the moment the various factions started smuggling them in?

Who did they think had conveniently made those door locks just a little easier to crack when the little system had spent half the night angrily whirring that the spies sent by their enemies were so painfully slow at breaking in that it eventually had to help them?

The infiltrators never even realized that while they nervously worked and assumed they’d narrowly escaped being caught, one long-suffering guardian mecha had actually been stepping in to stop D-29 from sabotaging the entire operation out of sheer indignation.

After all, the little system firmly believed its greatness had been insulted by such embarrassingly amateur attempts at infiltration.

"How could they?!"

It had apparently been so bad that D-29 even grudgingly admitted the Luxastra twins deserved points for the way they’d manipulated the surveillance cameras.

At least that had been creative.

Unlike these people, who’d even needed help with the doors.

So yes. The people responsible for the event’s security cared.

In fact, they cared so much that if these people wanted to see whether they could uncover even more information...

If they wanted to keep pouring time, manpower, and resources into spying on this one particular build...

Then they were more than welcome.

After all, the more obsessed they became with this mecha, the better it would ultimately be for the young cadets.

What no one expected, however—not even the teenage pilot—was the way they planned to test that suspiciously secretive mecha

The first hint came the moment Oliver Mylor stepped into the now-familiar testing grounds.

Just as the crowd erupted into enthusiastic cheers, an announcement suddenly echoed throughout the arena, cutting straight through the noise and catching nearly everyone by surprise.

Ding-dong!

[Attention, valued attendees. The final demonstration will commence following the scheduled calibration.]

[To provide a better demonstration experience, in addition to the ten randomly selected Imperial Military personnel participating today, audience members are also invited to express their interest in joining the upcoming race.]

[From all eligible entries received, ten additional participants will be selected via raffle. Interested individuals must possess a valid Professional Combination Piloting License and a registered mecha at the time of sign-up. Additional requirements, rules, and related information are available at the designated registration area for your reference.]

[Registration will begin shortly. Thank you.]

Ding-dong!

Several people who’d been about to react before the announcement even finished immediately found their mouths covered by the people beside them, who desperately needed silence so their twitching ears wouldn’t miss a single word.

Quite a few attendees were already halfway out of their seats, looking as though they might launch themselves into the air at any second.

Did they hear that correctly?

Other people could actually participate?

But then, just as they were about to chalk it all up to hallucination, the same ding-dong sounded and the announcement repeated.

"..."

"..."

That was all the confirmation anyone needed.

For the briefest moment, everyone had been frozen.

Then arena erupted.

"!!!"

Even the usually proud dukes attending the examination—an event they realistically had no business attending—shot to their feet the moment they realized what they’d just heard.

Beside them, their children, the respective leaders of their academy guilds, wore expressions of complete disbelief.

For one fleeting moment, they found themselves wondering just how insane Oliver Mylor had to be.

Then the thought vanished, swept aside by something far more urgent.

They had to get in there.

It didn’t matter if the participation waiver required them to shoulder every bit of damage their own mechas might sustain. They wouldn’t have minded paying for the opportunity either.

All that mattered was securing at least one of those slots.

But precisely because they were masters qualified to judge in the first place, they all understood how absurd that standard was in this case. The cadet had already gone far beyond what was required—what remained was not a question of if he would pass, but rather how spectacularly he would do so.

Certainly not multiple combat-ready mechas that made even the masters look like amateurs!

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