The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] novel Chapter 1227

Chapter 1227: Problem Solved

But much like stalking—where the motto "try and try until you succeed" probably shouldn’t be encouraged—there were also instances like this particular demonstration when it’d be better to simply go for "learn from your mistakes" instead.

Because really, after staring death directly in the face and still finding the courage to attack what was rapidly becoming an insurmountable opponent, none of the participating pilots had anything to be ashamed of.

It was already admirable that they could survive having one very golden mecha flash right into their line of sight, not to attack, but to quite literally tank the blow that was about to come.

That alone had been mentally exhausting.

None of them had encountered this level of blatant goading from an opponent before.

Several of the older pilots couldn’t help feeling a vague sense of trepidation about the future generation if this was what the youngsters were becoming capable of.

Was this really how kids taunted people nowadays?

By literally getting in their faces?!

Forget having the self-assurance to wait for someone else’s attack.

This kid was actually chasing attacks down and deliberately putting himself in the way!

They could only pray this was Owen Mylor’s own unique brand of insanity and not some bizarre trend that represented his entire generation.

Ivan, upon overhearing the likes of Duke Azren grumbling about the youth of today over the shared communication channel, felt almost morally obligated to clarify that no, this behavior absolutely did not represent everyone around their age.

Only a handful of monsters possessed this level of audacity!

But nobody had much time to debate generational differences when practically every warning inside their respective cockpits was screaming URGENT.

One would’ve thought they’d spent several hours fighting on the front lines, when in truth, they hadn’t even been out there for half an hour!

It was absolutely ridiculous.

Had someone merely recounted this particular event to them afterward, most of the pilots probably would’ve accused the storyteller of embellishing history beyond recognition.

Unfortunately, they were living through it themselves.

It really was that bad.

And the resulting damage alone was enough to bring a money-grubber like Luca Kyros to financial tears.

By that point, millions upon millions’ worth of high-end military technology had been thoroughly battered, crumpled, and left smoking across the course. Some mechas were missing limbs, others had their armor violently caved in, while several looked as though they’d barely remain operational long enough to limp back toward the repair crews.

Yet right in the middle of that extremely expensive graveyard stood one perfectly intact golden mecha.

Duke Caius, whose cockpit was flooded with so many warnings that his dashboard looked ready to personally escort him straight into the afterlife, stared at the glowing figure through his display.

Then something occurred to him.

His expression slowly changed.

"All this," he muttered in utter disbelief, "without that mecha drawing an actual weapon?!"

"HAH!"

What the hell was he even supposed to make of this situation?!

But just as the Duke of House Azren thought this bizarre nightmare might finally be coming to an end, a loud announcement suddenly blared throughout the entire arena:

"FINAL COUNTDOWN TO COURSE COMPLETION HAS COMMENCED."

The remaining pilots froze.

Right.

The finish line.

There was still a finish line!

__

Somewhere along the way, everyone had become so thoroughly absorbed in trying to beat the shit out of one particular mecha that they’d practically forgotten this was supposed to be a race!

And apparently, Owen had forgotten too.

The golden mecha, currently standing amid a collection of barely levitating scraps that used to be extremely expensive machines, suddenly turned toward the distant finish line.

There was a pause.

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