The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL] - Chapter 302

Chapter 302: Soaking
However, it wouldn’t just be her.

Sid, for one, was unsure why the universe had an issue with him.

All the guardian mecha ever wanted was to serve his masters and the Empire of Solaris to the best of his ability. But why does he keep getting caught in situations like this?

This? Yes.

A situation where he was once again privy to information he did not want to know!

Sid, the ever-loyal guardian mecha, was once again an unwilling participant in keeping a secret that he had no business knowing first or even second.

And if given the choice, he would’ve likely chosen to participate in some bank robbery instead.

See, it started with an unfortunate mistake of volunteering to keep watch as everyone attempted to follow the woman’s lead.

His original master was obviously wary but heeded the advice about soaking weapons or items they intended to use outside.

Luca and Ollie had taken the advice to heart. Ollie, for one, was now soaking his space buttons like they were vegetables in vinegar.

But more importantly, he took out a few empty containers to store this unknown liquid.

“…”

“…”

It was questionable, but no one stopped him. Not like anyone could.

They were told to set up camp here if they intend to use mechas to observe how long it would take for the effects of the dipping to wash off.

Apparently, that was dependent on the material used.

But that was all logistics, and Sid knew that his master was likely interested in something more valuable, such as information about this place and this person’s motivation for helping them.

“You must have also received the notice earlier. So you know that by extension, you are considered challengers.”

“And with this increase in difficulty, it is but a must for all of you to survive so we can all get out of here.”

“It’s just that, hopefully,” she paused before looking at them squarely, “we can finish it before the difficulty level reaches the next class.”

It sounded ominous, yet no one could deny her words as they saw the prompt themselves.

More things were said, and a slew of information was exchanged, save for their identities.

So why, pray tell, did he have to be the one to find out?

It was probably an exchange that was meant to be a secret.

But for a moment, Sid, who was just behind the rock formation they were using as cover, thought that this suspicious character was assaulting the butler.

Because just around the bend in the rock wall, tucked away behind a crystalline outcropping, he heard a noise and a flicker of spiritual energy.

And when the guardian mecha peeked, just to ensure everything was alright—

He saw her.

It was that woman.

This time, her face covering was off, her mask lowered and certainly visible to both of them.

And then there was Butler Gary, standing frozen a few paces away like someone had rewound his life several years back.

Sid wanted to disappear.

He really did.

But then, the helmet slipped from Butler Gary’s hands.

And just before the sound could echo in this cave, the woman lifted a hand—no, not with fingers, but a slender ribbon of spiritual energy that caught the helmet mid-fall and gently pulled it toward her palm.

Sid held his breath. Well, more like stopped what could have been an accidental activation of his thrusters.

“Shhhh,” the woman said calmly. Her voice trembled despite its firmness.

And just like that, she raised a hand.

A barrier shimmered around them—neatly cutting off sightlines and shielding sound… except for one oversight.

She didn’t account for the rock wall Sid was currently leaning on, being half inside the barrier.

But mainly, she didn’t account for the existence of sentient mechas.

And now, Sid couldn’t move. Or pretend this wasn’t happening.

And would instead have to listen to another suspicious exchange!

__

Inside the barrier, Butler Gary’s hands trembled. His knees locked beneath him, stiff with disbelief and the terror of false hope.

“You…” he breathed, voice raw and cracking at the edges. “You can’t be—”

He wanted to step closer. To confirm with his hands what his eyes could barely accept.

But she didn’t let him finish.

Instead, Amelia Soren Kyros—or this person who looked terrifyingly like the Duchess of Kyros—narrowed her eyes and lifted a hand.

“Three questions,” she said, her voice tight and trembling like a blade held too long in the cold. “Answer them wrong, and I’ll assume this is another hallucination and knock you unconscious.”

Butler Gary’s breath hitched.

He wasn’t sure if it was the delivery or the casual threat of violence that finally convinced him this was real.

But even now, even as his throat clenched and his eyes blurred, the butler straightened his posture the way a man clinging to formality does when he’s a second away from falling apart.

The butler, as dignified as ever, looked like he was seconds away from short-circuiting his own soul.

“Q-Questions?” he croaked, as if it was a foreign concept.

“One.” Her eyes burned into his. “How many moles does Leander have on his back?”

Butler Gary’s brain skidded.

He didn’t want to know this. He shouldn’t know this.

But he did.

He remembered. He remembered that one time, years ago, when a drunken duke insisted on sunbathing shirtless and the medical staff had collectively staged an intervention.

“None. If he had sudden growths, he would’ve wrangled the medical team.”

Amelia twitched. But she didn’t argue.

Not in amusement. Not really.

More like disbelief. But she let it go.

“Question two,” she said tightly. “If the Principal ever calls the estate directly, what’s the likeliest reason?”

Butler Gary didn’t even blink. “Because the Duke had likely kidnapped his son again.”

The words left his mouth without hesitation. He didn’t even need to think. It had happened. Twice.

She stared and nodded slowly, her fingers curling tighter.

And then—finally—her voice dropped into something smaller. Something breaking.

“And number three…” She paused. Her eyes glistened. “What’s my favorite jewel?”

He knew this one. Heck. Everybody in that house knew this one.

But he witnessed it himself because he was holding the baby when she whispered it to the stars.

“Your son’s eyes,” he whispered. “You said it the day he opened his eyes.”

There was a beat of silence. A single breath between lifetimes.

Then, Amelia’s lips parted—not with words, but a shattered exhale. Her shoulders slumped, her composure unraveled, and she stared at him as if seeing a ghost.

It wasn’t visible at first. Just the faintest tremor in her hand, the whisper of breath that hitched too late, too soft. But it was enough. A single thread pulled too taut.

Amelia Soren Kyros—the missing Duchess, once a commander, and current survivor—felt herself slipping.

She had trained her mind to dismiss illusions. Taught herself that hope was a liability in places like this.

But what to do when that tiny spark threatened to undo all her defenses?

Before she could say a word, the man’s expression twisted, not in anger, but in something raw and almost violent in how desperate it was.

These questions weren’t just for him but were obviously for her sanity.

“My turn,” he said hoarsely, like the words had clawed their way out of his chest.

She blinked in surprise. “What—”

“One,” he barked, trying to control the shaking in his limbs. “If your curse on Steward Han worked, what would he be like now?”

The memory slammed into her—she was about to send him to meet his maker but decided otherwise when she saw how miserable he was. She barely breathed, lips twitching.

“…Bald.”

“Correct.”

Gary inhaled, nostrils flaring. He couldn’t break now. Not when this could be it. Not when the months of waiting, of not knowing, might finally be over.

“Two,” the servant said, voice wobbling. “How many times did you and the Duke fail the parenting aptitude test?”

“…”

How could she forget?

Amelia’s nose wrinkled. “…Four.”

She whispered it, not because she was embarrassed but because the memory made her heart ache.

He nodded. Swallowed. His throat burned with something too fierce to name.

Butler Gary could’ve sworn he was in for high-blood pressure just from this, but his heart was too full to stop.

And then he stepped forward, hand clenched over his chest, both in formality and in defiance against the tidal wave inside him.

He looked at her—not as a vassal, not even as a servant—but as someone who had waited too long to say this.

“Three—Your Grace…” His voice cracked, then steadied like a sword drawn clean. “Would you like to see your son?”

She staggered.

Not back. Not forward. Just… buckled.

Her knees hit the cavern floor as her breath deserted her.

The world spun.

And for a second, Amelia couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t think.

Only feel.

Because hope—real hope—was a cruel, impossible thing.

Tears rushed to her eyes before she could stop them, blurring the edges of her vision as she looked up at him, trembling. Her armor creaked with how tightly she held herself, as if loosening even a fraction would shatter her.

It was challenging to speak, and all they could really do was communicate with their eyes, however misty and impossible that was.

She covered her mouth with one gloved hand, as though holding in the sob clawing up her throat. Her shoulders shook violently, the weight of grief and hope colliding in a single, broken breath.

Behind them, Sid silently swore he would never volunteer for night watch again.

Especially not after hearing the next part.