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

Chapter 998: The Illusion of Fairness

Short answer: Like shit.

Long answer: Like punching a reinforced wall that could send a jarring shock shooting up the knuckles to the wrist.

Frankly, one would’ve easily felt the vibration reverberating through the bones after the unfortunate impact.

But that was for those stupid enough to hit with their bare fists.

And Kyle had already done that once in his life and had no plans on ever doing it again.

No, thank you.

And so he faced his Federation opponent like he was ready to fight a literal tank.

See, the part he really disliked about this extremely optional activity of fighting Cassian’s hounds was that not only were they fighting cyborgs, but also a group superior in numbers.

Clearly, this was why: without the insurance plan provided by the Imperial Family, no one would be insane enough to accept any of them as customers.

Because who would willingly agree to have a guild versus guild sparring match when it was something like nine versus thirty?

Well, not exactly thirty, but more like twenty-five.

Obviously, complaints had been made, and the onlookers felt particularly aggrieved by the unfair battle.

But Cassian, the bastard that he was, turned toward the other Imperial guilds to ask, "Is the Astral Cup not a guild versus guild event?"

"I understand that there really are modes that would allow for only a limited number of players."

"...But if this isn’t allowed now, then would it be the same for when DG has to fight guilds with way more participating members? Or would the rules of some competition modes be altered?"

Kyle thought that Cassian must have been a condemned agitator even in his past life because even he was starting to get annoyed whenever the heir to the Federation opened his mouth.

With that kind of remark, how could anyone say no?

Then again, they’ve never been the type to seek special treatment just because of their guild size. In fact, it was also entirely their call to be that small of a guild.

But as if he were gracious enough to allow DG to save face, Cassian even suggested using a mode commonly played in the Astral Cup.

Capture the flag.

Only this time, they weren’t to use any mechas.

Luca, in particular, needed to hear the explanation for this mode, but at the same time, they had to explain to the rest just how they were going to go about it in person.

Well, ideally, it was simple.

The playing field would be divided into two camps. As usual, each team would have its own flag to defend while aiming to capture the opponent’s flag.

The winning condition was still capturing the flag within the time limit. But in case no flag had been taken to the enemy camp for a win by the time the round was over, the winning guild would be determined by the total damage aggregated by the sensors attached to each cadet.

Similarly, to jail a player, the sensor must register at least three legal hits, or a player may physically restrain another and take them to the designated jail, where they would have to wait for a teammate to free them.

Not bad, right?

Well, Luca thought so too.

In fact, Princess Kira had been excited after hearing it because it felt like it was a game truly made for her.

It was the same for those who listened in on the rules. It felt like it wouldn’t be so bad despite the clear disparity in numbers because each guild could easily use the artificial terrain for strategy.

But see, if they had looked at the faces of the Empire’s leaders, then the spectators would’ve also sensed the problem.

Because what use was hiding in the terrain when fighting against walking scanners?

Moreover, what was the use of banning external equipment when the enemies were living, breathing weapons themselves?

Lastly, how hard would it be for them to get three legal hits when the opponent could do it from afar without even using spiritual abilities?

Ah, and how could Kyle forget the most important thing that had him gnashing his teeth?

They made sure to include his little star and their equally fragile pharmacist in this suicidal "sparring match."

Friendly relations, my ass.

Who could have friendly relations with these crazy bastards?

Kyle thought of that as he shaped his spiritual energy into a scabbard-like weapon, the construct forming seamlessly along his arm as he stepped forward to intercept the incoming barrage.

Unfortunately, the attacks didn’t come one at a time, but in rapid succession, each one fast enough to blur the air as they cut through the arena.

One came sharp and direct, aimed straight for him, and Kyle moved without hesitation, swinging his weapon with precise control.

The impact rang out, but the force traveling up his arm was simply redirected.

But he didn’t stop there.

Before the sound of that first clash could even fade, another attack came from the opposite side, and Kyle was already turning, flipping his construct in one smooth motion, the edge of his armament catching that weapon of a leg at just the right moment to deflect it cleanly, sending his opponent off course by mere inches.

For the adjutant mid-combat, everything seemed to slow, not because the attacks had stopped, but because Kyle had started actively using visual resonance.

Then the tanky one closed in.

The same opponent he’d been dealing with stepped forward without hesitation, not bothering to dodge or reposition but instead reaching out and grabbing onto the very construct Kyle had just used.

No sane person would have done that.

But of course, they weren’t dealing with sane people.

"Tch."

Kyle clicked his tongue, tightening his grip as he adjusted his footing, and in one continuous motion, he swung his weapon upward, lifting the man off the ground as the force carried both the construct and the idiot clinging to it into a wide arc above his head.

Then—

Down.

The body slammed into the ground with a heavy crash, the impact sending a dull tremor through the arena floor.

Kyle exhaled through his nose and rolled his shoulder once, shaking his head as if trying to rid himself of the sheer absurdity of the situation.

Honestly, there were so many more productive things he could’ve been doing today than this. But here he was, giving his time to these people.

When he looked up, the same three fools were waiting.

They stood ahead of him, already moving, already preparing to engage once again, and Kyle’s gaze sharpened as he met them head-on, his grip tightening around his non-detachable weapon anyway—

Only for instinct to kick in.

He jumped back immediately, his body reacting before his thoughts could catch up, because something had just been thrown straight into his space.

Fresh from the Captain.

Of course.

Kyle barely had to think as he adjusted his stance mid-air, landing lightly while letting the incoming body crash past where he’d just been.

"Not bad," one of them said.

Another tilted his head, almost amused as he added, "Maybe we ought to just focus on getting the flag, no?"

They were trying to rile him up.

But there was no use.

Because not only had Kyle been born riled up—

It seemed like these people were also underestimating their goalkeeper.