The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 342: Panic

Speaking of crashing down, what were friends for if they weren’t destined to suffer together, even from entirely different realms?

Jackson Taylor felt like he was developing an allergy to responsibility.

He was pacing. Actively. Not the normal back-and-forth kind, but the stressed, twitchy, looking-for-an-exit kind. Except there wasn’t an exit. Not anymore. Just questions.

Endless, suffocating, soul-eating questions.

And he hated questions.

Why? Because people only ever asked questions when something had already gone terribly wrong.

Questions like, "Where is my brother?"

Or worse—"Where is my son?"

Jax wanted to cry.

This, right here, was why he now swore never to leave first. Because once you do, you may become the unfortunate redhead left behind to deal with the fallout. The lone survivor.

And he had never wanted to be the last man standing! They were all supposed to follow right after. So, how come he was stuck here dealing with this?

In particular, stuck with Duke Leander, who had started demanding answers with eyes like twin suns that looked ready to peel him alive.

He was understandably twitching, anxious, and similarly bewildered. And Jax understood, for he had been feeling the same way since earlier!

But he really had no idea!

If he had, he would’ve gone after them, because who wanted to be left here to be grilled like this?!

"What do you mean we’ve lost contact with them?!"

"Well—" Jax coughed, already regretting being born as he tried to think of a way to explain their disappearance. "I’ve tried calling, messaging, and even using their houses, but nothing!"

"Worse yet, I can’t even reach D-29." The poor redhead rubbed the back of his neck, feeling scared and exasperated as he rehashed his earlier frantic attempts at contacting them.

But to make matters worse, Kyle’s older brother had managed to worm his way inside the space because he had crucial information.

Apparently, he checked one place that Jax couldn’t easily check, and that was the location of the commuter craft.

Not only was it missing from the location they had earlier left it at, but his locator also wasn’t picking up anything.

Not even the one he slipped on his brother.

As if they all just vanished into thin air.

And so another fatal question came in.

"Where’s my brother?"

He had no answer, and Killian, who was listening to his explanations, was getting more confused as it all sounded like excuses.

And if not for the Duke’s reaction and knowing that Jax sucked at lying since he was young, Killian would’ve thought he was being pranked.

"So you’re saying you can’t reach them with the magical doors?" Asked the Chief of Staff, whose only experience was passing by one when he first got here.

"Yes, Your Grace," Nodded the stressed-out tree-hugger.

"We’ve got nothing else? That’s all?" Asked the Duke, whose expression looked unreadable.

Well, Jax thought he should tell him about Luca likely being fine because of the Dungeon’s great condition, but he eyed Killian because he couldn’t exactly say something so important when he hadn’t been authorized.

The young official, however, could tell what was likely going through this one’s mind and sighed.

"It’s impossible for my brother not to have some sort of contract for times like this. You’ve got one somewhere, right?"

Oh. Well, of course, Kyle had one, but Jax decided to ask for Duke Leander’s opinion about getting Killian to sign one.

Technically, for the Dungeon Space, he needed to get an actual pinky promise from Luca, but doing it like this was better than nothing.

And so one farmer was getting the Chief of Staff to sign while the same officer was being politely threatened by the Duke, who was on the brink of hysteria.

Only then was he able to share the findings he got after asking the bony elders.

"The elders said that they’ve observed how the Dungeon’s state was highly related to Luca’s state. And so judging by how the place still looks like this, then he must be safe, right?"

Right.

Duke Leander digested that information and somehow felt a bit better.

But then one person, with the luck of someone who could get hijacked after riding the commuter only once after two whole years, asked, "Does that also apply to the others?"

A good question.

One he probably shouldn’t have asked. Damn.

For somewhere in the original boss room, a few people were having a bit of a struggle.

The battle was not, by any measure, easy.

Not when the corrupted boss, which had been sitting like a horrid oversized lawn ornament just minutes before, suddenly went berserk once again.

It was out of the blue, and something they didn’t expect after it had calmed down once the children were far enough.

So what’s gotten into this one again?

And this one even came without warning.

No screech, no windup, just movement so fast it cracked the ground beneath it.

Duchess Amelia barely had time to react when it happened.

The corrupted goat, stitched together with blackened roots and hellish limbs, lunged as though provoked by something unseen, as if it were possessed.

A blow landed—hard.

Butler Gary took the brunt of it, his mecha’s right arm collapsing inward as if folded by the weight of an avalanche. Sparks and shards erupted from the limb’s plating, and his stabilizer immediately flashed red on Gisella’s screen.

But he didn’t go down.

His mecha staggered. Then steadied. Barely.

"Gary!" Amelia called out.

"Still here, Your Grace," he gritted back, already repositioning.

But then—

"WATCH OUT!" the Duchess shouted, voice raw with urgency.

A root, no, a drill—sharp and spinning like it had been honed in hell—shot toward Butler Gary’s cockpit.

Gisella moved without thinking.

Her blades lashed out, intercepting the spinning mass of bark and goo.

She clipped it.

But only part of it.

Only for another one to strike from the blind spot, silent and coiled like a serpent, slipping in with lethal precision before anyone could react.

Then came that sound.

Sickening. Metallic.

Gisella froze, her eyes shut as she prepared to receive the blow, after angling the mecha at the last second.

She knew it would be impossible to leave unscathed as the screams of her brother and the duchess rang out.

Guttural. Raw.

But what was this? The pain she expected didn’t come.

Then there was only one possible explanation, one she didn’t want to assume.

The stunned assistant looked down and saw something more horrifying than the thought of being skewered by this; it was the sight of someone else being skewered for her.

Cece.

The dwarf had taken the hit straight to the abdomen, right when the spike punctured through the lower part of their cockpit.

It pierced her like paper, only to pull back as if nothing had happened.

Gisella watched, horrified, as the root slithered out again, coated in something black.

And red.

"CECE!" she screamed.

Panic surged. Duchess Amelia and Butler Gary were already rushing in.

"There’s a first aid kit behind you!" the Duchess shouted.

She knew that. But Gisella’s hands were trembling.

It wasn’t the wound. No.

It was the goo.

Black. Thick. Already spreading along Cece’s stomach. Her clothes were soaked in it as if the root had injected it straight into her.

Her breath hitched.

"Hold on," Gisella whispered, voice cracking as she grabbed for the kit. "Hold on, dammit."

"I swear, Cece!" she demanded as she abandoned the kit to go for the mini fridge instead.

Please!