The Royal Military Academy's Impostor Owns a Dungeon [BL]-Chapter 883: The Luck of the Damned

But the sturdy and the unlucky never died early.

It was an absurd combination, the sort that seemed exclusive to people who had been tested by time far too often and somehow survived every trial just long enough to be tested again. At that very moment, Prince Elior felt like the living embodiment of such a curse.

Especially when a completely ordinary nosebleed became the spark that set everything on fire.

"BLOOD!"

Someone screamed it first.

Then another voice followed, higher-pitched and far more alarmed. "He’s bleeding! He’s bleeding a lot!"

"Is he dying?!"

"He looks pale!"

"He needs rescuing!"

He was not, in fact, bleeding a lot. But if they kept it up, he was likely going to die a different kind of death.

Prince Elior stood there, frozen, one hand hovering uselessly near his face as warm liquid continued to drip with impeccable timing. It wasn’t dramatic, shouldn’t have been dangerous, and something that hadn’t even been new.

And yet.

To the group of knee-height devotees who made up Princess Kira’s new and most devoted following, this was nothing short of a momentous crisis.

Their eyes gleamed with excitement and horror in equal measure as they whipped around to stare at their idol.

"Princess!"

"Princess Kira!"

"Someone’s hurt!"

"Help him!"

"Please help him!"

Rahil felt his soul attempting to leave his body.

But such solace couldn’t be granted, and both the body and the mind deserved to struggle together as he watched things unfold.

He could practically hear the collective turning of heads as attention snapped toward them, the crowd shifting, parting, and zeroing in on the supposedly discreet elven prince who now looked like the centerpiece of an unfolding tragedy.

"Oh no," Rahil muttered faintly.

Princess Kira, who had been mid-conversation and mid-smile, stiffened the instant she heard the word "hurt."

Her expression sharpened.

Her posture straightened.

Her instincts, especially honed by dubious stories of chivalry, protection, and heroic intervention, activated immediately.

She smelled it first, turned, and finally saw blood.

And as could be expected of her, she took the call for help with terrifying seriousness.

She took it so seriously that both Prince Elior and Rahil wished the ground would simply open up and swallow them whole, as every last shred of attention snapped toward the supposedly subtle prince who was now unmistakably the dude in distress, his nose bleeding even more under the weight of a rapidly growing audience.

But if Rahil felt a chill seep into his bones, Prince Elior was outright reeling. He simply couldn’t believe that this was how they were going to meet for the first time. Not with him arriving gallantly to explain how he had handled the problems that could have implicated her. Not with composure or dignity.

No.

They were meeting like this. Like a supposedly tall, broad, and imposing man being swept off his feet and carried away in the arms of a lovely woman who was somehow even taller and very clearly stronger.

Oh god.

Children cheered.

"WOW!"

"She picked him up!"

"So cool!"

"So strong!"

"Princess Muscle! Princess Muscle!"

Prince Elior closed his eyes as the children around them continued to enthusiastically chant about the overwhelming strength of Princess Muscle Muscle.

If there had been any doubt about the gods playing with his fate, then this was proof.

They were really out to get him.

Really.

__

Then again, perhaps the elves who had no idea why fate was treating them this way were fortunate in another sense.

At the very least, they couldn’t hear what was going through the Princess’s normally pristine mind.

Because had they been able to, then Eren might have finally succeeded in getting rid of his brother permanently. Not through schemes or assassins, but through sheer luck.

The Orcish Princess carried the so-called patient bridal-style through the crowd with practiced ease, her steps steady as people scrambled out of the way. To anyone watching, it looked like a heroic rescue. A decisive response. Strength and grace combined in a single breathtaking act.

Inside her head, however, her thoughts were far less poetic.

No wonder he almost collapsed. This man is too light!

Prince Elior was by no means light. Not by any reasonable standard. But to the Orcish Princess, everyone except her father was light. Some were just lighter than others.

Her gaze flicked down at the pale man in her arms, then immediately sharpened as she glanced toward the one who had been standing beside him when the emergency occurred.

Useless.

Completely useless.

How could someone with such a nice-smelling partner just stand there like a statue instead of helping?

She frowned.

They smelled almost the same. That usually meant something. Partners. Close ones. It would be rare to smell similarly unless people were considered close enough, after all.

And yet the beautiful one was being carried by her, bleeding and shaking, while his boyfriend simply stared.

Unacceptable.

She narrowed her eyes at the man who was now trying to catch up.

Rahil, bless his soul, felt a chill crawl up his spine.

He didn’t know why, but he suddenly had the very distinct sensation that he was about to die. Whether from embarrassment or from the sheer pressure of her glare, he couldn’t really tell, but he just knew it was coming.

What he did know was that breathing was becoming difficult.

Not because he was injured.

But because he was watching a flurry of events unfold that he hadn’t signed up for.

Princess Kira set Elior down in a less crowded area with decisive efficiency.

"Sit," she instructed.

The Prince sat.

"Lean forward."

He leaned forward.

Her movements were brisk and practiced, each one carried out with absolute seriousness. After all, a customer couldn’t possibly die during her shift. Luca would cry, and the princess would be beside herself trying to atone for such a mistake.

Again, that was unacceptable.

She placed a steady hand on his back and began patting firmly, her voice calm and reassuring.

"Stay calm," she told him earnestly. "It is very important to stay calm."

But Prince Elior was not calm.

He was, in fact, actively unraveling.

She reached up and pressed firmly against the soft part of his nose, pinching it shut.

Elior made a muffled sound that suggested a significant decrease in his perceived chances of survival.

His face was steadily getting redder.

"Oh," she added, suddenly remembering, "you have to breathe through your mouth."

She leaned closer, peering at him with concern. "You are breathing, right?"

Yes.

Yes, he was breathing.

Unfortunately.

Elior desperately wished he were not conscious enough to be aware of this entire situation.

Then, as if struck by another important realization, the princess turned her head sharply toward Rahil.

"You," she said firmly. "I mean, dear customer. Did you hear the instructions?"

Rahil straightened automatically.

"If it happens again, you should promptly help your partner," she continued with utter seriousness. "What if one day he decides you’re not helpful enough?"

Silence descended like a physical force.

Rahil froze.

Elior froze.

The princess’s hand was still holding his nose.

At that moment, it suddenly didn’t matter that there were countless people watching. It didn’t matter that his beloved was inches away. It didn’t even matter that his dignity had long since fled the scene.

Prince Elior forced out words through his mouth, voice strained and mortified. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

"He’s not my partner! Definitely not!"

The princess blinked.

Then she turned her head toward Rahil and spoke with the calm satisfaction of someone who had just proven a point.

"See?" she said. "Now he doesn’t like you anymore."

Rahil stared.

Prince Elior stared.

The crowd stared.

And Rahil, who should have been nothing more than a bystander, couldn’t understand why he, of all people, had been dragged into this nightmare.