The Military Princess Won’t Fall in Love with a Magic Scientist

Chapter 204. What He Saw at the Banquet

“Discussion would be too much to claim. We can simply learn from each other.” Logaris took a sip of wine and brushed the matter aside casually. “As long as you don’t think my machines are too noisy for the flowers and grass.”

The smile on Kaos’s face stiffened for a moment, but he quickly recovered and laughed it off, letting the topic pass.

No sooner had he shaken off the overly enthusiastic elf than another heavyweight figure approached.

This one was a knight in the prime of his life, clad in silver plate armor, with a medal hanging from his chest that represented the highest royal honor: the Lionheart Medal.

The Blazing Ash Blade, Karlsas.

Representative of the old king’s faction, and a veteran Sixth-Tier knight.

“You’ve done well, young man.”

Karlsas’s voice was low and powerful, carrying the iron-blooded edge of someone forged on the battlefield. His gaze swept across the pocket square on Logaris’s chest, and there was a trace of approval in his eyes.

“To send troops to the front under circumstances like these—even if the number isn’t large—that sense of responsibility is something this old man has taken note of.”

Logaris smiled faintly without changing expression and raised his glass in acknowledgment. “You praise me too highly, General. As subjects of the kingdom, defending our land is our duty. Besides, if this line falls and the magical beasts pour straight through, the Northern Territory will not be able to remain untouched either.”

“Well said. If those nobles in the Royal Capital who know only how to wag their tongues had even half your awareness, the kingdom would not have ended up in such a state.”

Karlsas looked at him deeply, then lowered his voice.

“But Logaris, this is still the Second Prince’s territory. This is his home ground. The moment you arrived, you crippled his logistics officer. That grudge has become a big one. Things may be difficult for you from here on.”

Logaris had no desire to answer. That made it sound as though there would have been no grudge otherwise.

The old knight sighed, concerned flickering in his eyes.

“His Majesty is ill, and the princes and princesses are fighting over that throne so fiercely they’re ready to split each other’s heads open. We ministers are caught in the middle, and it is not easy for us. Logaris, you are a smart man. The Northern Territory is gaining momentum rapidly, but that also makes it an easy target. Sometimes, taking one step back is not necessarily a bad thing.”

This was both an attempt at mediation and an attempt at drawing him in.

By now, it was common knowledge that the factions of First Prince Dorg, Second Prince Carlisle, and Third Princess Sylvia were utterly irreconcilable. The whole situation carried the ominous air that the moment the old king drew his last breath, a full-scale civil war would erupt immediately.

As an old general loyal only to the kingdom, Karlsas did not want to see civil war. What they needed was a stable kingdom.

Logaris swirled his wineglass and watched the crimson liquid leave streaks against the sides.

Take one step back?

The thing he hated most in his life was retreat.

“General, once some roads are taken, there is no going back.” Logaris spoke softly. “And I have no intention of turning back.”

Karlsas froze for a moment.

He stared at the face before him, young to an almost absurd degree, and at those pale blue eyes behind the lenses—eyes without the slightest trace of fear, even carrying a sliver of madness. The words of persuasion that had reached his lips were forced back down his throat.

For an instant, the old knight seemed to return to the night before he had left the Royal Capital. In that bedchamber thick with the smell of medicine, when the aged king heard of the sword-drawn hostility among his children, he had not shown the concern one would expect from a father. Instead, he had revealed a meaningful, almost cruel smile.

“A lion that has never been through slaughter cannot guard this inheritance. Let them fight.”

The old knight let out a bitter laugh. The worry in his eyes gradually gave way to a bleak clarity. He looked deeply at Logaris once more, then shook his head and drained the strong liquor in his glass in one swallow.

“Since your mind is made up, this old man will waste no more words. It seems those three royal Highnesses who carry imperial blood... are destined to leave only one alive in this world.”

Logaris did not refute him. He merely raised his glass in salute to the general.

At that moment, the sharp and formal voice of an adjutant suddenly rang out from the entrance:

“His Highness the Second Prince, Carlisle Van Astrelia, has arrived—!”

The guests, who had been speaking in low voices, instantly fell silent. They all stepped aside, making way for a red-carpet path leading to the seat of honor, and bent respectfully in greeting.

The two heavy oak doors slowly swung inward, and the steady sound of footsteps echoed through the silent hall.

Carlisle walked in.

He wore a perfectly tailored black military dress uniform. The golden tassels on his epaulets swayed with each step, and his chest was covered in all kinds of medals. Most of them were little more than participation-award honors, but beneath the crystal chandeliers they still reflected a cold, intimidating gleam.

That handsome yet faintly sinister face bore an impeccable smile. As he walked, he nodded slightly to the nobles bowing on either side, every gesture displaying royal elegance and composure.

This was the scent of power.

Yet when he reached the center of the hall, his steps paused very slightly.

His gray eyes passed over everyone trying to curry favor with him, like a vulture that had circled in the clouds for a long time and had finally fixed upon its prey. Precise, cold, and laden with undisguised malice, his gaze locked firmly onto the young man in the middle of the crowd holding a wineglass.

Logaris sat on a velvet sofa with one leg crossed over the other, studying the sediment in his red wine as though it were far more interesting than the arrival of a prince.

The corner of Carlisle’s eye twitched, but he quickly hid it. He walked straight toward the other side of the hall, where his core advisers and several frontier generals had gathered.

Holding his wineglass, he turned his back to Logaris’s direction and struck an aloof pose that practically declared, “I am the protagonist. Irrelevant people should keep away.”

Reality, however, was often much harsher than ideals.

Carlisle’s entrance did not seem to cause much of a sensation. After he turned away, the crowd continued surrounding Logaris as before.

“Professor Logaris, I am Count Winston of the Western Territory.” A portly middle-aged noble squeezed to the front, all smiles, nearly spilling the red wine in his hand. “I’ve long heard of your great achievements in the Northern Territory. If you do not mind, my youngest daughter just turned eighteen this year and is also at Saint Arcadia Academy...”

“Count Winston, I remember that surname.”

Logaris’s tone was mild and carried the air of academic discussion.

“If my memory has not failed me, then your daughter should be the only student since the Academy was founded who submitted papers for Fundamentals of Mana Structure three times in a row that completely departed from logical axioms, yet still persevered without fail. That kind of... persistent spirit in sprinting down the wrong path does indeed leave a deep impression.”

A few suppressed chuckles rose from the surrounding crowd.

The smile on Count Winston’s face froze. He tried to defend himself. “Th-this... diligence can make up for shortcomings...”

“Count, diligence is a virtue, but direction is more important than speed.” Logaris cut him off with a smile, his eyes holding the pity of someone examining a specimen. “As a rigorous scholar, I truly cannot bear to let your daughter’s ‘imaginative’ gift be smothered by my dry laboratory, a place that cannot tolerate even the slightest error. Perhaps... artistic disciplines would suit a mind like hers better, one unrestrained by logic?”

Count Winston’s rosy fat face instantly flushed to the color of pig’s liver. The words sounded like praise on the surface, but every layer of them was veiled mockery. He stammered for a long while without managing a reply, then could only slink back into the crowd in embarrassment.

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