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

Chapter 206. Logaris: The Strong Should Thoroughly Humiliate the Weak!

Logaris took a step forward, closing in on Carlisle.

“Your Highness has been guarding the southeast for three years now, hasn’t he? If I read the battle reports correctly, then over those three years, the beast-defense line at the Great Howling Rift has been pushed back by a full fifty kilometers. More than a hundred thousand civilians have been killed or wounded, and twelve mining zones have been lost.”

He lifted a hand and lightly tapped the gleaming medal on Carlisle’s chest.

“You take a tenth of the kingdom’s tax revenue, maintain an army of tens of thousands, and yet you’ve turned the defensive line into a sieve. And now you still need us ‘moles’ to come patch up the holes for you.”

Logaris pushed up his glasses, the corner of his mouth curling into a sneer thick with mockery.

“Your Highness, who exactly is bringing shame upon the kingdom? And who is the real freeloader here?”

“You—how dare you!”

Carlisle finally snapped.

Having his fig leaf ripped away in public was a humiliation more unbearable than death.

“Logaris! What do you think you are? How dare you speak to me like that?” Carlisle jabbed a finger at Logaris’s nose, veins bulging across his forehead. “I am a prince! The commander of this allied army! You are nothing but—”

BOOM—!!!

Before he could finish, a pure, vast mental pressure belonging to a Sixth-Tier Mage crashed down onto Carlisle’s shoulders like an invisible mountain.

Bang!

The marble floor beneath Carlisle’s feet shattered instantly, fine cracks spreading out like a spiderweb.

This noble Second Prince’s knees buckled. His entire body sank halfway down, and he had to brace himself desperately against the nearby table with both hands just to keep from collapsing to his knees. His handsome face turned deathly pale at once. Cold sweat streamed down from his temples. His mouth hung open, but no sound came out, like a fish thrown onto dry land.

“A prince?”

Logaris stood there without even the hem of his clothing stirring. He looked at the trembling Carlisle beneath the crushing pressure with the same indifference one might show a stray dog on the roadside.

“Other than the status you got from being born well, what do you have left?”

Logaris shook his head, his tone full of undisguised disappointment.

“Twenty-six years old, a Fourth-Tier Knight. You cannot even fully materialize Battle Aura Armor, while Sylvia had already reached the peak of the Fifth Tier at twenty-two and could even fight above her rank. And you…”

He paused, then spat out two words.

“Utter trash.”

Those two words landed like two resounding slaps across Carlisle’s face—and across the faces of every one of the Second Prince’s followers.

“ROAR—!!!”

A furious bellow shattered the frozen silence.

The general standing behind Carlisle could no longer endure it.

If the lord was humiliated, then the retainer might as well die. General Balton, the Second Prince’s number one enforcer and a Sixth-Tier Knight, drew the heavy sword at his waist with bloodshot eyes.

“Madman! Die!”

Boom!

Violent earthen-yellow Battle Aura erupted from Balton’s body. Like a raging rhinoceros, he gripped his sword in both hands and brought it crashing down at Logaris with enough force to split mountains and cleave stone.

A furious strike from a Sixth-Tier Knight could split even a heavy tank in two.

The surrounding guests shrieked and fled in all directions.

And yet Logaris, standing at the center of the storm, merely turned his head and glanced at Balton.

He raised his right hand and lightly pointed one finger into the air.

“Still.”

Bzzz—

It was as if space itself froze in that instant.

The heavy sword, carrying the force of ten thousand pounds, stopped dead less than ten centimeters above Logaris’s head.

Balton remained suspended in his downward-slashing posture, hanging in midair. His face was flushed crimson, the veins in his neck bulging as he struggled with all his might to force the sword lower. But the air around him had become an indestructible steel wall, pinning him in place so completely that he could not move even a finger.

Spatial Imprisonment.

That was the absolute dominance of a spatial mage over opponents of the same rank.

“So this is the dog you keep?”

Without even sparing the sword above his head a glance, Logaris continued staring at the sweat-drenched Carlisle.

“When the master is speaking, why is the dog barking out of turn? Is this what passes for royal etiquette?”

Logaris flicked one hand.

“Get lost.”

Bang!

Balton was struck head-on as if by an invisible warhammer and was hurled several meters backward, clearly suffering no small loss.

The entire hall fell silent.

Everyone looked at Logaris as though he were some kind of monster.

“That is enough!”

A deep, powerful shout rang out.

The old general who had stood silently to the side until now finally stepped forward. Thick Battle Aura surged from his body as well, forcibly cutting into the field between Logaris and Carlisle and severing that suffocating pressure.

“Gentlemen, this is still the allied army’s main camp,” Karsas said, standing in front of Carlisle, his grave. “Give this old man some face and stop here. If this goes any further, no one will look good.”

Logaris looked at the old general with medals hanging all across his chest, and the chill in his eyes eased slightly.

“Since the old general has spoken, I will give him that face.”

He dispersed his magic power.

Carlisle instantly felt the weight leave his body and began gulping air in huge breaths, his eyes filled with venom and fear. Never in his life had he suffered such utter humiliation.

“However.”

Logaris abruptly changed the subject, pulling out a neatly folded sheet of parchment from his coat and slapping it down onto the table before Karsas with a sharp smack.

“Business is business. This is the supply requisition order Master Morton signed in Winter City.”

Logaris pointed at the red seal on the document, his tone returning to that shrewd, merchant-like sharpness.

“Three thousand sets of winter clothing, five hundred tons of refined coal, two hundred crates of high-explosive crystals, and… departure stipends in Golden Lion Coins for every member of the entire Northern Legion, issued according to the highest standard.”

With every number he read out, Carlisle’s face twitched once.

By the time the final figure was spoken, the Second Prince—who had only just recovered his breath—nearly blacked out on the spot.

“This is robbery!” Carlisle roared. “When did Morton ever agree to this much?”

“It is all in black and white, complete with Master Morton’s personal signature and magical seal.” Logaris shrugged. “What, does Your Highness intend to refuse payment? Master Morton signed on behalf of the royal family. Are you saying the royal family’s word is no longer worth anything?”

Morton had signed it in a rush when he was leaving. At the time, Logaris had only intended to disgust the old man a little. Who would have thought that the old fool would not even look at it, assuming it was the previous contract, and sign it directly?

With such a massive accusation hanging over him, Carlisle had no choice but to accept it.

If he refused, he would be admitting that the royal family went back on its word. Who would ever dare serve the crown again after that? But if he paid, it would be like slicing flesh from his own body and drinking his own blood.

“Give it… give it to him!”

Carlisle ground the words out through clenched teeth, each syllable thick with the taste of blood. “Give him the goods! Then get him out of here!”

“Magnanimous as always, Your Highness.”

Logaris tucked the document away with satisfaction, then casually straightened the collar that had fallen slightly out of place during the confrontation.

With that, he strode elegantly toward the doors under a sea of awed gazes.

When he reached the entrance, he paused and turned his head, offering Carlisle a meaningful side profile.

“Your Highness, remember today’s lesson.”

“Only the weak rage in helpless fury. The strong usually solve the problem directly.”

The doors slammed shut with a thunderous crash.

Inside the banquet hall, a deathly silence lingered for a full three seconds.

Smash!

With a sharp crack, Carlisle seized an expensive bottle of red wine from the table and hurled it to the floor. Scarlet wine splashed everywhere, reflecting the utterly twisted expression on his face.

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