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

Chapter 210. Absolute Coordinate

“Just as the old man said. Biometric technology.”

Logaris looked at the line of text and frowned slightly.

Fenrir had made it very clear that only royal blood or the bloodline descendants of Mad King Maxim could open it. But as a researcher with a true spirit of inquiry, Logaris still felt that something would be missing if he did not personally test it for himself.

“What if that old man lied to me? Or maybe… the door is broken?”

Clinging to that faint hope, Logaris forced out a drop of blood from his fingertip and flicked it forward.

The crimson bead traced a neat arc through the air and landed precisely in the depression.

Sizzle—!

No miracle occurred.

The instant the blood touched the depression, it was evaporated by intense heat into a wisp of green smoke. The great door did not budge in the slightest. Instead, a glaring red rejection halo lit up across its surface, and a massive repulsive force burst outward so violently that it nearly shoved Logaris right off the floating island.

[Error. Sample mismatch.]

It was as though a cold mechanical voice had sounded directly inside his mind.

“Tsk. So it really is not giving me any face.”

Logaris steadied himself and dusted off his hands.

As expected, since his own blood did not work, he could only resort to the official solution.

Logaris raised his left hand.

“Absolute Coordinate, activate.”

On the night before he left Winter City, while Sylvia had been fast asleep, he had secretly placed an extremely concealed spatial anchor point on her.

Winter City, Duke’s Manor.

The night was deep. Outside the windows, the freezing wind was sharp as knives, rattling the glass with hard clacking sounds. Inside, however, everything was warm and comfortable, with the faint fragrance of lavender essential oil drifting through the air.

Inside a broad oak bathtub, steam curled thickly.

Sylvia soaked in the large oak tub, the warm water rising past her collarbones and washing away the exhaustion that had built up over an entire day of dealing with government affairs.

Her eyes were closed, and her long neck rested lazily against the rim of the tub. Several damp silver strands clung to her collarbone, rising and falling faintly with her breathing.

With the imposing armor of the governor set aside, she finally revealed a trace of the softness and languid ease that belonged to a twenty-two-year-old young woman.

“Logaris…”

Sylvia scooped up a handful of water and watched the droplets slip through her fingers, but in her mind, the image that rose unbidden was that refined scoundrel in a black coat and glasses.

“I wonder how he is doing over in the Great Howling Rift.”

She muttered the words softly and reached toward the Communication Crystal set on the nearby stand.

“Should I… check up on him?”

Just as her fingertips were about to touch the crystal—

Bzzz—

An abrupt and violent spatial fluctuation exploded without the slightest warning directly above the bathtub.

There was no chant, no advance warning from any magic array. Space itself was like a fragile sheet of paper that had been brutally torn open by some invisible hand, splitting apart into a jagged black rift.

Then, a dark figure dropped straight through it.

Logaris had never imagined that the landing precision of Absolute Coordinate could be so absurdly exact.

To steady himself in the state of sudden weightlessness, he instinctively stretched out his left hand, trying to find something to brace against.

Splash.

Water flew everywhere.

But his hand did not land on the floor or the edge of a table as he had expected. Instead, it pressed into a patch of warm liquid. The sensation at his fingertips was delicate and smooth, with startling softness, and it stopped at a dangerously close distance—barely two centimeters—from Sylvia’s exquisite collarbone.

At that instant, time itself seemed to have been struck by a Ninth-Tier Time-Stop Spell.

The bathroom fell into deathly silence, broken only by the sound of water droplets falling.

Half-kneeling on the edge of the tub, Logaris—whose pale blue eyes usually shone with cool rationality—found himself, through lenses that had instantly fogged white from the steam, locked in a deeply meaningful cross-spatial gaze with Sylvia, who had abruptly opened her eyes in the tub.

The two of them simply stared at each other.

The air froze solid.

Then Logaris unconsciously offered an evaluation.

“The temperature is pretty good.”

That was probably the sentence he would regret most in his entire life.

In that instant, Sylvia’s silver-gray eyes, which had still held a trace of confusion, went through the complete peak experience of human emotional transformation.

Shock turned to stunned disbelief.

Stunned disbelief turned to shame and fury.

And in the end, it solidified into a murderous aura so tangible it seemed capable of freezing the entire bathroom into an ice sculpture.

Her cheeks flushed red at a speed visible to the naked eye, like clouds burning at sunset.

“LO—GA—RIS!!!”

A high-pitched scream loud enough to shatter glass exploded through the small bathroom, accompanied by the terrifying eruption of a peak Fifth-Tier Knight’s Battle Aura.

“You pervert! Die!”

Boom!

Logaris did not even have time to cast an Arcane Shield over himself before his whole body was blasted away like a sandbag struck head-on by a siege ram.

Bang!

With a heavy thud, the Northern Territory’s youngest Sixth-Tier Mage traced a perfect arc through the air, smashed through the solid wooden bathroom door, overturned the dressing table outside, and finally embedded himself spread-eagled into the bedroom wall.

…

Ten minutes later.

The pressure in the bedroom was still suffocatingly low.

Wrapped in a thick white bathrobe, her damp hair draped over her shoulders, Sylvia sat on the sofa with Moonfall in hand, its cold edge gleaming as she stared frostily at the person opposite her.

Logaris sat in the chair across from her, holding a bottle of high-tier alchemical potion in one hand while using a healing spell to mend his two broken ribs.

“Explain.”

Sylvia’s expression was icy, her voice devoid of emotion.

“This was an accident.”

Logaris rubbed his still-aching chest, his tone carrying a trace of helplessness. “I found the entrance to Mad King Maxim’s laboratory in the Great Howling Rift. There is a high-tier bloodline lock there. I cannot get in, so I need to borrow some royal blood.”

“Royal blood?”

Sylvia immediately seized on the key point. For the moment, she set aside the matter of him barging into her bath uninvited. Her brows knit slightly, and confusion flashed in her eyes.

“Why my blood? Mad King Maxim lived a thousand years ago. What does he have to do with the Astrelian royal family?”

“Your grandfather was the one who gave me the coordinate. He explicitly said that only a direct bloodline descendant could open it.”

Logaris pushed up his glasses. A meaningful gleam flashed across the lenses, and his tone turned faintly teasing.

“As for why royal blood is required… who knows? The history books say they were mortal enemies, but perhaps Hero King Astrelia I and Mad King Maxim were actually tragic lovers locked in a passionate love-hate relationship.”

“Shut up.”

Sylvia shot him an annoyed glare, and Moonfall in her hand lifted slightly.

“Stop slandering my ancestors.”

She did not pursue that issue any further. After all, Logaris’s mouth had never been capable of producing anything decent.

“So you just teleported directly into my bathtub?” Sylvia pulled the subject back with a cold laugh. “Did you learn your spatial magic from a hooligan?”

“This is what Absolute Coordinate does.”

Logaris explained in a serious, academic tone. “To prevent anything from happening to you while you were in Winter City, I left a spatial anchor point on your body. No matter where you are, I can arrive by your side instantly. I simply did not expect…”

He paused. His gaze drifted uncontrollably toward the collar of Sylvia’s robe for a brief moment before he quickly looked away again.

“I did not expect you to be taking a bath.”

“You left an anchor point on me?”

Sylvia immediately seized on the critical point. The flush on her face deepened, and her fingers tightened further around the hilt of her sword.

“When did you leave it? And where?”

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