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

Chapter 217. A World Without You

“Betrayed and abandoned by all, Sylvia.”

“That is the underlying color of your life. No dolls, no goodnight kisses, no comrades fighting at your side. Only endless cold stares, accusations, and that label of ‘monster’ that can never be torn away.”

The shadow’s voice echoed through the depths of Sylvia’s consciousness like a parasite clinging to the bone. It circled around in front of her, and a deeply mocking curve split open across its blurred face.

“You trained desperately in swordsmanship, desperately disguised yourself as a perfect princess, all so you could keep the people around you from leaving.”

“But what use was that?”

“No matter how well you did, no matter how many achievements you won. In their eyes, you would always be that child who drained away her mother’s life, brought death to her kin, and was fated to die alone... a disaster star!”

Sylvia’s hand shook violently around the sword hilt. Gritting her teeth, she tried to summon the last shred of her will and sever that bewitching devil’s whisper with a swing of her blade, only to discover in horror that the space around her had somehow turned thick and viscous, like glue.

“You are in pain, aren’t you? You think you are a mistake.”

The black mist around the shadow suddenly boiled. A vast and terrifying spiritual pressure, as boundless as the sea, erupted without warning like a tidal wave, instantly locking down all of Sylvia’s senses.

“In that case, then take a look...”

The shadow leaned close to her ear, its tone turning gentle in the most horrifying way possible, like someone coaxing an unruly child.

Sylvia’s pupils contracted sharply. Instinctively, she tried to retreat, only to find that her body seemed to be bound tight by countless invisible threads. She could not move even a single finger.

She could only watch helplessly as the shadow raised a hand and, with irresistible force, slowly pressed it down over her eyes.

“Look at that world... the one without you. See how perfect it is.”

BOOM—!!!

As the shadow’s palm completely covered her vision, Sylvia felt a thunderous roar explode deep within her mind. It was as if her soul had been violently ripped from her body by an invisible hand and dragged by force into an entirely new dimension.

The cold palace, her distant elder brother, that back reeking of sulfur... every image that had stabbed at her nerves shattered and collapsed like mirrors in that instant.

A violent wave of dizziness overtook her, bringing with it a fierce urge to vomit.

When her vision finally focused again, Sylvia froze.

There was no darkness.

There was no cold.

In their place was sunlight so warm it made her want to cry.

It was the Royal Capital’s distinctive afternoon sun, carrying a lazy golden warmth that spilled over her body like a soft embrace. The air was filled with the fresh scent of trimmed grass, mingled with the sweet aroma of pastries drifting over from the royal kitchen in the distance.

Sylvia lowered her head and discovered that she had become a transparent wisp of a ghost, floating in midair.

Below her was the royal garden, both familiar and strangely unfamiliar.

A man sat in a wicker chair.

Astrelia VI.

In Sylvia’s memories, he had always worn a stern face and iron-cold eyes, the man known as the “Iron-Blooded Sovereign.” But at this moment, that man had shed all the armor of his majesty.

He wore a loose silk shirt, his sleeves casually rolled up, and held a steaming cup of black tea in his hands.

He was smiling.

Not the perfunctory smile of court etiquette, nor the cold smile he wore after a victory in war.

It was a gentle, utterly relaxed smile Sylvia had never seen before. The lines at the corners of his eyes had softened, and he looked like nothing more than an ordinary middle-aged man next door, peacefully enjoying the ease of retirement.

Beside him, a beautiful silver-haired woman was bent over, trimming a pot of edelweiss from the Northern Territory.

That was her mother, Celesta von Winterhold.

Time seemed to have favored her especially well. Her face was still rosy and full of life, beautiful as a blooming frost rose, and every movement she made carried effortless elegance and composure.

“Your Majesty, Father has sent a letter from Winter City.”

Her mother set down the shears and turned around, her voice gentle as water.

“My father is complaining in the letter again that you cut the Northern Territory’s military budget. He says he is coming to the Royal Capital in person to challenge you to a duel.”

Hearing that, Astrelia VI did not grow angry. Instead, he burst into hearty laughter and gently took his wife’s hand.

“Let him come. As long as that old wolf does not take you back to the Northern Territory, he could tear the palace apart and I would still let him.”

“You are not afraid the ministers will laugh at you? A king of all people, acting like a rogue.”

Celesta smiled helplessly, but her eyes were brimming with sweetness.

Over there, Dorg, now already a young man, was teaching the young Carlisle swordsmanship. The two brothers bickered and played around, yet the atmosphere between them was harmonious and close.

As Mother watched those two children who were not even her own, there was not the slightest trace of reservation in her gaze. There was only pure tenderness and affection.

“Dorg is becoming more and more like a proper elder brother. Carlisle may be mischievous, but he is obedient as well. Even though we have no children of our own, the palace is lively enough that it never feels empty.”

Astrelia VI gently stroked the back of his wife’s hand, his gaze affectionate and full of love.

“Whether we have children or not does not matter. As long as you are healthy, as long as you can stay by my side and grow old with me like this, then that alone is heaven’s greatest blessing to me.”

Sylvia watched it all in silence.

The scene shifted. The warm royal garden rippled away like water, replaced by the solemn and majestic royal council hall.

Sunlight poured through the stained-glass windows, bathing the entire hall in golden splendor.

Seated high upon the throne was a man of commanding presence.

It was Dorg.

But he was no longer the pale invalid from Sylvia’s memories, the one who coughed blood without end. Now he wore a white-and-gold robe symbolic of royal authority and a crown upon his head. His complexion was healthy, and his eyes were wise and profound.

He was listening to the ministers’ reports, and every gesture he made was filled with the calm dignity and authority of a sagely ruler.

“Exempt the borderlands from taxes for one year, and allocate funds to repair the irrigation works.”

Dorg’s voice was strong and resonant, echoing through the great hall.

“I want every subject of Astrelia to live and work in peace beneath the sunlight.”

The assembled ministers dropped to their knees and hailed him in unison. That wholehearted support and reverence gathered into visible golden providence, circling around Dorg’s side.

This was what he should have been.

Had he not been tormented by illness, then with his generosity and benevolence, he ought to have become the greatest compassionate monarch in Astrelia's history.

Then the scene split in two.

On the other side was a borderland battlefield choked with smoke and war.

Before the two armies, an iron-like figure sat astride a black warhorse, holding a spear with the severed head of an enemy commander skewered on its tip and raised high.

Visit and read more novel to help us update chapter quickly. Thank you so much!