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

Chapter 218. The Sovereign of Hell

That was Carlisle.

But the nauseating gloom on his face was gone, as was that morbid hunger for power.

Now he was clad in heavy armor, drenched in blood from head to toe. His gaze was as firm as iron, and every inch of him radiated the terrifying bearing of a supreme commander.

“For Astrelia! For our King, Dorg!”

Carlisle raised his arm and roared. Behind him, the knightly orders charged into battle like a torrent of steel. He was the kingdom’s sharpest blade, the strongest bulwark defending his brother’s throne.

Here, he was no longer that despicable wretch who knew only intrigue and envied his brother. He was a battle-hardened iron-blooded general, loyal and valiant, with glorious military achievements to his name.

“What perfect twin stars.”

The shadow’s voice rang out at just the right moment, filled with a kind of admiration so exquisite that it inspired despair.

“With none of the misfortune brought by you, that ill-omened lone star,’ Dorg gained a healthy body and the chance to display his gift for governance. Carlisle, too, never had to twist himself into something ugly out of fear that the throne would fall to some barbarian from the Northern Territory. He found the battlefield where his own glory belonged.”

“Brotherly harmony, civil brilliance, martial glory.”

The shadow drifted close to Sylvia’s ear and whispered softly, “Look. Because you do not exist, Astrelia has entered its true golden age.”

“Isn’t a world like this beautiful enough to make anyone jealous?”

Sylvia could not help clenching her hands so tightly that her nails bit deep into her palms.

“...Utter nonsense. There is no logic in any of this!”

“That is already more than you can bear?”

The shadow gave a low chuckle, a trace of amusement in its tone.

“Do not rush. The best part is yet to come.”

“Didn’t you always believe you still had someone to rely on? That man named Logaris.”

“You thought he was your salvation? You thought he was the one closest to you?”

The shadow’s voice suddenly turned frigid.

“Then look. Look at where he is. Look at what sort of existence he truly is!”

RIP—!

The scene before her eyes was violently torn apart once more.

This time, there was no sunlight, no flowers, no resplendent palace.

The setting was dragged in an instant toward the opposite extreme.

This was no longer the mortal world, but a scorched wasteland steeped in sulfur and magma. A magnificent black tower, piercing straight into the clouds, stood between heaven and earth.

The entire tower was forged from an unknown black metal. Dark red magical patterns like flowing magma coursed across its surface, radiating an evil aura that made the soul tremble.

And at the very top of that tower stood a man.

Logaris.

But this Logaris was no longer the scholarly researcher who always stayed by her side.

In the illusion, he wore no glasses. Those mismatched eyes, one blue and one red, were laid completely bare to the air, like two burning stars. Their brilliance was impossible to ignore, carrying a terrifying divinity and demonic majesty that no one dared meet directly.

Behind him, demonic wings vast enough to blot out the sky slowly unfurled. Every feather burned with black karmic fire, as though it could reduce even the laws of the world itself to ash. He wore a robe woven from blood and darkness, standing there upon the summit of all demons and looking down upon the myriad living beings below.

At his feet stretched the Hell Legion, a black tide with no visible end.

It was a force terrifying enough to drown the entire continent in a single night. Those hideous flame demons, those cunning succubi, those enormous Abyssal Lords—all of them now lay prostrate upon the ground in abject humility. Even their breathing had stilled from excessive awe as they offered absolute loyalty to the one true king beneath these heavens.

And above the sky, where clouds of sulfurous fire burned, six colossal beings sat upon thrones suspended in the void, towering like mountains, their faces obscured in shadow. They were the other six Grand Dukes of Hell. And at this moment, they were witnessing the birth of this new king with the highest rite of respect in all creation.

Under the witness of those six sovereigns, Logaris slowly raised his hand.

The void shuddered. A black longsword symbolizing the Authority of Pride materialized out of thin air and settled firmly into his grasp.

At that moment, he was Hell’s new ruler, the ultimate emperor of knowledge and power.

A succubus knelt respectfully at his feet and offered him a goblet filled with crimson wine.

“Your Grace, a highest-level sacrificial petition has arrived from the Valeria Empire. That old king is willing to offer up half the wealth of his realm in exchange for your intervention in the war among mortals, even if it is no more than the descent of a single projection.”

Logaris accepted the goblet and slowly swirled it in his hand, the corner of his mouth lifting into an expression of extreme arrogance.

“The wars of mortals? Those lowly, tedious, utterly artless primal brawls?”

With a casual motion, he tilted the goblet and poured the wine away. It transformed into fire as it scattered downward, as though he were mocking the place that had once trapped him.

“I have returned to my domain, taken my place among the Seven Grand Dukes of Hell, and grasped the truths of this world. Why should I waste precious time on a mire as worthless as that?”

Logaris slowly turned around.

Across that vast and distant span of time and space, those mismatched eyes seemed to pierce straight through Sylvia’s soul.

“How fortunate that during those years I wandered the mortal world, I never encountered a single bond worth making me stay. Otherwise, I might have been buried beneath those dull and vulgar mortal emotions. And if that had happened, how could I ever have ascended the Divine Throne in such perfect form?”

“Do you see clearly now?”

The shadow laughed viciously.

“Because he never met you, because he was never burdened by a troublesome nuisance like you, he already returned to his family, inherited the true power of a Grand Duke of Hell, and reached the very summit of scholarship as well.”

“It is you, Sylvia.”

“Your ridiculous ambition turned you into his shackles.”

“Admit it. Your very existence is the greatest curse upon this world.”

The shadow drifted slowly around Sylvia, strand after strand of black mist brushing lightly over her trembling shoulders like the caress of tentacles.

“As long as you disappear... as long as you fall asleep and die within this illusion, this beautiful world will become real.”

“Dorg will become a benevolent king. Carlisle will become a glorious general. Your parents will grow old together. And Logaris... will become a supreme god beyond all others.”

“For their sake, Sylvia, please die.”

The shadow’s voice was no longer a single tone. It became countless overlapping murmurs, like swarms of tiny insects burrowing into Sylvia’s ears and gnawing at her nerves.

“You are unnecessary...”

“You are a disaster star...”

“You devoured your mother...”

“You dragged Father down...”

“You shackled Logaris...”

Sylvia stared blankly at that “perfect” Logaris.

She watched him wield his power with glorious confidence. She watched that utterly shadowless smile upon his face. She watched him ascend that supreme throne and receive the worship of all demonkind.

The sight was too dazzling, too perfect—so perfect that even the act of breathing felt like a sin.

The sword in her hand grew heavier little by little, until at last it drooped from her powerless grip. The tip struck the ground with a crisp sound that somehow carried only despair.

Her gaze began to lose focus. That fierce, commanding aura she had always carried seemed to be hollowed out in this instant by the whispers invading every crevice.

“Mother...”

Sylvia’s lips trembled. On the very edge of her sinking consciousness, she unconsciously murmured the word like a lost child.

“Mother... was it I who harmed you...? If I had never existed...”

“Yes... that is right.”

The shadow leaned close to her ear, its voice thick and honeyed with temptation.

“Sleep. Once you fall asleep, you will no longer have to bear this burden of sin. Your mother is waiting for you to atone...”

Her consciousness seemed to sink into a warm marsh, descending little by little.

Darkness was about to close over her head.

The light of that “perfect world” was drifting farther and farther away, as though it were a paradise she would never be able to reach.

And just before the final thread of reason was about to snap—

“Live...”

A faint but tenacious voice suddenly exploded from the chaotic depths of Sylvia’s sea of consciousness.

It was not the shadow’s whisper. It was a true memory, carved deep into her soul.

The mother whom everyone claimed she had “devoured” had not pushed her away with that emaciated hand in her final moments. That hand had gently caressed Sylvia’s overly rosy cheek. There had not been the slightest trace of hatred in her eyes—only boundless tenderness and hope.

“Sylvia, my child... do not feel guilty.”

Her mother’s voice was weak, yet every word was incomparably clear.

“Since you were born with this overbearing gift, then carry my share as well. Even if you must live as a monster, you must do so proudly...”

“You must become the strongest one of all... that is... the destiny of the Winterhold family...”

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