Chapter 203 : Chapter 203
Chapter 203. Papering Over the Cracks
“So this is the Northern Territory’s ‘elite force’?”
Near the edge of the camp not far away, several young knights in ornate armor were pointing and jeering, laughing so hard they nearly doubled over.
They were noble soldiers from the First Prince Dorg’s faction. Every one of them had their hair slicked back until it shone, and their armor had been polished so brightly it could serve as a mirror.
“This is killing me. They’re not here to fight a war at all—they’re obviously here to dig their own graves.”
“Fighting while hiding in pits? Isn’t that the behavior of cowards? He’s thrown away all the honor of knighthood!”
“Hey! You marmots over there! Want this young master to reward you with a few carrots?”
The burst of laughter carried on the wind, sounding especially harsh.
Down in the trenches, several young Northern Territory recruits tightened their grips on their entrenching shovels. Their faces were flushed red, and their eyes looked ready to spit fire.
Being called cowards to their faces was something no man could endure.
“What are you staring at? Dig your trench!”
Akash kicked the recruit who was about to charge up and argue right in the rear. “If a dog bites you, are you going to bite it back? That’s what beasts do. We’re human.”
“But, sir...” The recruit was so aggrieved that tears were already gathering in his eyes.
“There is no ‘but.’”
Logaris’s voice suddenly sounded from above.
“Remember one thing.”
Pushing up his glasses, Logaris spoke as calmly as if he were discussing what to have for dinner. “For a soldier, there are only two kinds of people on the battlefield: the living and the dead. There are no honorable dead men, and there are no despicable living men.”
He pointed at the ugly zigzag trench at his feet.
“This thing is certainly ugly. It does not fit noble aesthetics, and it has no knightly grace whatsoever. But when the enemy’s heavy artillery comes down, or when magical beasts begin their charge, these angled turns can slow the enemy’s direct advance and create interlocking fields of fire. They can keep you alive.”
“As for those fools who stand out on open ground with their chests puffed out, preaching about honor...”
Logaris let out a scornful laugh, then turned and jumped down into the trench, his leather boots cracking sharply against the frozen earth.
“When the fighting starts, remember to collect their corpses. They’re allied troops, after all. If they rot where they fall, it could start a plague.”
...
Night fell.
At the center of Scream Fortress, the castle that had originally belonged to the frontier count was now ablaze with light.
An enormous crystal chandelier cast down a warm yellow glow, illuminating the great hall as brightly as day. A long dining table covered with a snow-white tablecloth stretched across the room, and silver utensils shimmered with a hazy brilliance beneath the light.
The graceful sound of violins flowed through the air, masking the occasional roars of magical beasts drifting in from outside.
To an outsider, holding a banquet like this while a great enemy loomed at the gates would seem no different from courting death. But in Logaris’s eyes, this was precisely the performance that Second Prince Carlisle had to stage in order to maintain his rule.
The tighter the pressure on the front lines, the more necessary it became to preserve an illusion of peace and prosperity.
Each dazzling crystal lamp was a reassurance pill meant for both the Royal Capital and the soldiers below. As long as the commander still had the leisure to host a ball, it meant the situation was “completely under control.” It was a form of self-deceiving political propaganda, and also a false defensive line meant to keep military morale from collapsing.
What was more, war had never been merely about slaughter. It was also a business.
Logaris looked at the nobles whispering among themselves with wineglasses in hand. The allocation of supplies, the division of defense zones, the theft of military merit... These filthy exchanges of interest could not be carried out on a muddy battlefield. They could only be completed amid toasts and waltzes like this.
For these officers who fancied themselves noble, this banquet was a barbed-wire fence dividing class. On the other side of the wire were the “consumables” meant to be spent, while on this side stood the “players” who controlled the board. To maintain this so-called noble dignity was, to them, more important than holding the line itself.
What a tedious and inefficient sociological specimen.
That was Logaris’s private assessment. Still, as the representative of the Northern Territory, he at least had to show his face once at a gathering like this, so he handed his invitation to the servant at the door.
Tonight, he wore a fitted formal suit of pure black. The tailoring was impeccable, with no unnecessary decoration save for a white silk pocket square folded into a triangle in the breast pocket on the left side.
That minimalist style stood completely at odds with the crowd of noble officers, who looked as though they wanted to pin every medal they owned onto themselves, yet it was strangely eye-catching.
The moment he stepped inside, the once-noisy hall quieted noticeably.
Dozens of gazes turned toward him all at once.
There was curiosity, scrutiny, jealousy, and open hostility.
A twenty-two-year-old Sixth-Tier Archmage. A lifetime professor of Saint Arcadia Academy. A master of the kingdom’s Magitech. The true power behind the Northern Territory. A ruthless figure who had crippled the Second Prince’s logistics officer the moment he arrived.
With all of those labels attached to one man, it would have been impossible for him not to attract attention.
Logaris acted as though he saw none of it.
He took a glass of red wine from a servant’s tray, gently swirled it, and strode gracefully into the crowd, wearing that impeccably polite professional smile that gave no one any excuse to criticize him while still making it feel as though he were keeping them all at arm’s length.
“Professor Logaris, I have long heard of your great name.”
A clear, bright voice suddenly blocked his path.
The one standing before him was a handsome man with pointed ears, his skin pale to an almost excessive degree. He wore dark green light ranger armor, and two enchanted short swords hung at his waist.
Logaris stopped walking. His gaze lingered on the other man for a moment, and the information in his mental archive matched instantly.
Kaos, representative of the Elven Royal Court.
Looking at the elf before him, Logaris could not help thinking of Iowen, who was far away in Winter City and was probably, at this very moment, leading a group of old farmers in the experimental fields and playing with mud.
Come to think of it, that so-called farming master who was currently leading efforts to improve Stoneheart Potatoes was also a natural elf.
Even though that fellow usually acted like an idle, unreliable bard who never stopped spouting nonsense, both his exquisite musical magic and the obsessive refinement toward food and art engraved into his very bones proved that his status within the Elven Royal Court was definitely not low. He might even be a great noble.
Did this stationed representative of the Elven Royal Court know the man Logaris had dragged back and pressed into labor?
If he did...
Logaris pushed up his glasses.
He would have to find a chance later to interrogate Iowa properly. There might be a way to make use of it and pry—no, apply for—a bit more ancient knowledge from these wealthy, long-lived beings.
Even as thoughts raced through his mind, his face remained perfectly composed. He raised his wineglass slightly, his tone neither servile nor overbearing.
“You must be Sir Kaos of the Elven Royal Court, I presume? A pleasure.”
A Fifth-Tier Natural Ranger, and the Elven Royal Court’s stationed representative within the allied forces.
The Elven Royal Court lay directly south of the Astrelian Kingdom, also bordering the Great Howling Rift. For many years, the two nations had formed a military alliance in dealing with the magical beast tides emerging from the Great Rift.
“I had long heard of your reputation, Professor, and now that I see you in person, you truly are... extraordinary in bearing.” Kaos smiled with great courtesy, even with a hint of ingratiation. “I have heard that even our priests speak highly of your Magitech. If the opportunity arises, I hope we may discuss it in depth.”
The elves had always been arrogant. They looked down on short-lived species like humans and were even more disgusted by the Magitech industry, which damaged nature.
But Kaos was an exception.
Or rather, in a world where strength reigned supreme, racial arrogance was a joke when faced with a peerless genius who had reached the Sixth Tier at the age of twenty-two.