What Logan Is Not
Some distance away from the noise of the campsite, in a clearing lit only by the faint glow of the moon.
A taut tension hung suspended between the two women.
When Irene, hiding none of her hostility and practically radiating killing intent, drew her blade on Renate, Anastasia raised a hand to stop her.
Irene's black eyes blazed furiously, as if ready to erupt into flame at any moment, but Anastasia's red eyes — unlike hers — stared back without the slightest tremor, calm and utterly still.
So they stood glaring at each other, a battle of nerves, a standoff — and it was, of course, Irene who broke the silence first.
"What exactly did you do to Logan?"
Her question was direct. She had never intended to beat around the bush in the first place.
What on earth had happened to make Logan's attitude change so completely, when only the day before the Demon King subjugation he could barely meet her gaze one way or the other?
No matter how hard things got, Logan had never once let it show — but this time had been so grueling that when he first brushed off her touch, she'd simply assumed he was tired.
And then came things she simply could not understand.
He didn't just refuse her touch a second time — the moment they left the Demon King's Castle, he dared to fall into another woman's arms.
And Anastasia's shamelessness in accepting that so naturally left her utterly speechless.
It didn't end there, either.
Just today, in the carriage, the two of them had been laughing and chatting away together.
What had they gotten up to inside it?
Irene's patience had already worn down to nothing at the mere thought of imagining it.
Which is why she thought that depending on Anastasia's answer right now, she might very well cast a fireball and slam it straight into this woman's face.
There was no doubt about it — this Crown Princess had surely used some cheap trick, enchantment or curse, on Logan.
Logan, who had always looked only at her, suddenly changing — that was something her common sense simply could not process.
Anastasia did not so much as flinch at Irene's agitated reaction.
Instead, she regarded her with a look tinged with something close to pity, and spoke quietly.
"Perhaps the first order of business isn't what I did to him, but what you did to Logan, Irene. Don't you think?"
Anastasia genuinely could not fathom what thought process had brought Irene to ask her such a question.
This was a woman celebrated as a once-in-a-century genius at the Magic Tower, deemed brilliant and talented enough to join the Hero's Party —
and yet she truly, sincerely believed Logan had changed because of some sorcery of hers?
Granted, from Irene's position, it must have been bewildering for a man who had devoted his entire being to her overnight to change so completely.
Anastasia knew that feeling all too well.
She had never dreamed he would come to lean on her.
Even if, for a brief moment, she was being used as a refuge from his pain — Anastasia had been overjoyed.
If she could have, she truly would have used whatever scheme she had to keep Logan bound to her side forever.
And yet why — why did this woman, while basking in that man's love with her whole body —
"You're blaming me now? Don't make me laugh! Logan is mine! He's been by my side since we were children, and he's always been there for me and only me! And then a woman like you comes along...!"
How could anyone spout such impossible nonsense as though it were obvious fact?
Irene's voice rose steadily, and her eyes brimmed with the certainty that Logan's transformation was entirely Anastasia's doing.
Anastasia gazed at her in silence for a long moment.
What on earth could be so lovable about this woman that Logan had spent all those years in devotion?
How could anyone love so blindly? She simply could not understand it.
Someone so utterly self-absorbed, so consumed by herself alone — what could possibly be so good about her...
Certain she would never find an answer to that question, Anastasia soon spoke, quietly calling her name.
"Irene."
It was unlikely this woman would ever understand or accept what she was about to say.
But she had to say it clearly. She had to make her hear it.
"Logan is... not an object. He is not something that can belong to anyone. How can you have held his devotion in your hands for so many years, and still say such a thing?"
"Wh... what did you say?"
"You speak as though Logan was yours from the very beginning. I never imagined he would change like this, either. So why do you insist it's all my fault? Do you truly believe... you have done nothing wrong at all?"
At Anastasia's sharp question, Irene's words caught in her throat for an instant.
I did something wrong...?
Countless memories flashed through Irene's mind like shards of glass.
The moment she fell for Rian at first sight. All the times she brushed aside Logan's concern. The countless days she took his devotion entirely for granted.
But soon she shook her head.
Because even if she had been wrong — even so, there was no way her Logan would ever turn his back on her.
No matter what happened, no matter what she did, he would forgive her and accept her. That much was simply obvious!
And so Irene's fury boiled over, and she lashed out at Anastasia.
"Don't try to hoodwink me the way you did Logan! You... you used your position as Crown Princess to seduce him and ensnare him — that's what happened, isn't it?!"
"You dare—!"
Renate, listening at her side, could bear it no longer, and this time she shouted and reached for her blade.
But before the sword could clear its sheath, Anastasia's hand was already resting on the scabbard, stopping her.
"Compose yourself, Renate."
"But Your Highness! Even if she is one of the Hero's Party, this is far beyond tolerable!"
"Renate."
"...By your command. Forgive me."
Renate had wanted to protest with all her strength, but Anastasia's red eyes stopped her with cold finality, and she could defy her liege no further. She bowed her head and stepped back.
Watching the two of them, Irene smirked as if her point had been proven.
"You see?! This is exactly how you used your rank and authority to threaten Logan! Give Logan back to me — now!"
"Ha...!"
At the endless stream of delusional words, Anastasia could no longer hold back the burst of incredulous laughter.
"Use rank and authority, she says..."
Truthfully, it wasn't as though she had never thought about it.
No — she had thought about it endlessly. From the day Logan cured her of an incurable illness, to their reunion, to every moment this woman fell head over heels for the Hero and coldly wounded him, casting him aside — she had thought of it, over and over, countless times.
"Unlike some people, I have never once done anything that trampled on Logan's heart."
"Don't you dare lie! Who would believe..."
Irene, snapping back in rebuttal, found herself forced into silence.
Anastasia's red eyes flashed with something chilling, radiating menace like a drawn blade.
Do not interrupt me again.
"But my thinking has changed. If there were ever the slightest chance that Logan might waver and go back to you — that is when I would..."
Anastasia drew close to Irene's ear and whispered. Her voice was as cold as ice.
"I'll take him back by whatever means necessary. I will never hand Logan over to a wretched woman like you — one who knows nothing of gratitude and has her head turned by another man."
With those words, Anastasia decided Irene was no longer worth another breath, and simply walked past her. Renate too cast a look of pure contempt at Irene before following her liege in silence.
Left alone, Irene trembled from head to toe — with rage, with shame, and with a faint, creeping unease.
What did I even do wrong? In the end, I was going to... properly, to Logan, now that I finally—
Had she really been about to answer?
She raised the question in her own mind, but could find no answer. No — she didn't try to find one. And so she soon shook her head and let her fury explode instead.
It's all her... that woman ruined everything!
In the end, Irene chose to deny reality itself, and dumped the entire burden of blame onto Anastasia.
Thanks to Baldur and Elara, the area around the campfire had grown fairly lively. The two of them had seated Logan between them and were far too busy badgering him with drinks and bickering with each other.
"Kehahaha! That's right, lad! This body's special flash-bomb gave that demon king bastard one hell of a wallop, I tell ya! Come on, take a dwarf's drink! We've got to celebrate, and quick!"
"Hmph. If you drink anything this dwarf brews, you'll be too senseless to rise before tomorrow morning — the man can't hold his liquor to save his life. Logan, why not have the fruit wine my elves brought instead? It's fragrant, and it goes down clean."
"Thanks to you both, we made it through a great crisis. Without Baldur's help, we might never have defeated the Demon King. Ah — and I'll gladly enjoy your wine as well, Elara."
Logan accepted the cups each of them pressed into his hands and offered his thanks. But he never brought a single one of the drinks to his lips.
Baldur and Elara exchanged a glance, set their cups down, and quietly studied him.
They had been making a deliberate racket to lift his spirits — but his mood clearly wasn't going to lighten so easily.
So Elara spoke up at once, her expression turning serious.
"Logan, I'll listen to whatever you have to say, so if something's weighing on you, out with it. We'll help however we can — me, and this dwarf fool here too."
"...No, it's nothing. I'm just a bit tired, is all."
Logan forced a smile and deflected.
Baldur and Elara were genuinely worried about him, but he couldn't possibly confide in them about the vision of the future, or his tangled history with Irene.
"Tired? Kukuk... Logan's tired? Now that's a fine joke — at least make it believable, lad!"
Baldur laughed heartily and clapped him on the back.
Through that entire grueling campaign against the Demon King, Logan had barely slept a proper night — always drafting battle plans, and in what spare time remained, running off to gather herbs himself for the wounded.
Granted, all the fatigue from that long journey might well have piled up on him by now.
But looking at him now and believing a word about "tiredness"? That would make you the biggest fool alive.
"......."
Instead of answering, Logan picked up the ale Baldur had handed him and drained it in one go. And as if that weren't enough, he emptied Elara's fruit wine as well.
"Well, now... at this rate it'll look like all we did was force liquor on a lad who wasn't drinking..."
"You blockheaded dwarf! You can barely manage a quiet word of comfort without ruining it!"
"Hmph! Fine then — in for a penny, I'll just say it straight! You're doing well, lad!"
"...I'm sorry?"
Startled by Baldur's out-of-nowhere encouragement, Logan looked up at him. Elara nodded in agreement and picked up where he'd left off.
"That's right, Logan. This dwarf fool is right. Stop foolishly clinging to devotion that will never earn you so much as a word of thanks in return. Being close to someone who truly sees you, as the Crown Princess does — like today — is far better for you."
"Kukukuk! That's it exactly. Ah — and if things with the Crown Princess don't work out, don't you worry a bit. You've got a sharp-eared pointy-ear right here... older than dirt, admittedly, but still..."
"Watch your tongue, you stumpy little—! How drunk are you already?!"
Watching the two of them fall back into their usual scuffling, Logan managed a wry smile.
Their deliberately over-the-top antics were, obviously enough, all for his sake.
So Logan let nothing more show on his face, accepted their kindness, and passed the evening with them for a while.
Afterward. On his way back to his own barracks, Logan paused for a moment, his gaze drifting between the other two tents.
One was Irene's barracks. The other was Anastasia's.
"...."
His thoughts tangled together like a busy crossroads.
He didn't know what had granted him a glimpse of the future, but now that he knew how everything would go wrong — wouldn't it work out if he simply talked to Irene now? If he set right what had gone wrong and restored what they'd once had? A lingering attachment flickered to life.
Looked at one way, perhaps Irene had become so self-centered precisely because he had accepted everything she gave him, unconditionally.
But Logan soon shook his head. The future he had seen was simply too horrific, too cruel.
Next, his thoughts turned to Anastasia.
When he had leaned against her yesterday, and again as they rode together in the carriage, he had found real, profound comfort.
And yet the guilt came rushing in alongside it — the feeling that he was using her as nothing more than a place to run.
It made him think that at this rate, he was no different from Irene himself.
Was it truly right, then — resolving to answer her feelings so that she, like him, would never be met with an unrequited heart?
What right did he have... could he even allow himself that... or was this, too, nothing but a deception...
He hadn't even fully sorted out his feelings for Irene.
And so Logan, without visiting either barracks, walked slowly back to his own.
For his sake — and for both of theirs — he still needed a little more time to set his heart in order...
Meanwhile, someone had been watching, hidden at a distance, as Anastasia and Irene clashed.
Tsk... stupid girl. What on earth is going through her head, daring to take on the Crown Princess?
Sera was hiding behind a tree, eavesdropping on the exchange. She had been on pins and needles the whole time, terrified that Anastasia or Renate might lose their temper and draw a blade.
The woman was hopelessly dim-witted and foolish, but she still had plenty of uses left — she couldn't be allowed to throw her life away on something like lèse-majesté.
Haah... honestly, if only that idiot would just drop dead and Logan were the only one left, I wouldn't have to wrack my brain like this...
Sera's head throbbed — the one who had become impossible to use easily anymore was Logan, after all.
Just then.
"Sera! You have to spend tonight with me too!!"
The voice of that grinning fool ambling toward her grated on her nerves worse than ever.
"Yes~ go on ahead and lie down, Hero, I'll be right in~"
"Okay! See you then!"
"Haah..."
Watching Rian stride shamelessly, grinning ear to ear, into the barracks, Sera sighed and shook her head.
Tsk. I'll have to cast the illusion spell again tonight.
It irritated her endlessly that she — a Saintess — had to use illusion magic like this every single night.
And yet it was still infinitely better than sharing a bed with that blockheaded moron.
So Sera cast her spell without delay, and with the thought of turning in early tonight, she walked slowly toward the barracks.