The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 385 : Zealots in the Dark (1)

Mikhailis took a moment, crouched silently behind the shattered remnants of a collapsed archway. His breathing steadied, heart beating in perfect synchrony with the gentle pulses of mist energy still whispering quietly beneath his skin. The surreal fusion of strength, stealth, and senses left him both exhilarated and deeply unsettled—a paradoxical mix of empowerment and quiet dread. Each breath brought clarity, sharpening his awareness of every whispering ember, every distant footstep, every muted voice echoing through the ruins.

<Enemy patrol, thirty meters east. Adjust your position seven degrees to avoid detection.>

Rodion's calm, clinical voice sliced neatly into Mikhailis's thoughts, instantly pulling his focus back to the mission. He shifted effortlessly, the Riftborne Necrolord's stealth cloak rippling faintly as shadows wrapped tighter around him. The sensation was extraordinary—like stepping into a river of silk that flowed around him, bending darkness to his will, blending seamlessly until he became no more visible than a whisper in the wind.

"You're making this too easy, Rodion," he whispered softly, a ghost of amusement tugging at his lips. His voice barely registered above a breath, inaudible to anyone but the AI.

<I aim for efficiency, Mikhailis. Not excitement.>

Mikhailis stifled a quiet chuckle, eyes narrowing as he watched three masked figures emerge silently from the haze of smoke ahead, their forms cloaked in dark robes marked subtly with silver insignias—the symbol of the Crownless House. They moved swiftly, each step precise, practiced, indicative of rigorous training. He noted their synchronized motions, their eyes carefully scanning every shadow for signs of danger, though completely oblivious to his presence.

He inhaled softly, muscles tensing in readiness, the mist surging eagerly within him like a restless serpent craving release. It coiled tightly around his limbs, filling his veins with exhilarating power. His heart rate remained unnaturally steady, a controlled, rhythmic pulse echoing with the energy humming beneath his skin.

<Remain cautious. Your physiological readings are nearing critical thresholds.>

Rodion's voice was steady but edged with subtle concern. Mikhailis acknowledged the warning silently, exhaling gently to release some of the tension that had coiled tightly within his chest. He flexed his fingers lightly, feeling the dual elemental gauntlets hum softly in response—one hot, one cold, yet balanced perfectly around his wrists.

"I'll be careful," he murmured, more to himself than Rodion. Though deep down, he knew careful wasn't a promise he could truly keep.

He darted silently around the collapsed archway, shadows embracing him instantly, concealing him completely. The stealth cloak of the Riftborne Necrolord vibrated softly, merging his presence seamlessly into the shadows, cloaking him in near-perfect invisibility. A thrill surged sharply through his chest as he slipped past the patrol unnoticed, feeling a quiet satisfaction at the ease with which he evaded their gaze.

He emerged cautiously onto a wide street now littered with debris. Once bustling market stalls lay broken and charred, remnants of what had once been vibrant and lively reduced to mere shadows and ash. Mikhailis's gaze swept swiftly across the devastation, his heart twisting slightly in guilt once again.

<Proceed ahead carefully,> Rodion advised, voice even but edged with a quiet urgency. <Chimera Ant Workers are detecting a significant concentration of enemy activity near the Merchant Council Hall. Likelihood of trap: eighty-seven percent.>

"Naturally," Mikhailis muttered darkly, creeping forward silently, footsteps noiseless against the dusty stone beneath him. "It's never easy, is it?"

<Life rarely is, especially yours.>

A bitter smile tugged briefly at his lips as he pressed deeper into enemy territory. His gaze flickered quickly from side to side, senses heightened impossibly by the mist's influence. He felt hypersensitive, aware of every distant heartbeat, every whisper of cloth against stone, every subtle movement in the shadowy ruins around him.

Above him, chimera ant soldiers moved silently along rooftops, invisible sentinels coordinating seamlessly with Rodion's instructions. Their dark carapaces melted effortlessly into the night, their multi-faceted eyes scanning meticulously for threats. Mikhailis sensed their presence keenly, connected through Rodion's intricate network—a reassuring web of silent protectors woven throughout the darkness.

<I've identified irregularities beneath the Merchant Council Hall. Stand by while I compile data from Chimera Ant Workers.>

Mikhailis halted immediately, melting into shadows effortlessly with the aid of the Necrolord's stealth cloak. His breath stilled momentarily as he waited, heart steady but his nerves taut, anticipation building like a coiled spring ready to snap at the slightest provocation.

His glasses flickered again, a holographic projection unfolding vividly in front of him. A detailed 3D map of the underground chambers beneath the Merchant Council Hall materialized, pulsing faintly with strategic data points. Chimera Ant Workers, depicted as tiny green dots, scuttled silently through hidden tunnels, their movements precise, swift, and synchronized perfectly under Rodion's guidance.

<There is a hidden subterranean prison facility directly beneath the main council chamber, Mikhailis. Infrared and seismic analyses confirm active human presence inside. At least twelve guards stationed in defensive formation. Prisoner vital signs detected—matching Crown Prince Laethor's biometric profile.>

Mikhailis felt a chill ripple sharply down his spine, heart rate briefly spiking despite his artificial calmness. "Damn it. He's alive?"

<Confirmed. But readings indicate significant physiological distress. Additionally, the containment barrier around him appears anomalous—it shares the same energetic frequency as the mist influencing your current enhancements.>

"So they're using the same power I have," Mikhailis murmured grimly, clenching his fists tighter. The reality sank in, heavy and bitter in his chest. This was no mere coincidence. "The Crownless House has access to the mist, Rodion?"

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<Highly probable. If so, they are aware of its risks—and have accepted them willingly.>

Mikhailis ground his teeth sharply, frustration flaring white-hot within him. "Great. We've got zealots on our hands."

<Zealotry is notoriously difficult to reason with.>

"Yeah, thanks, Rodion," he muttered sarcastically, shaking his head slightly. "You always know how to lift my spirits."

He moved forward cautiously, reaching the outskirts of the Merchant Council Hall. Its massive silhouette loomed starkly in the darkness, a shadowy fortress looming over the ruined cityscape. Patrols moved restlessly near its entrance, their lanterns flickering weakly, oblivious to the unseen threat lingering mere meters away.

Mikhailis gestured silently, signaling the waiting Chimera Ant Soldiers to begin their careful infiltration. The shadows around him stirred gently, dozens of invisible allies slipping silently past enemy sentries, their presence no more detectable than a passing breeze.

<Shall I assume stealth remains your priority?>

Rodion's dry tone broke the tension briefly, injecting levity into the heavy atmosphere. Mikhailis smirked slightly. "Until we have no choice."

<Understood.>

Rodion's voice shifted slightly, becoming gently cautionary.

<Be advised: among the captors below, Chimera Ant Workers identified biometric signatures matching known royal knights from Serewyn. This confirms internal betrayal.>

Mikhailis's fists clenched tighter, knuckles white beneath the armored gauntlets. "So, it really was a trap all along."

<Precisely calculated, from the outset.>

His jaw tightened further, heart pulsing harshly in his chest. Laethor had trusted the wrong people, been betrayed by someone he'd once held dear. Mikhailis felt a deep empathy—he understood betrayal far too intimately. The painful twist of realizing trust had been misplaced, loyalty betrayed by someone close, was all too familiar.

He exhaled slowly, steadying himself once more. "Rodion, can you identify exactly who?"

<Not yet. Biometric disguise is sophisticated—further data required for accurate identification.>

"Then we go closer," Mikhailis whispered softly, determination hardening every word.

<You realize this significantly elevates your personal risk?>

"I don't care," he retorted quietly, moving swiftly toward the building's entrance, the shadows cloaking him protectively. "We need answers, and fast."

<Shall I begin drafting your obituary now, or do you prefer spontaneous composition?>

Mikhailis rolled his eyes briefly, but a faint grin curled at his lips despite the tense moment. "Make it dramatic. I deserve no less."

<Noted. I'll draft a selection of overly poetic eulogies.>

Ignoring Rodion's sarcasm, Mikhailis advanced toward the Merchant Council Hall. The once-proud structure stood defiantly amidst the destruction, its massive stone pillars still intact despite the battle that had ravaged the city. But something was off. It was supposed to be neutral ground, yet armed guards patrolled the perimeter, their movements disciplined, deliberate.

He stayed low, senses stretched thin to catch every hint of presence in the ruin. Crumbled masonry and scorched rubble surrounded him, twisted beams of wood still smoldering under the pale moonlight. The hall itself loomed like a silent sentinel in the night, battered but still regal, its façade etched with symbols of past commerce and diplomacy. Now it served a different purpose: a fortress for those who had seized control of Luthadel's darkest corners.

Mikhailis couldn't help but feel a twist of bitterness in his stomach. He remembered hearing tales of the council's historic debates—long-winded speeches about trade, treaties, and alliances. The hall was supposed to represent neutrality, a place where even sworn enemies could discuss terms without fear of blades at their backs. The irony was sharp now, as he watched armed mercenaries pace methodically outside, likely waiting to pounce on any intruder.