The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 386 : Zealots in the Dark (2)

His breath stayed measured, the Riftborne Necrolord's cloak rippling around him like living ink. Shadowy tendrils clung to his skin, disguising him so thoroughly that even the faintest beam of torchlight wouldn't betray his form. Every step was a delicate dance, each movement taken with mindful grace. Debris littered the courtyard, shards of glass and collapsed statues scattered across the once-majestic walkway, but he navigated them with an almost eerie precision, guided by that subtle hum of mist within his body.

<Surveillance indicates nine hostiles patrolling the immediate exterior,> Rodion spoke softly into his ear, the AI's voice crisp and calm. <Of these, four appear to be seasoned fighters, while the others carry heavier crossbows or firearms. Their tactical stances imply they anticipate resistance.>

Mikhailis let out a quiet breath. "Doesn't it always come to resistance?" he whispered. His mouth curved into a half-smile that never reached his eyes. "They won't find me so easily."

<You might try taking a less dramatic approach for once,> Rodion suggested flatly. <Perhaps by simply circling around the entire building without engaging. Your objective is, after all, beneath the hall.>

He considered that a moment, scanning the perimeter. True enough, the main entrance was heavily guarded, beams of torchlight crisscrossing the worn stone steps leading inside. From the vantage behind a collapsed column, he could see at least two heavily armored mercenaries pacing near the central doors, each carrying a wide-bladed polearm. Another stood off to the side, scanning the gloom with squinted eyes. They didn't appear relaxed in the slightest, posture tense, as though expecting an attack from any angle.

He remembered the old stories about the Merchant Council Hall—how massive underground storerooms and vaults once existed there, storing valuables from across the region. If the Crownless House had indeed seized control of that subterranean space, it made sense they'd guard every entrance. But something else tugged at his gut. The hall shouldn't have hosted so many well-trained mercenaries. This was a big operation, meticulously planned. The Crownless House was powerful, but this level of organization hinted at more than just a ragtag rebellion.

Then Rodion's next words made his blood run cold.

<An unusual magical barrier is confirmed around the underground chamber. Energy readings match the signature of the mist within your system. Either they replicated it, or they acquired it before your arrival.>

Mikhailis's fingers twitched. Finally. This was the sign he'd been dreading yet perversely hoping to find—the confirmation that others also wielded this power. But then the real problem surfaced. If they had the same brand of mist energy, what else could they do? He'd felt firsthand the surge of unstoppable might and the creeping risk that threatened to devour his sanity if he pushed too far. The Crownless House might be wading into that same abyss, or maybe they'd already mastered it.

He pressed closer, flattening himself against a fractured piece of wall that still stood a couple of feet high. The vantage gave him a clearer look at the guards' movements. Their coordination was unnervingly tight. Whenever one turned, the other pivoted in perfect sync, leaving almost no blind spots for a stealth approach. If not for his cloak's enhancements, he might have found it impossible to advance unnoticed.

The air around him tasted of ash and tension. Flickering torchlight cast long, jagged shadows on the cracked cobblestones, painting a grim mosaic of war. He wondered fleetingly if this once-bustling district had hosted festivals or gatherings, the halls filled with music and lively conversations. Now all that lingered was an echo of violence, a hush of dread that clung to every battered stone.

<We have a new complication,> Rodion said abruptly. <There is movement on the southwestern side. More guards, possibly changing shifts. Their equipment matches the Crownless House's standard variety, but they're wearing Serewyn's royal armor.>

Mikhailis's breath caught for an instant, eyes snapping to the southwestern corridor of the courtyard. A flicker of torchlight caught polished metal—distinctive designs that only high-ranked Serewyn knights would wear. Another chill lanced through him.

A Serewyn royal knight.

Betrayal, then. Someone in Laethor's own court had orchestrated this, granting the Crownless House access to Serewyn's resources. The weight of that realization pressed down on him, fueling his urgency to discover the truth. He tried to suppress the bitterness that threatened to rise. Laethor, you poor bastard... If your own knights sold you out, who can you even trust now?

Rodion's next question came softly, almost sardonic in its dryness.

<Decision time, Your Highness. Shall we proceed slowly and carefully, or do we embrace your usual brand of dramatic chaos?>

A grin ghosted across Mikhailis's lips. "Why not both?" he breathed, adjusting his stance, feeling the crackle of combined energies from his Chimera Ant Variants simmer beneath his skin. The brand on his forearm twitched in acknowledgment, a faint pulse that matched his heartbeat, whispering that new strength was his to command—or lose control of.

He felt the hush of the Riftborne Necrolord's cloak intensify, shadow clinging to him like a living creature, welcoming him deeper into its folds. The air around him dimmed, as though the meager moonlight refused to touch him. It was intoxicating, this stealth. A smaller voice in the back of his mind warned him of the risk of growing addicted to such power. But for the moment, he listened only to necessity. I'll deal with the consequences later.

His gaze slid back toward the southwestern corridor. The Serewyn knight turned, scanning the darkness. Torchlight danced across the knight's visor, revealing a face marred by fierce concentration—though Mikhailis couldn't see enough detail to identify the knight. Another betrayal, another potential conspirator enabling the Crownless House. So it truly wasn't just some rebel plot. This is deeper. He suspected a greater scheme, one that extended far beyond Luthadel's borders and into Serewyn's highest ranks.

Mikhailis inhaled slowly, forcing calm, then exhaled, letting tension flow from his muscles, ensuring his heart remained steady under the swirling adrenaline. In the periphery of his vision, he caught glimpses of mercenaries rotating guard shifts. The watchers near the main entrance stepped aside, allowing a fresh pair to take position. The pattern repeated methodically, their discipline almost militaristic. This was no ragtag militia—it had the stench of a well-organized operation.

He pressed a hand gently to the earpiece resting in his ear, voice dropping to a near-silent whisper. "Rodion, how many men inside the hall?"

<I estimate around forty combatants based on multiple scanning vantage points from the Chimera Ant Soldiers. They are distributed across various floors, but a concentrated group of fifteen remain posted near an underground entrance. That must be the route to the barrier.>

"Good," Mikhailis murmured. "We'll adapt accordingly."

He gestured subtly once again, feeling the smooth mental link with his hidden Chimera Ant Soldiers. In the gloom, they began to shift positions, forming pincer formations around the hall's outer perimeter. Their mission was infiltration, stealth, not open conflict. At least, not yet. If they were forced into a direct assault, the city might suffer further damage—and he'd had enough of seeing more destruction.

<Shall I prepare fireworks, or does that ruin the subtlety?>

Rodion's sarcasm made him smile grimly. "Don't tempt me. We'll keep it quiet—for now."

But inside, he braced himself for possible bloodshed. Subtlety wasn't always an option, especially not with Crownless House fanatics. If they were truly wielding the same mist-based powers, they wouldn't be easy to handle. Or predict.

He recalled the first time the mist had fully manifested in him, how his body nearly tore itself apart from the strain of containing such alien energy. The intense euphoria blended with terror, a power that seemed to have a mind of its own. If the Crownless House was harnessing that same force, they might have lost themselves to it… or maybe they'd found a way to remain in control. Heaven forbid they're experts at it, or I might be the one who's in trouble here. The notion sent an uneasy shiver across his shoulders.

This chapter is updat𝙚d by freeweɓnovel.cøm.

He inched forward, still melded to the shadows, edging closer to the main courtyard. A few scattered torches gave the area a faint orange glow, but the gloom provided plenty of cover. The air was nearly still, each moment punctuated only by the distant crackle of lingering fires somewhere deeper in the city. The wind carried the faint tang of ashes and smoke, a reminder of how far the conflict had spread, devouring everything in its path.

Then Rodion's calm voice returned, crisp and oddly comforting in its emotional neutrality.

<The southwestern corridor is momentarily under-guarded. Two Crownless House sentries left their posts for a shift rotation. You have a thirty-second window to pass undetected.>