The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 384 : A King in the Making, A Monster in the Waiting

<Are you absolutely certain about this decision?>

Mikhailis hesitated briefly, gaze fixed on the sleeping forms of his companions. He clenched his fists, nails biting sharply into his palms. "They'll be safer this way. We can't risk them getting hurt further."

<Logical, but hardly ideal. They won't appreciate the lack of choice when they awaken.>

He chuckled bitterly, shaking his head. "I can handle their anger. I can't handle losing them."

<That almost sounded heroic, Mikhailis.>

"Shut it, Rodion," he sighed, though his voice carried no real heat. Rodion's dry humor, even at moments like this, provided an odd sort of comfort—a small, familiar annoyance that anchored him amidst the turmoil of his emotions.

Cerys, despite being unconscious, shifted slightly, letting out a quiet, strained breath as her face twitched, betraying lingering pain even in sleep. Mikhailis adjusted her position carefully, propping her gently to ease the pressure on her bruised ribs.

"You really are stubborn, you know that?" he murmured softly, voice tinged with a strange blend of admiration and frustration. "You never back down, not even in sleep."

His gaze shifted back to Lira, who now lay quietly, chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her breathing seemed even, calm, reassuring him that her injuries were manageable, though the bruises darkening along her ribs worried him deeply. Guilt gnawed at him again, sharper than before. These were his friends, his companions—people who trusted him implicitly, relying on his decisions, placing their lives in his hands without question.

Mikhailis closed his eyes briefly, shoulders slumping slightly beneath the weight of responsibility. The mist continued swirling softly around the room, soothing, quieting the chaos outside. Yet, even as it comforted his companions, it only deepened the turmoil within his heart.

"Rodion," he said suddenly, determination hardening his voice once more. "Bring up the tactical map again."

<At once,>

Rodion answered instantly, projecting a precise holographic layout directly into his glasses. The watchtower, displayed in intricate detail, highlighted defensive positions and structural weak points. Chimera Ant workers were marked clearly, scuttling efficiently through the displayed blueprint as they sealed gaps and reinforced walls. Beneath the main chamber, an emergency basement was rapidly forming, dug precisely and efficiently, hidden safely beneath layers of stone.

"Excellent," Mikhailis murmured softly, approving the swift execution.

"Station fifty soldiers here with strict orders to guard them. I'll take the rest."

Rodion's voice grew cautious again.

<Going full throttle, then?>

Mikhailis nodded decisively, straightening fully.

"We don't have another choice."

He stepped outside briefly, standing silently under the dim glow of the moon filtering through smoke. With a fluid motion, he released all his Entomancer talismans, each glowing with radiant energy. In an instant, his Chimera Ant Variants materialized vividly, an imposing formation that radiated power and danger: the Hypnoveil's flower pulsed gently, the Skullborne Ravager towered fiercely, and the Tempestrike Drakeant flared its wings, electricity crackling softly. Crymber Ant stood tall, its gauntlets flickering with flame and ice, while the Slimeweave Ant rippled gracefully, limbs elastic and ready. Last of all, Riftborne Necrolord emerged silently, dark webs shimmering with shadowy power.

Rodion swiftly reported the dramatic rise in stats directly into Mikhailis's vision, data streaming quickly: strength multiplied exponentially, speed enhanced to impossible levels, magical affinity soaring far above previous limitations. The mist pulsed deeply in his veins now, resonating harmoniously with each heartbeat, an intoxicating promise of victory mixed ominously with a dark, lingering dread.

Yet even as doubt lingered, Mikhailis couldn't suppress a thrill of exhilaration. This was power—real, tangible, devastatingly potent. He felt it swirl within him, strengthening his resolve even as it sharpened the risk he took with every heartbeat.

Funny, Mikhailis muttered bitterly, flexing his fingers as he felt the foreign surge of power ripple beneath his skin. This alien strength, while intoxicating, also felt dangerous—like a drug promising potency at the cost of sanity.

<Activating [Equip] protocol.>

The air suddenly felt charged with electricity, crackling in anticipation. With a surge of mist and energy, each Chimera Ant variant burst into streams of brilliant light. Colors danced in his vision—a dazzling spectrum that merged and weaved around him, enveloping his body in a comforting yet exhilarating embrace.

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First came the Skullborne Ravager. A shadowy glow enveloped Mikhailis's torso, transforming rapidly into an imposing breastplate etched with glowing necromantic runes. Thick plates of polished chitin, shimmering darkly in hues of midnight and purple, formed seamlessly across his chest and back, offering protection yet feeling astonishingly light and agile. A skull-like sigil burned softly at its center, radiating a haunting presence.

Next, the Tempestrike Drakeant spread its powerful wings of electricity, bursting into a swirl of crackling energy that surged instantly to wrap around Mikhailis's back. A powerful set of translucent wings, crackling faintly with lightning, spread wide, folded close against his body but ready to unfurl at his command. Mikhailis flexed experimentally, feeling a spark of satisfaction at their responsive twitch.

The Crymber Ant dissolved next, twin ribbons of fire and ice swirling together in harmony before coalescing around his forearms. They solidified swiftly, forming armored gauntlets that radiated elemental energy—one arm enveloped in shimmering frost, the other blazing with restrained flame. He clenched his fists, feeling heat and chill pulse simultaneously through him, a duality that felt natural despite its contradiction.

The Slimeweave Ant's form blurred fluidly, merging gracefully around his limbs and joints, forming flexible yet deceptively strong armor across his arms and legs. Mikhailis stretched his fingers, amazed at the newfound flexibility and strength combined in a paradox of solidity and elasticity. Every motion he made felt smooth, effortlessly powerful.

The Riftborne Necrolord shimmered last, its shadowed webs wrapping intricately around him, weaving an ethereal cloak of shadow threads that flowed elegantly over his shoulders. He felt immediately lighter, quieter, almost intangible—as though he could blend into darkness at will, hidden even in plain sight. He smiled faintly; the thought of becoming invisible suited his temperament surprisingly well.

Finally, the Hypnoveil Ant's soft glow bloomed gently at his throat, forming a graceful cloak clasp set with a softly glowing violet crystal. A calm warmth radiated from it, steadying his pulse even amid the rising adrenaline.

Then came the four Scurabons, their armored carapaces gleaming like polished obsidian as they dissolved into segmented pieces, seamlessly integrating into his gauntlets and leg guards. The plating flexed naturally with his movements, balancing durability with fluidity. A faint hum emanated from the embedded runes, enhancing his agility and fortification—his strikes would now carry the weight of a war hammer, and his defenses could withstand direct magical blasts.

Lastly, the Frog Variant Soldier strode forward, its emerald-hued body pulsing with raw kinetic energy. A sudden surge coursed through Mikhailis as it melted into a concentrated energy core, embedding itself just below his ribs. His muscles tensed briefly, then relaxed as a newfound elasticity settled within him. His body felt lighter, more reactive—his movements now carried the amplified spring of a predatory beast. Whether leaping impossible distances or evading attacks at the last second, this new enhancement would grant him unprecedented mobility.

For a brief moment, he simply stood there, fists clenched, feeling the culmination of his Chimera Ant Variants resonating within him. Every fiber of his being thrummed with a controlled, overwhelming power. The fusion of strength, speed, and durability was beyond anything he had ever imagined possible.

Rodion's voice crackled through his earpiece, wry as ever.

<And now you are officially a walking natural disaster. Congratulations. Shall I prepare a celebratory fanfare, or do we skip straight to the part where you nearly kill yourself with all this unchecked power?>Rodion's calm, clinical voice filled his ears, meticulously listing off the enhancements provided by the armor now enveloping him.

"Oh shut up,"

<Strength capacity augmented by 340%, speed increased by approximately 275%, and reflexes accelerated by 295%. Sensory perception enhanced significantly, now including thermal, nocturnal, and electromagnetic sensory capabilities. Magical affinity increased by 420%, accompanied by a notable increase in mana regeneration rate. Neuromuscular reflexes enhanced by a factor of six, allowing response times previously unattainable for human physiology.>

Rodion paused briefly before adding dryly:

<Though I suspect your ego requires no further enhancement, emotional fortitude is also elevated due to the Hypnoveil's calming effects.>

"Appreciate the concern," Mikhailis replied with a smirk, stretching and rolling his shoulders experimentally. Power hummed beneath his skin, a feeling so intoxicatingly potent that it threatened to consume him if left unchecked. Yet alongside the thrill was a stark awareness: he danced perilously close to a line that, once crossed, could lead to irreversible consequences.

He exhaled slowly, forcibly grounding himself as his mind raced with implications. Was this strength his own now, or was he merely borrowing it temporarily from a source he didn't fully understand? He shoved aside the nagging doubts forcefully. No time for hesitation—not anymore.

<We're going all out from the start, then?>

Rodion's tone was clinical as ever, yet Mikhailis sensed the faintest edge of anticipation mixed with genuine concern. It has been several times that he asked that question. The AI had grown more human-like lately, a subtle change Mikhailis found simultaneously reassuring and unsettling.

But his reply remain the same.

"We have no choice," Mikhailis replied decisively, his voice resonating strongly with newfound authority. He strode towards the exit, each step steady, his heart thrumming powerfully with determination. He cast one final glance backward at his sleeping companions, their peaceful forms resting quietly beneath the protective watch of Chimera Ant Soldiers and Workers rapidly fortifying the safehouse.

Outside, shadows shifted silently. Mikhailis felt more than saw the Chimera Ant soldiers arrayed quietly around him, camouflaged in the gloom yet waiting attentively, utterly loyal. They felt like an extension of his own body, their movements synchronized perfectly with his thoughts. A chill of excitement ran down his spine. He'd never before felt this connected—this profoundly unified—with anything, let alone an army of his creation.

"Rodion, coordinate with the Chimera Ant Soldiers," he instructed calmly, his voice carrying quiet authority as he stepped outside into the night, a cool breeze whispering across his skin. The city lay in ruins, smoke drifting lazily in ghostly wisps across shattered stone and twisted metal. Shadows stretched long, deepening the illusion of desolation surrounding them, yet the pulse of life from his Chimera Ants resonated reassuringly in his mind, fierce and unwavering.

He glanced upward, the moon hidden behind thick, rolling clouds, leaving the streets shrouded in shadow. Perfect cover.

<All Chimera Ant Soldiers have assumed optimal formation and await your directive, Your Highness.>

Rodion's voice held quiet anticipation, tinged slightly with a hint of professional curiosity.

<Your army awaits.>

"Good," Mikhailis breathed softly, flexing his hands once more. A tiny smile curved his lips. This power felt intoxicatingly good—but he knew all too clearly the risks. It was addictive, this feeling of invincibility, a trap waiting patiently to ensnare him. Yet he needed it now more than ever. Lives depended on his success.

He turned slightly, allowing himself a fleeting glance at the Chimera Ant Workers swiftly and silently digging the hidden basement beneath the watchtower. Even from this distance, he could sense their dedication, their precision movements reflecting their single-minded devotion to him and his cause.

<Workers have nearly completed preparations,>

Rodion noted calmly, though the AI's tone hinted at satisfaction.

<Structural reinforcement is approximately 97% complete. The watchtower will be secure momentarily.>

Mikhailis allowed himself a brief smile, feeling the weight of responsibility ease slightly.

"Excellent. Maintain defenses here. Nothing gets in."

<Consider it done, Your Highness,>

Rodion replied crisply. The AI hesitated momentarily, then added with barely concealed sarcasm.

<Please endeavor not to get yourself killed. You are significantly harder to replace than most of my systems.>

"Your concern is heartwarming," Mikhailis replied dryly, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

He straightened sharply, attention focusing forward once more. The Chimera Ant Soldiers lurked silently, deadly shadows poised to strike, their collective presence a reassuring shield around him. His mind sharpened further, the bond between him and his creatures more vivid than ever, becoming as instinctive as breathing.

"Laethor," he murmured quietly, thoughts rapidly crystallizing into a chilling realization. The pieces fit too neatly—an ambush, precisely timed attacks, betrayal from within Serewyn's royal court. Who better to orchestrate such a meticulous trap than someone intimately familiar with Laethor's movements?

A sense of urgency tightened his chest. If the crown prince was indeed betrayed, time was now a rare commodity. Every moment wasted pushed Laethor closer to irretrievable harm.

<Your Highness, tactical probability analyses indicate that your suspicions are accurate. Internal treachery probability is 94.7%.>

Mikhailis's jaw tightened further. Rodion's confirmation settled heavily upon him, fueling his resolve with grim clarity. He felt a pulse from the brand on his arm, no longer invasive but unified with him, harmonizing perfectly with his emotional state. Its resonance urged him forward, warning of danger yet promising strength enough to overcome it.

His fingers curled reflexively, the gauntlets glowing softly in response, ice and flame thrumming eagerly at his fingertips. For all its dangers, he knew this strength—this impossible, intoxicating power—was exactly what he needed to survive the night, to protect those depending on him, and to right the wrongs unfolding around him.

He inhaled deeply, centering himself, feeling every muscle fiber hum in perfect synchronization. The mist surged gently, responding to his heightened emotions, wrapping him protectively in its embrace. He felt invincible, unstoppable—but was sharply aware of the cost, the steep price demanded of those who dared wield power without caution.

Yet caution was a luxury he no longer had.

Determination hardened his gaze, eyes narrowing sharply as his voice fell to a fierce whisper.

"Hang in there, Pretty Prince," he murmured fiercely, determination blazing in his eyes.

"I'm coming."