The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 397: The Prince’s Wrath (1)

<They have made the biggest mistake: to anger the Ruslanian Prince.>

A jolt—like a fuse being lit—flashed in Mikhailis's mind. Yes. Something inside him snapped, or perhaps ignited. The brand gave a forceful, heated pulse, not like the oppressive burn from earlier but more a fueling blaze that made his senses sharpen. He felt his heart thunder in a new rhythm, a savage clarity flooding his thoughts.

I'm not leaving, he told himself, ignoring the swirl of warnings that rationality tried to raise. Not while they think they can just do what they want with her. He inhaled, a slow and furious draw of breath that left his lungs burning.

He turned, eyes locking with Laethor's. The battered prince saw the shift in Mikhailis's expression—an abrupt pivot from half-humorous caution to frozen determination. A kind of alarm flickered in Laethor's gaze, and he opened his mouth to speak, voice cracking, "Wait, you're not—"

"I am," Mikhailis cut him off, his voice low and lethal, no trace of banter left. He stepped closer to Laethor, forcibly hauling him upright by the torn scraps of his tunic, ignoring the man's startled grunt of pain. The brand pulsed again, urging him onward, fueling a single-minded resolve he rarely allowed himself to wield.

"You…fool," Laethor rasped, wincing. Pain etched lines across the prince's face, but so did exasperation. "We can't—"

"Run," Mikhailis commanded, each syllable terse and final, leaving no room for argument. "I'll hold them. You get to safety."

Laethor's eyes widened, flickers of defiance warred with concern. For an instant, it looked like he might protest, but then he caught the unwavering steel in Mikhailis's gaze—a look that promised chaos if challenged. At last, the battered prince nodded, albeit jerkily, breathing a ragged sigh. "Fine," he muttered. "But… you'd better not die here."

A short, grim snort escaped Mikhailis's throat, edges of his lips curling in a humorless smile. "Not on the agenda." Then, with a firm push, he shoved Laethor in the direction of a gap in the rubble that led to some corridor beyond. "Go. Now."

For one heartbeat, Laethor lingered, lips pressed into a tight line. The flicker in his eyes spoke volumes: This is a bad idea, but I trust you. He limped away, each step radiating pain but edged with determination. Mikhailis exhaled softly, a swirl of relief and terror in his lungs. At least Laethor's out of immediate danger.

It took only seconds for Auron to notice. A startled curse tore from his lips as he watched Laethor's figure recede into the darkness. "No—!" he snarled, attempting to lunge forward. But the stubborn remnants of necrotic webbing still clung around his ankle. He yanked futilely, stumbling in frustration. Then, with venomous malice, he turned his glare on Mikhailis. "You let him—?"

"Sue me," Mikhailis spat, eyes glinting coldly. He straightened, adopting a posture that practically invited further conflict. "I've decided to stay a bit longer."

He could feel the brand's flickering heat building, matching the rising tension in his breath. Beside Auron, the Enforcer shifted slightly, his silent aura shifting from watchful neutrality to something more aggressive. Mikhailis resisted the urge to swallow hard.

So be it, he thought. I choose this fight.

Drawing a slow breath, Mikhailis murmured under his breath in a near-silent hush, "Rodion… Summon them all." His mind whirled, thoughts aligning with the hidden forces waiting just out of sight.

<Understood. The Chimera Ant forces await your command.>

Rodion's response dripped in calm finality, like a sealed fate. Mikhailis felt the mental link snap into place, a subtle wave passing through the brand-laced aether. His decision was made—there would be no more half-measures. If Auron and the Enforcer believed him to be an overconfident fool, they were about to learn how wrong they were.

An electric hush settled over the battered chamber. For a heartbeat, no one moved, as if the ruined room itself had taken a breath, bracing for what was about to erupt. Mikhailis's heartbeat drummed furiously, pounding like relentless war drums in his ears. The brand in his chest thrummed alongside it—not a restraint, but a searing, furious fire that matched the anger pulsing through his veins.

His eyes narrowed, his focus tightening to a pinpoint, sweeping across the chamber methodically. Amidst fractured marble pillars and broken statues, the Technomancer troopers watched him warily, eyes glittering with unease behind visors or goggles. Some fidgeted nervously, shifting their arcane swords and bows and mechanical staves in their hands. Mikhailis felt their tension as palpably as his own, sensed their anxiety in the small movements of their eyes, darting uncertainly between him and their commanders.

Auron, half-slumped against a shattered pillar, tore another clinging strand of the sticky necrotic webbing from his sleeve, wincing visibly. He sneered, baring teeth in an expression somewhere between rage and bitter mockery.

"You're insane, you know that?" Auron hissed venomously. "You could've walked away. You could've lived another day. But no—you have to play the heroic fool."

Mikhailis held Auron's hateful gaze, feeling irritation bubbling beneath his own forced calm. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing slightly. "Shut it," he snapped back coldly, voice dangerously quiet. "I'm finished listening to your pathetic babbling."

For an instant, Mikhailis caught the subtle reaction in the Enforcer's posture—a minute shifting of weight, a barely perceptible tightening of his gloved grip around the sword's hilt. He sensed the Enforcer's attention focus sharper, as though analyzing Mikhailis's intent, the subtle tilt of his sword broadcasting readiness to strike at any second. Yet even behind that mask of indifference, Mikhailis glimpsed something flicker—was it surprise, mild amusement, or annoyance? He couldn't quite tell, but it intrigued him despite the danger of the moment.

Then, in a growl of defiance, Auron finally twisted free from the remaining necrotic webbing. He stumbled slightly, cursing under his breath before glaring viciously at Mikhailis. His eyes burned with raw anger and wounded pride. "Don't you dare hog this moment, Enforcer," he spat venomously. "He's mine to punish, especially after he let Laethor escape!"

He raised a trembling hand, frantically summoning threads of swirling mist, an attack fueled by both rage and desperation. But before the mist could fully materialize, the Enforcer's massive hand seized Auron's shoulder, grip tightening enough to visibly cause discomfort.

"Calm," the Enforcer ordered softly, voice frigid as steel and resonant with lethal authority. "We handle this properly. Don't embarrass yourself further."

Auron turned his head, a wave of fury twisting his features. For an instant, Mikhailis watched the silent clash of wills between the two foes. Finally, Auron growled but relented, yielding bitterly to the Enforcer's superior command.

Then, as if on cue from an invisible signal, several troopers stepped from shadowy alcoves behind cracked stone arches and broken statues. Their heavy boots thudded rhythmically on the debris-littered floor, echoing like distant war drums. Mikhailis's gaze darted rapidly, counting heads and assessing threat levels. His pulse quickened: fifteen, twenty… and still counting. Each was armed, bristling with arcane weapons that flickered faintly in readiness. Their presence closed around him in a tightening noose of steel and magic.

The situation looked grim. Yet Mikhailis allowed a small, enigmatic smile to lift one corner of his lips. "Sure about that?" he challenged, forcing his voice to remain steady, even though he felt a fluttering dread deep in his chest.

Auron scowled, lips pulling back in irritation at Mikhailis's bravado. "You're alone, fool," he hissed, eyes glittering with confidence once again. "Laethor fled wounded, barely able to walk. You're trapped. Either surrender or die. Those are your only options."

Mikhailis lowered his gaze slightly, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his expression—only briefly, but enough for Auron to seize on it greedily. Yet behind that mask of uncertainty, Mikhailis steadied his nerves, the brand burning with focused heat, providing clarity amid chaos.

Now or never, he silently reminded himself, sending the faintest of mental nudges toward Rodion.

"Do it, Rodion. Now."

Without a single audible sound, lips parted, he whispered a trigger word—a simple syllable, easily missed by human ears, yet heard loud and clear in his mental connection. In that single instant, he felt Rodion respond immediately, his calm, mechanical voice echoing gently in Mikhailis's mind:

<Understood. The Chimera Ant forces await your command.>

In the space between two heartbeats, the room transformed into a whirl of sudden, explosive action.

From every shadowed corner, from beneath the jagged debris, and from cracked ceiling beams, Chimera Ant soldiers emerged with uncanny silence. Their gleaming carapaces glinted darkly, sleek and deadly. Multi-faceted eyes scanned their enemies dispassionately, a quiet confidence etched in their measured movements. Technomancer troopers recoiled, confusion quickly giving way to open fear as monstrous, multi-legged forms filled the chamber.

The nearest trooper stepped back instinctively, eyes wide, the arcane rifle trembling in his hands. He collided abruptly with a towering scurabon warrior, its serrated mandibles clicking menacingly just behind him. A startled yelp tore from his throat, and he stumbled, scrambling away desperately.

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A rush of movement near the only open archway drew Mikhailis's attention. Chimera Ant workers had swiftly crawled across the opening, spitting thick strands of organic silk to rapidly seal off any possible escape. Within seconds, the way out was completely blocked, guaranteeing total containment. Mikhailis had meticulously arranged this detail—nothing in this chamber would escape to threaten Elowen or reveal the ants' existence.

A panicked ripple spread through the troopers. Some swung around frantically, seeking reassurance from Auron and the Enforcer. Auron looked visibly shaken, eyes darting left and right, teeth gritted, no longer smug but truly cornered. The Enforcer remained a stoic, unmoving figure; yet Mikhailis detected a faint tightening of his jaw—a minute indication of carefully controlled alarm beneath that practiced indifference.

Mikhailis inhaled deeply, savoring their panic just a moment longer. The brand roared through his chest, but he embraced its burning sensation fully now. It wasn't pain—it was power. His power. The Chimera Ants gathered closer, their sharp legs clicking, ready for violence at his word.

His voice cut sharply through the tension-filled silence, each syllable edged with cold finality.

"Let's dance."

And the battle began.