The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The room was silent except for the faint hum of the Technomancer device, its pulse a steady reminder of the mystery sitting at the edge of Mikhailis's consciousness. He leaned back in his chair, fingers idly tapping against the wooden armrest as he studied Arvel, who had remained standing, watching him with a level stare. The weight of the prince's message lay between them on the table, the seal of Serewyn's royal house unbroken no longer.

Three days.

Three days until Prince Laethor arrived to discuss what could only be the most precarious offer Mikhailis had received in recent memory. Three days to decide how deep he wanted to entangle himself in Serewyn's problems. If at all.

Arvel exhaled, clasping his gloved hands behind his back. "The prince is taking a measured approach with you. He's aware of your… unique position."

Mikhailis smirked but said nothing.

"You're not just another researcher passing through," Arvel continued, watching him carefully. "You're a foreign entity. A wild card."

"Flattering." Mikhailis flicked a glance toward the device, then back to Arvel. "If he wanted my help, why the subtlety? He could've just demanded an audience outright."

Arvel's lips twitched slightly. "And what would you have done if he had?"

Mikhailis's grin widened. "Ignored him."

"Exactly." Arvel stepped closer, resting his hands on the back of a chair. "Prince Laethor values cooperation, not coercion. He knows the difference between forcing someone's hand and giving them a reason to take it willingly."

"A rare trait in royals," Mikhailis murmured, more to himself than to Arvel.

Rodion's voice chimed in his mind.

<Subject Arvel exhibits signs of cautious trust but remains guarded. Likelihood of hidden contingencies in this negotiation: 72%.>

Mikhailis stretched, rolling his shoulders before standing. He picked up the Technomancer badge and turned it over in his fingers. "Fine. I'll hear what he has to say. But I'm not a politician, nor am I looking to join anyone's war."

Arvel's eyes flickered to the device on the table. "Then what are you looking for?"

Mikhailis smiled. "Answers. And maybe a bit of fun along the way."

The emissary regarded him for a moment before nodding. "Very well. Three days from now, the prince will arrive in Luthadel. We will arrange for a discreet meeting."

"I appreciate the courtesy." Mikhailis pocketed the badge and picked up the device, rolling it between his fingers as he felt the faint, rhythmic vibrations beneath its metallic casing. It wasn't just humming—it was alive in some way, pulsing with an energy he couldn't yet define. Magic infused with technology, a signature hallmark of the Technomancers. He had seen similar constructs before, but this one was different. Subtle. Precise. Dangerous in ways that were still unknown.

"In the meantime, I have some research to conduct."

Arvel straightened, pulling his cloak around his shoulders as if shielding himself from an unseen chill. His sharp gaze remained fixed on Mikhailis, weighing something unspoken before he finally gave a small nod. "Then I won't take more of your time." He turned toward the door, but before stepping through, he hesitated.@@novelbin@@

"One last thing, though."

Mikhailis arched a brow, already expecting something more. "Oh?"

Arvel exhaled slowly, as if carefully choosing his words. "The mist has been shifting," he said, his tone deliberately measured. "Not just here in Luthadel. It's behaving differently across Serewyn. Denser in some areas, thinner in others, but always controlled."

The words hung heavy in the room, the implications sinking into the silence between them.

Rodion immediately ran a cross-reference with previous observations. The response was near-instantaneous.

<Confirmed. Mist density fluctuations detected outside natural weather patterns. Alterations suggest external regulation rather than environmental variance.>

Mikhailis let out a thoughtful hum, his fingers still idly spinning the device between them. "And the noble houses?"

Arvel's gaze sharpened, his expression unreadable. "Divided," he admitted. "Some believe the Technomancers are their saviors, the only reason Serewyn hasn't collapsed entirely. Others…" He hesitated for a fraction of a second before continuing. "Others see the dependency as a noose tightening around the kingdom's throat. Laethor needs more information before he can act."

Mikhailis leaned back slightly, rubbing his chin. "And he thinks I can provide that information."

Arvel didn't deny it. "You're here, aren't you?"

A slow grin spread across Mikhailis's face. "Fair point."

The emissary gave a curt nod, adjusting the clasp of his cloak before striding toward the door. He paused only briefly, as if weighing the risk of saying more, but in the end, he left with nothing but the click of the latch behind him. Your journey continues on My Virtual Library Empire

Silence settled in the dimly lit chamber.

Mikhailis remained where he stood for a moment, turning the device over in his hands, his mind already threading together the pieces of this intricate puzzle. The mist had always been a problem in Serewyn, but this wasn't just a natural phenomenon anymore—it was an instrument of control, manipulated with precision. If Arvel's words were true, then the mist wasn't just spreading randomly. It was being fine-tuned, positioned, directed.

He frowned, watching the soft blue glow that pulsed from within the device's seams. Whatever this thing was, it held a connection to that control. It was a piece of the Technomancer network, a key to something larger.

"Rodion," he murmured. "Run a full deconstruction analysis on this thing. I want to know exactly what makes it tick."

<Understood. Estimated time for initial breakdown: Four hours.>

Mikhailis set the device down on the desk, the wood barely muffling the faint vibration. It looked deceptively simple—compact, smooth, its metal casing reflecting the dim light of the lantern overhead. And yet, despite its size, it carried an air of significance, as if whoever had built it had designed it with a purpose beyond mere utility.

He exhaled through his nose, rubbing the bridge of it between his fingers before moving toward the small window that overlooked the city.

Luthadel stretched out below him, veiled in its ever-present mist, the glowing barriers of the noble district standing stark against the gloom. Beyond them, the city twisted and darkened, the lower districts shrouded in thicker fog, their streets barely illuminated by flickering lanterns.

Even now, at this late hour, Luthadel breathed in hushed murmurs. Figures moved through the streets in careful steps, their silhouettes dissolving into the mist like ghosts. The city never truly slept—it only changed its pace.

His gaze flicked toward the barriers, the golden sigils burning steadily along the stone walls of the noble quarters. Protected. Untouched. Untainted.

And yet, even there, the mist was beginning to creep in.

<Note: Mist interference detected along the outer edges of the noble district. Suppression wards are experiencing degradation.>

Mikhailis chuckled under his breath. "They're losing control."

<Affirmative. This suggests external manipulation rather than simple ward failure.>

Which meant someone was testing the limits.

He smirked. "Well, isn't that interesting?"

Letting the curtain fall back into place, he turned from the window and flopped onto the bed, exhaling heavily as he stared at the ceiling.

Three days.

That was plenty of time to dig deeper. To see just how far the Technomancers' influence reached. To find out what the device truly was, how it connected to the mist, and more importantly—what the Technomancers were planning next.

And, if necessary, to decide whether or not he wanted to burn the whole thing down.