The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Chapter 341 Beneath the Streets of Luthadel (4)



Mikhailis gasped as he was wrenched back into the physical world. His body spasmed on the cold, uneven ground, and every muscle felt like it was on fire. Air hissed through his clenched teeth, and for a moment he couldn't even remember how to form words. There was only pain, then a dizzying sense of relief as his mind recognized that he was no longer in that void. The shift from weightlessness to solid earth made his head spin.

He dimly registered the strong grip that held him upright. It was Lira's arms—he could tell from the faint lilac scent she always wore, so delicate you'd only notice it if you were close. And right now, she was very close. He tried to speak, to make a joke about how he must look pathetic, but all that came out was a faint, ragged cough.

"Your Highness!" she said, voice sharper than usual. There was real alarm in it, which was strange for her. Lira was typically the epitome of composure. She once served him tea calmly while half a palace wing was on fire. If she was worried now, it couldn't be good.

Mikhailis blinked hard, trying to clear the fog from his vision. Focus. His surroundings slowly came into view. He was on a rough street paved with old cobblestones. Broken pieces of debris lay scattered across the ground, possibly rubble from the recent fighting. Off to his left, wisps of mist curled along the edges of shattered walls, winding like ghosts in the night. He tried to get his bearings. Where exactly was he?

Gradually, the world settled. He realized he was looking straight into Lira's face. Her eyes—dark, serious—reflected his own features. He blinked again, catching a brief flicker of gold in his irises. Then it was gone, like a dying spark of flame. He felt his heart squeeze. That's new, he thought, not entirely sure what it meant.

Rhea's voice exploded through the air, tearing his attention away from Lira. "What the hell just happened?!" she demanded, the tension in her tone enough to snap a lesser man in half. Her short hair, cut in a practical style, was damp with sweat, and her expression looked genuinely spooked.

Mikhailis tried to sit up straighter, but the motion made him groan. "Ugh… I think," he managed, "I was having a really bad dream." It felt like such an understatement that he almost laughed. If being sucked into a swirling netherworld of voices and shadows could be called a 'bad dream,' then sure, that was about right.

Rhea's gaze flicked to the strange swirling mist that was hovering around them. "That was not a dream," she hissed, pointing at him. "You were convulsing, Mikhailis. Shaking so hard I thought you'd snap your own neck. And then the mist moved." Her eyes narrowed. "Reacting to you. And your eyes… they were glowing."

He let out a shaky breath. "Glowing, huh? Well, that's a new party trick." Despite his best attempt at humor, his voice wavered, betraying his own uncertainty. He glanced at Lira, who still hadn't let go of him, her grip tight and reassuring on his shoulder.@@novelbin@@

Before either woman could reply, an inhuman roar shattered what little semblance of calm remained. The sound echoed through the streets, bouncing off the ruined stone walls. Mikhailis's blood ran cold, and he knew instantly what it meant. The Mistborn Entity was close.

Clenching his jaw, he turned his head, forcing his vision to focus. Through the swirling haze of fog and dust, he could make out a towering shape coiling and uncoiling in the distance, as though the mist itself had taken on a terrible, living form. It pulsed with an eerie, flickering glow, every movement sending out strange ripples through the air. He felt a tug in his chest, like an invisible thread connecting him to that thing. No, he told himself, I want no part of this.

Nearby, Technomancer enforcers were frantically deploying containment devices. He saw them slamming thick pylons into the ground, each topped with a small, glowing crystal. The devices formed a perimeter that the swirling mist seemed to resist, like a wild animal caged by a fence. The air crackled with energy, and the faint metallic hum of Technomancer magic crawled up Mikhailis's spine.

"Their weapons aren't working," Rhea muttered. He could hear a bitter note in her voice. "If even the Technomancers can't handle that… we are in serious trouble." She gestured to a group of Crownless House rebels who were trying to flee, only for half of them to be seized by enforcers in a brutal takedown. The rest vanished into the smoky ruins, scattering like rats. In the span of a few seconds, the confrontation turned into chaos: Crownless fighters running, enforcers barking orders, mist swirling everywhere. Stay connected with My Virtual Library Empire

Above it all, a small group of figures stood on a crumbling balcony, mostly hidden by the haze. Mikhailis recognized the masks and stiff posture of Eldris's faction. They watched in silence, making no move to help or hinder anyone. The only thing he could be sure of was their curiosity. They were here to observe. Just like they always do, he thought, frustration pricking the back of his mind. What's their deal?

He felt Lira's hand tighten on his arm. "We need to leave. Now," she said, voice low but urgent. She flicked a quick glance over her shoulder at the choking mist. "We can't stay out here any longer. The entire city is turning into a battlefield."

Mikhailis wiped sweat—or maybe leftover tears—off his brow. He had so many questions, so many half-formed demands he wanted to spit out. He wanted to ask what actually happened to him in that otherworldly void, or why the mist seemed so fixated on him. And he wanted to know if, just maybe, he was losing his mind. But he also knew he wouldn't get answers here, not in the middle of chaos and definitely not with that thing rampaging in the distance.

He forced himself to stand, swaying a bit on shaky legs. Lira immediately slipped her arm around his waist, steadying him. She was strong, but he felt the trembling in her grip. She might be the picture of elegant calm, but she was still human. She was scared too, though she'd never show it openly. This is no time to be careless, he reminded himself.

The roar came again, farther away this time, but still loud enough to rattle the crumbling stones under their feet. Broken pieces of the ancient city tumbled from rooftops, smashing onto the ground below. A swirl of dust and ash filled the air, forcing Mikhailis to cough. He could see Rhea's eyes darting from corner to corner, scanning for threats, as if expecting enforcers to burst out at any second.

He looked back at Lira's face, memorizing the crease of worry on her brow, the tension in her lips. She's really shaken up. He tried to muster a reassuring grin. "Hey, next time, I'll try to dream about butterflies and sunshine, okay?"

Lira gave him a look—part exasperation, part relief that he was well enough to joke—and rolled her eyes. But her voice betrayed a flicker of concern. "Now isn't the time to be silly, Your Highness." She glanced over at Rhea. "Help me get him out of here."

Rhea inhaled deeply, pressing her lips together. "Right," she agreed. Without waiting for further instructions, she moved ahead, checking the path. Her weapons were drawn, a dagger in each hand, reflecting dimly in the strange, flickering light. Mikhailis had seen her fight plenty of times. She was skilled, but tonight she was on edge, like a wolf expecting an ambush at every turn.

Behind them, the oppressive atmosphere of the city kept shifting. The Crownless House rebels that had escaped were probably regrouping somewhere. The enforcers were reorganizing too, ready to clamp down on any sign of dissent. The Mistborn Entity roared, and the horrifying sound of it shook the air. What even is that thing? Mikhailis thought, remembering how it had seemed to want something from him—like the void that tried to rewrite him from the inside. Even recalling it made his skin crawl.

The group in masks still lingered on the balcony, observing quietly. He couldn't see their faces, but he felt their gazes tracking every step he took, every breath he drew. Eldris might be among them, though Mikhailis couldn't be certain at this distance. Part of him wanted to scream at them—Stop watching and do something!—but he already knew they wouldn't. They had their own mysterious agenda that never involved helping him directly unless it served their purpose. All it did was stoke his frustration, which churned in his gut like bad liquor.

Pieces of the city clung to the air, swirling around like feathers in a storm. He stepped over a fallen chunk of carved stone that might have once been part of an archway. Overhead, the sky was black. The moon was hidden, and the only light came from the glow of a few scattered lanterns or magical lamps left behind by the fleeing inhabitants. It gave everything a haunted quality—like the entire city had died in one night, and they were the last ones to leave.

Lira tugged at his sleeve. "Come on," she whispered, urging him forward. "Don't slow down. We just need to reach that alleyway. If we can circle around to the old market quarter, there are fewer enforcers on patrol."

Mikhailis took one more look at the raging Mistborn Entity. The swirling masses of fog around it reminded him of the space he'd just been pulled out of. The memory felt too fresh, too raw. He could almost hear the layered voices calling to him. Return. Return. Return. The sensation sent shivers racing along his arms.

"Let's go,"


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