The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The mist stretched endlessly before them, thick tendrils swirling as if alive. The trees lining the path were mere silhouettes, their gnarled branches clawing at the foggy void. Mikhailis sat atop his horse, gazing out at the ghostly expanse with a raised brow. He let out a low whistle, his voice breaking the eerie silence.

"So, we've come near the Kingdom of Mist of the East, Serewyn..." he murmured, his tone equal parts curiosity and amusement.

Cerys, riding slightly ahead, turned to glance at him, her red hair catching what little light filtered through the mist. Her expression, as usual, was serious, though her voice softened as she explained.

"The mist here is a natural phenomenon. It's said to be born of the ancient magic that flows through the land. Towns and villages use wards to keep it at bay, but the roads and forests…" She gestured toward the dense fog.

"They're left to the mercy of the mist."

Mikhailis smirked.

"Wards, huh? Sounds like a good way to make people invest in overpriced charms."

Cerys shot him a withering look.

"It's not a scam. The mist isn't harmless. Travelers who underestimate it rarely make it to their destination."

"Relax, Lone Wolf. I'm just teasing." He adjusted the glasses on his face, letting them slip slightly down his nose.

A familiar voice chimed in his ear.

<The mist is not merely a natural occurrence. It is heavily imbued with residual magic, creating an environment that disrupts most conventional methods of navigation and surveillance. This magical interference severely limits visibility to approximately twenty percent of normal conditions and distorts any attempt to detect potential threats accurately. The magical density within the mist interacts unpredictably with external forces, further complicating situational awareness. As a result, hostile entities or obstacles could emerge without prior notice. Proceed with heightened vigilance and caution at all times.>

Residual magic? Sounds fancy. Typical of Rodion to overcomplicate things. Mikhailis tilted his head, pretending to examine the swirling mist as he thought.

"So, Rodion, what's the gist?"

<The 'gist,' as you put it, is that you are walking into an unpredictable magical dead zone. The mist obscures everything—your sight, your sound, and even your magical senses—rendering most standard methods of detection useless. Monsters, hostile forces, or even simple hazards could be lurking mere feet away, and you'd remain oblivious until it's far too late. This environment acts as a natural cloaking mechanism for any threats. Proceed with vigilance, though your overconfidence seems immune to logic. It is truly inspiring.>

Mikhailis smirked.

"We'll manage," he said aloud, earning a curious glance from Cerys.

"Talking to yourself again?" she asked.

He shrugged.

"Old habit. Keeps the brain sharp."

Cerys' gaze lingered for a moment before she turned back to the path.

"Just focus. The mist is unpredictable."

The dense fog seemed to deepen as they continued, muting the rhythmic clop of their horse's hooves. Shadows moved at the edges of their vision, and faint whispers seemed to rise from nowhere, carried on the damp air. The atmosphere pressed heavily around them, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of unseen creatures.

Mikhailis squinted, his sharp eyes catching a glimmer of movement ahead. A large, shimmering form glided through the mist, its shape both familiar and alien. It resembled a manta ray, its wide, flat body undulating gracefully as though swimming through water.

"What…?" he muttered, leaning forward to get a better look.

Cerys followed his gaze, her expression softening slightly.

"It's a Mist Glider. They're harmless."

"Harmless and beautiful," Mikhailis said, a rare note of awe in his voice.

"Kind of like you, Lone Wolf."

She scoffed.

"Flattery won't make me go easy on you if you mess up." She said, but the smile is evident.

More creatures appeared, their translucent forms glowing faintly in the mist. Ethereal jellyfish drifted past, their tendrils trailing like faint ribbons of light. Schools of mistfish swirled around the trees, their glowing bodies flickering like fireflies. A serpentine figure coiled and uncoiled above them, an eel-like creature that seemed to weave through the mist as if it were water.

"This place could make a poet out of anyone," Mikhailis said, his gaze following the creatures.

Or an entomologist. If only I could catch one of those gliders…

The tranquility of the mist-laden forest seemed to stretch on endlessly, its eerie beauty mesmerizing. Mikhailis had just begun to relax, leaning back on his horse with a casual grin.

"This place could really use some background music," he joked, letting his voice cut through the stillness. But even as his light-hearted remark lingered in the air, a subtle shift began to ripple through the mist.

It started with a faint rustling, barely discernible over the muffled clop of their horse's hooves. Cerys, ever alert, stiffened slightly in her saddle, her hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of her sword.

"Do you hear that?" she whispered, her tone taut.

Mikhailis cocked his head, listening intently. The rustling grew louder, accompanied by a low, guttural growl that seemed to emanate from all directions. The mist thickened, swirling with an almost deliberate intent, and the temperature dropped sharply.

"Well, that's ominous," Mikhailis muttered, his fingers brushing the short blade strapped to his thigh.

From the shadows, figures began to emerge—snarling, menacing shapes that blended seamlessly with the fog. Silver fur glinted faintly in the dim light as the creatures prowled closer, their predatory grace unmistakable.

"Mist Wolves," Cerys said tersely, dismounting in a fluid motion. Her sword was in her hand before her boots even touched the ground.

"Stay alert. They're masters of ambush."

Mikhailis followed suit, his movements slower but no less deliberate.

"Mist Wolves, huh? Sounds like a great name for a band," he quipped, trying to mask his growing tension.

"Focus," Cerys snapped, her sharp eyes scanning the shifting shadows.

The glasses on Mikhailis' face flickered, and Rodion's voice cut in, dry and precise.

<Multiple hostiles detected. Ten units confirmed. Thermal imaging activated for improved visibility. You're welcome.>

As the lenses shifted to display glowing red outlines against the blue haze of the mist, Mikhailis grinned.

"Thanks, Rodion. Now we're talking."

The first wolf lunged, its form a blur of silver and shadow. Cerys met it head-on, her blade flashing in a precise arc that left the beast sprawled lifeless at her feet. Another wolf darted in from her left, but she twisted gracefully, bringing her sword down with lethal efficiency.

Mikhailis moved to intercept a third wolf that aimed for their horse. He sidestepped its leap, his blade slashing across its flank with practiced ease.

"Don't hog all the glory, Lone Wolf," he called over his shoulder.

Cerys didn't respond, her focus unyielding as she dispatched another attacker. Her movements were sharp and economical, a testament to years of relentless training. But even her skill couldn't make up for the sheer number of enemies. A wolf's claws raked across her arm, leaving a shallow but bloody gash.

"You okay?" Mikhailis called, his voice tinged with genuine concern despite his teasing tone.

"I'm fine," she replied curtly, her blade cutting through another wolf. "Just focus on your side."

The wolves pressed their attack, their movements synchronized and relentless. Mikhailis feinted left, forcing one wolf to overcommit. He drove his blade into its throat before spinning to face another. It lunged, but he parried deftly, delivering a swift counterstrike.

As the last two wolves circled, their silver eyes glinting with malice, Rodion's voice chimed in again.

"Yeah, yeah, working on it," Mikhailis muttered, sidestepping another attack.

Cerys took down one of the wolves with a decisive slash, leaving only one remaining. It lunged at Mikhailis, but he was ready. He ducked low, driving his blade upward into the beast's chest. The wolf let out a final, guttural snarl before collapsing.

The clearing fell silent, save for their heavy breathing. The bodies of the Mist Wolves began to dissipate, their forms dissolving into the mist like smoke.

<Threat neutralized>

Rodion declared.

<Minimal injuries sustained. I'll admit, that was marginally impressive.>

Mikhailis smirked, wiping his blade clean.

"Marginally? You're getting soft, Rodion."

Cerys sheathed her sword, inspecting the shallow cut on her arm. Mikhailis approached, his expression somewhere between concern and amusement.

"Want me to kiss it better?"

She rolled her eyes.

"I'd rather deal with the wolves again."

He chuckled, rummaging through his pack for a bandage.

"Hold still, Lone Wolf. Can't have my bodyguard dropping dead on me."

As he tended to her wound, he added, "Let's set up camp early after this. You've earned a break."

She didn't argue, and they found a relatively clear spot to rest. Mikhailis activated the glasses again, his voice low.

"Rodion, give me a layout for fortifications. Use the Chimera Ant workers to reinforce the perimeter."

<Understood. Deploying units. Defensive measures will be operational in ten minutes.>

While the invisible workers moved to secure the area, Mikhailis prepared a simple meal. He handed Cerys a plate of dried meat and bread, grinning as he said, "Behold, my culinary masterpiece."

She snorted.

"You're insufferable."

"And yet you're still here," he countered, raising a brow.

As they ate, Cerys leaned back against the base of a twisted tree, her gaze softening as she began to recount the stories of Serewyn's culture. The mist swirling around them seemed almost alive, as if it listened too. Her voice carried a quiet reverence as she spoke of how the mist wasn't just a natural phenomenon but a deeply rooted part of the kingdom's identity.

"In Serewyn," she began, her eyes distant as though she were recalling a faraway memory, "the mist is seen as both a protector and a danger. It hides the villages from invaders but also takes lives when it grows too thick or restless."

Mikhailis, uncharacteristically quiet, rested his chin on his hand and watched her intently. For once, the teasing smirk that so often adorned his face was absent. Instead, his eyes reflected a mix of curiosity and genuine interest.

"Go on," he prompted gently, breaking the silence without disrupting her train of thought.

Cerys glanced at him briefly, as if to gauge his sincerity, before continuing.

"There are old superstitions. People say the mist carries the whispers of the lost—the ones who never made it home. That's why most villages and towns use wards to keep it at bay. It's not just practical; it's... symbolic."

"Whispers, huh?" Mikhailis leaned back, his tone light but his expression thoughtful.

"Sounds poetic. Or creepy. Maybe both."

Cerys arched an eyebrow, a faint smile tugging at her lips.

"It depends on who you ask. Some believe the mist chooses who it takes. Others think it's random. Either way, people respect it—and fear it."

Mikhailis tore a piece of bread, chewing slowly as he mulled over her words.

"So, these wards... do they actually work, or are they just there to make people feel better?"

"They work," she replied firmly.

"But only to a point. The mist is unpredictable. It ebbs and flows with the land's magic. Even the strongest wards can fail if the mist grows too dense or restless."

He nodded, his gaze shifting to the swirling fog beyond their small camp.

"And what about the creatures? The ones we've been seeing—Mist Gliders, those jellyfish things—are they part of the danger, or just unlucky enough to be stuck here?"

"A bit of both," Cerys said, her tone growing somber.

"The harmless ones, like the Mist Gliders, are drawn to the magic in the mist. But others—like those wolves—they use it to hunt. The mist hides them, gives them an advantage."

"Sounds like nature's ultimate cheat code," Mikhailis quipped, though the humor in his voice was subdued.

"And yet, here we are, waltzing through it."

Cerys gave a quiet laugh, shaking her head.

"You have an uncanny way of making even the most dangerous situations sound trivial."

He grinned, finally letting a touch of his usual playfulness return.
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"It's a gift."

Their conversation drifted into lighter topics, the tension of the day easing slightly. As Cerys recounted an old Serewyn legend about a wandering knight who braved the mist to save a lost village, Mikhailis found himself captivated not just by the story but by the quiet passion in her voice. For a brief moment, the swirling fog and the dangers it concealed seemed distant, as if held at bay by the warmth of her words.

Suddenly, he froze, his gaze snapping to the glasses. The lenses displayed a massive heat signature moving steadily toward their location.

"What is it?" Cerys asked, her tone sharp.

Mikhailis forced a casual smile, though his eyes remained fixed on the display.

"Nothing. Just a big fish swimming our way."

<Correction: It is not a fish. Heat signature indicates a Mist Whale. Impact imminent in ten minutes if current trajectory is maintained.>

Mikhailis' smile faltered.

A Mist Whale? This is going to be damn too interesting.