The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The terrain shifted dramatically as Mikhailis and Cerys approached the border. The lush greenery they had traveled through gradually gave way to cracked, barren earth. The once-vibrant foliage was replaced by thorny bushes and moss-covered outcroppings that clung stubbornly to the hostile environment. The stark contrast was unsettling, and Mikhailis couldn't help but marvel at how nature itself had adapted to survive under such conditions.

"This is… different," he muttered, his gaze scanning the dry, desolate land. He spotted a few plants scattered across the area—twisted vines with sharp thorns, their leaves waxy and dull, and clusters of fungi that oozed a faint, noxious mist.

"Toxic," Rodion's voice hummed in his ear.

"The flora in this region has evolved to survive in nutrient-depleted soil. The mist's prolonged exposure has fundamentally reshaped the ecosystem, selecting for plants that prioritize survival over contribution to the food chain. Their traits, like waxy leaves and thorny exteriors, help them conserve moisture and deter herbivores, but they also hinder broader ecological balance. The mist's interaction with the soil chemistry appears to have created a hostile environment where traditional crops cannot compete, leading to dominance by these resilient yet unhelpful species."

Mikhailis crouched down, plucking a piece of dried moss from a rock and examining it closely. The faint shimmer of mana clinging to its surface caught his eye.

Even the plants here are laced with magic. No wonder nothing edible can grow.

Rodion's voice hummed again, almost as if continuing his thought.

<The mana acts as a catalyst, promoting these plants' unique defensive traits while simultaneously stunting nutrient exchange in the soil. The lack of organic diversity further exacerbates the problem, creating a feedback loop of ecological degradation. Moisture dynamics in the mist also contribute; high humidity prevents normal evaporation, leaving soil in a perpetually saturated but nutrient-poor state. This results in what could be described as "nutrient lockdown.">

Mikhailis ran his fingers over the rough texture of the moss, a frown forming.

"So the mist isn't just starving the land. It's trapping it in this state, like a bad spell stuck on repeat."

<Precisely. Over time, the soil's composition shifts to accommodate only these specialized species. The nutrient cycle halts, and even microbial life, crucial for replenishing soil fertility, dwindles. The ecosystem becomes stagnant, perpetuated by the mist's constant presence.>

Mikhailis exhaled deeply, his gaze sweeping the barren landscape.

It's not just survival of the fittest—it's survival of the most adaptable to this cursed mist.

After a moment, he stood, brushing the dried moss from his hands.

"Well, Rodion, I guess nature's just as stubborn as we are. Too bad it's not on our side this time."
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Mikhailis sighed, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon again. The land stretched endlessly, dotted with patches of resilient yet inedible plants. It was as if the earth itself had surrendered to the mist, letting it reshape everything in its path.

As they continued their journey, Mikhailis noticed something unusual lining the highway—small, glowing orbs mounted on wooden stakes. Similar wards were scattered across open fields, their faint luminescence cutting through the haze. The closer they got to the village, the more concentrated these wards became, forming an almost impenetrable barrier against the mist.

"Rodion, analyze those wards," he whispered, leaning slightly to get a better look.

<Low-frequency mana pulses. They repel mist particles by creating a charged field akin to magnetic repulsion. Negative repels negative, Your Highness. The interaction of charged fields creates a subtle barrier that prevents mist particles from settling within the area. This mechanism, however, is not purely magical. The wards also regulate local moisture levels by utilizing mana-infused crystals that react to atmospheric humidity. When moisture levels rise beyond a certain threshold, the crystals stabilize the surrounding area by dissipating excess humidity through low-energy mana emissions. This dual-purpose design prevents further soil degradation by addressing both mist and waterlogging issues.>

Rodion projected a series of detailed graphs and spectral overlays into Mikhailis's glasses. A faint hum accompanied the glowing display as layers of the ward's function came to life before his eyes. Thin lines mapped the mana pulses, showing how they moved outward in rhythmic waves, creating overlapping zones of repulsion. Beside this, a moisture gradient chart highlighted how the crystals balanced humidity across the warded area. The data points flickered as Rodion continued.

<Observe, Your Highness. The mana pulses maintain their strength within these fields, forming a consistent barrier against mist encroachment. Simultaneously, the humidity balance prevents the kind of nutrient stagnation observed in surrounding unprotected areas. The brilliance lies in its efficiency—low energy input for sustained protection and environmental correction.>

Mikhailis raised an eyebrow, impressed despite himself.

"So these little things are doing double duty? Fighting mist and keeping the ground usable?"

<Precisely. Whoever designed these wards understood the delicate interplay between magic and environmental science. Their mechanisms exhibit a synergy rarely achieved in practical applications. While far from perfect, they represent an effective approach to managing hostile ecosystems.>

"Impressive," Mikhailis muttered, his gaze lingering on the glowing poles ahead.

"I hate to admit it, but this setup makes my gear feel a little outdated. Maybe we should steal a few ideas."

<Innovation thrives on observation, Your Highness. Provided it aligns with your penchant for improvisation, I suspect you would excel in adapting these principles.>

"Yeah, but how do they keep them running?" Mikhailis asked, narrowing his eyes at the intricate runes carved into the wooden stakes.

<The wards are powered by small mana cores embedded within the poles. They draw ambient mana from the environment to sustain their effects. The design is efficient, requiring minimal upkeep.>

Mikhailis whistled low.

"Gotta hand it to them. Whoever came up with this knew what they were doing."

As they drew closer to the village, the wards became increasingly intricate. Tall poles crowned with glowing crystals stood at regular intervals along the fences, their faint hum resonating with the surrounding air. The light they emitted cast a soft, protective halo over the settlement, creating an ethereal barrier that seemed to hold back the oppressive mist like an invisible shield. The air within the village boundaries appeared strikingly clear and vibrant compared to the desolate wasteland beyond, almost as if the settlement was an island of life amid a sea of decay.

Mikhailis leaned forward, adjusting his glasses as Rodion fed him detailed visuals. The display illuminated the intricate interplay of mana pulses emitted by the crystals. Layered graphs and diagrams appeared in his view, showing how the wards generated repelling fields that overlapped seamlessly, pushing the mist away while maintaining a consistent protective dome.

Rodion's projections also highlighted the crystals' secondary function—they absorbed ambient mana and redirected it to stabilize the soil's moisture content, preventing waterlogging and further degradation. Mikhailis's sharp gaze traced the crystalline poles with newfound respect. Whoever designed this system had seamlessly integrated arcane expertise with environmental management, creating a solution that was both elegant and effective.

"Impressive," Mikhailis muttered under his breath, marveling at the sophistication of the ward's multi-layered defense. The shimmering barrier seemed alive, its mana flows dancing in rhythmic pulses that intertwined science and magic with unparalleled precision.

As he wander the intricate design of the wards, without realizing.

They have arrived at the village border of Serewyn's territory.

The entrance to the village was guarded by a group of knights clad in steel armor. They carried long spears and shields emblazoned with a crescent moon insignia. As Mikhailis and Cerys approached, the guards raised their weapons, blocking their path.

"Halt!" one of the knights barked, stepping forward. He held a leather-bound ledger in his hands, its pages worn and filled with scribbled notes and sketches.

"State your names and purpose."

"Travelers passing through," Mikhailis replied smoothly.

"I'm Mike, and this is… Lone Wolf."

Cerys shot him a sharp look but held her tongue. The knight flipped through the ledger, scrutinizing their faces against the sketches of wanted criminals. After a tense moment, he closed the book with a nod.

"You're clear," he said, stepping aside. As they passed, Mikhailis caught a few of the guards sneaking glances at Cerys. Her striking features and fiery red hair were hard to ignore, even in such a grim setting.

One knight's gaze lingered a little too long, his eyes narrowing as he took a step forward. Mikhailis's sharp instincts flared, catching the subtle shift in the knight's stance. It wasn't admiration; it was something more predatory, a hint of trouble brewing in his intent.

The knight reached out, his hand stretching toward Cerys's shoulder as if to touch her. Before he could get any closer, Mikhailis moved with lightning speed. His hand shot out, grabbing the knight's wrist in an iron grip. The sound of the armor clinking was drowned by the tension crackling in the air. The knight froze, his eyes widening in shock as he found himself immobilized by the deceptively lean man.

"I wouldn't," Mikhailis said, his voice low and cold, carrying a weight that sent a chill down the knight's spine. He twisted the knight's arm just enough to cause discomfort but not injury, making his point clear.

"If you value that hand, keep it to yourself."

The knight stammered, his bravado crumbling under the sheer intensity of Mikhailis's glare.

"I-I wasn't—"

"You weren't thinking," Mikhailis interrupted, his tone sharp as a blade.

"Let me help you with that." He leaned in slightly, his voice dropping even lower.

"The next time you feel like reaching for someone who doesn't belong to you, think twice. Or I'll make sure you never reach for anything again."

The other guards, sensing the tension, stood frozen, unsure whether to intervene or stay out of it. Cerys, oblivious to the incident, adjusted her saddle straps, her focus entirely on their preparations.

Releasing the knight's wrist, Mikhailis gave him a slight shove, sending him stumbling back. The knight clutched his arm, his face pale as he retreated into the ranks without another word.

Mikhailis turned to the rest of the guards, his gaze sweeping over them like a storm.

"Anyone else feel like testing their luck?" he asked, his tone casual but carrying an undeniable edge. The guards averted their eyes, shuffling awkwardly under his piercing stare.

Satisfied, Mikhailis adjusted his glasses and walked back to Cerys, his expression smoothing into his usual easygoing demeanor. The whole exchange had taken mere seconds, but the tension lingered in the air like the aftermath of a thunderclap.

Cerys turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"You look like you've been up to something," she said, her tone light.

Mikhailis shrugged, a lazy grin spreading across his face.

"Just reminding the locals to mind their manners."

Better learn to keep your eyes to yourself, pal.

The village was larger than Mikhailis had expected for a border settlement, sprawling across a landscape that seemed almost out of place against the desolate surroundings. Stone houses with sloping roofs lined the narrow streets, their walls adorned with intricate carvings of moons and stars that shimmered faintly in the sunlight. Each carving seemed to tell a fragment of an ancient story, their worn edges hinting at years of weathering but still holding onto a quiet dignity. Wooden beams supported open balconies adorned with flower boxes that overflowed with vibrant blooms. The flowers—an explosion of reds, yellows, and purples—cascaded down in delicate streams, creating a striking contrast to the cracked, barren earth beyond the village's borders.

The air carried a mix of earthy and floral scents, almost masking the faint tang of decay that clung to the outskirts. The houses themselves, though charming, bore subtle signs of wear—patches of crumbling stonework, hastily mended shutters, and thatched roofs with uneven repairs. It was clear that the village's beauty was maintained through relentless effort, a facade of resilience in the face of hardship. The streets were narrow and uneven, cobblestones worn smooth by years of use, and here and there, children played listlessly, their laughter muted as if weighed down by the pervasive air of struggle.

Mikhailis's eyes caught the details, each one painting a clearer picture of the life here—the stubborn hope that refused to be extinguished despite the odds. Wooden beams, etched with protective runes, crisscrossed the upper levels of the larger buildings, their faintly glowing symbols warding off the creeping mist that still lingered in the distance. The vibrant flower boxes, too, seemed almost defiant, their beauty a message to the harsh world beyond the village's protective wards. It wasn't just survival here; it was a fight to preserve something more—dignity, beauty, and life—no matter how difficult the battle.

In the central square, a merchant's cart stood surrounded by a crowd. Fresh produce and supplies were stacked high, drawing villagers like moths to a flame. The merchant, a burly man with a booming voice, called out prices as people haggled and jostled for a chance to buy.

Mikhailis's gaze shifted to a man standing nearby, his hollow eyes fixed on him. The man hesitated before stepping forward, his voice trembling as he asked.

"Did you bring food?"

Mikhailis blinked, caught off guard by the question. He reached into his pack and pulled out a bundle wrapped in Teralis Leaf—the remnants of his breakfast with Cerys. Handing it over, he said, "Here. It's not much, but it should help."

The man's face lit up with gratitude.

"Thank you. Thank you so much." Without a second thought, he turned and handed the food to a group of children nearby. Their eyes widened with joy as they tore into the meal, their laughter breaking the somber silence of the square.

Cerys watched quietly, her expression unreadable. After a moment, she said softly.

"This happens everywhere, Your Highness. Let's hope their situation improves."

Mikhailis nodded, his mood dampened.

"Yeah. Let's hope."

Rodion's voice buzzed in his ear, pulling his attention back to the present.

<Analysis complete. The village's primary issue is soil degradation caused by prolonged mist exposure. Nutrient depletion limits crop growth, leaving only resilient but non-nutritive plants. Dependence on merchants for food exacerbates poverty, creating a cycle of hardship.>

The words lingered in Mikhailis's ear, each syllable hammering home the bleak reality of the situation. Through his glasses, Rodion projected an array of visual overlays, painting a stark picture of the land's plight. Charts and graphs scrolled across his vision, each one adding another layer to the complex web of problems rooted in the mist.

A topographic map showed the subtle undulations of the land, with shaded areas representing different soil compositions. The majority of the land glowed in muted reds and browns, indicating nutrient depletion. A close-up section highlighted the soil structure, revealing cracks that branched like veins through a lifeless body.

Mikhailis sighed, rubbing his temples.

"As expected. The land's the root of it all. The mist ruins everything."

<Correct. Without intervention, these conditions will persist indefinitely.>

Mikhailis stared at the cracked earth beneath his feet, frustration simmering beneath the surface.

There's gotta be a way to fix this. There has to be.

"Well, that's why scientists like us exist in the first place, Rodion," Mikhailis said with a grin.

<You're absolutely right, Mikhailis>

As he's settling his will to find the root of the problem and the proper solution, suddenly-

"Mike! Mike!"

The sudden shout startled him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He turned toward the voice, his brow furrowing. The name sounded familiar, but it took him a moment to remember.

Mike. That's the name I've been using to hide my identity.

Before he could process further, a figure came barreling toward him. Estella's auburn hair streamed behind her as she sprinted across the square, her arms wide open. She collided with him in a tight hug, nearly knocking him off balance.

"I'm so glad you're okay, Mike!" she exclaimed, her voice filled with genuine relief.

Mikhailis barely had time to react before another figure joined the fray. Rhea, Estella's ever-loyal bodyguard, wrapped her arms around him as well, her strength making him wince.

"I'm not okay!" he groaned, his voice muffled against Estella's shoulder.

Cerys stood a few steps away, her arms crossed and her expression a mix of confusion and irritation. Her sharp eyes flicked between the two women clinging to Mikhailis and the beleaguered prince himself.

This is going to be a long day, Mikhailis thought, suppressing a sigh as he tried to extricate himself from the overwhelming embrace.