The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

The village inn stood on the edge of Serewyn's border, its wooden beams worn by time but still standing firm against the harsh conditions. Lanterns hung at uneven intervals, casting warm, flickering light across the cobblestone path leading up to the entrance. Mikhailis, wincing with each step, led the group toward the modest building. His bandaged body moved with deliberate caution, the dull ache of his injuries acting as an ever-present reminder of their journey so far.

"Your Highness, you're limping again," Lira said, her voice laced with a mixture of exasperation and concern. She walked close behind him, her hands ready to steady him at any moment.

Mikhailis turned his head slightly, giving her a weak grin.

"I thought limping made me look distinguished. Like a war hero. Don't you think so?"

Lira's gaze was sharp, unimpressed.
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"You look like someone who just lost a wrestling match with gravity and decided to crawl into an inn for round two."

"That's rather harsh. Touché," he muttered, glancing at the others. Cerys trailed behind, her red ponytail swaying as she carried their smaller packs despite her protests of being fine. Estella and Rhea exchanged worried glances but said nothing, while Vyrelda remained silent, her calculating eyes scanning their surroundings.

The innkeeper, a grizzled man with a bushy gray beard and a patched leather apron, greeted them at the door.

"Travelers, eh? You've got the look of ones who've been through a storm and then some. What can I do for you?"

Mikhailis leaned slightly on the doorframe, flashing the man a tired smile.

"Rooms for six, old-timer. And if you've got any bread left in your oven, I'll take that too."

The innkeeper chuckled, his weathered face softening.

"You've come to the right place. Three rooms, then? Two beds apiece?"

Lira stepped forward before Mikhailis could answer.

"Yes, please. And if there's warm water available, that would be appreciated."

"Aye, there's warm water. Let me show you the rooms," the innkeeper said, leading them inside. The scent of baked bread mingled with faint traces of herbs and woodsmoke, filling the air with a comforting warmth.

The inn's interior was simple but welcoming, exuding a sense of warmth that felt like a long-lost embrace. Wooden beams lined the ceiling, their surfaces intricately carved with protective runes that emitted a faint, soothing glow under the lamplight. Each rune seemed to hum with a quiet energy, as if whispering old, comforting tales to those who entered. A stone hearth crackled merrily in the corner, its flames leaping and flickering with an almost hypnotic rhythm, casting playful shadows that danced across the room's rugged walls. The floor, made of polished wood, bore the marks of countless feet—some worn smooth, others showing faint indentations where heavier boots had paused or shuffled in hesitation. These imperfections told silent stories of travelers who had found solace here. Nearby, lanterns hung from hooks fashioned from twisted iron, their amber glow pooling softly over the sturdy furniture and illuminating the faint, herbaceous scent of dried bouquets arranged with care in small vases. The mingling aromas of woodsmoke, baked bread, and faint traces of lavender created an atmosphere that beckoned weary souls to rest and forget the outside world, even if just for a moment.

"Not bad," Mikhailis murmured, taking in the cozy atmosphere.

"You've got a good thing going here, old man."

The innkeeper chuckled. "I do my best. This place has stood for three generations, even with the mist trying to creep in. Those wards you see on the beams? Family work. Keeps the bad out and the good in."

"Efficient and charming," Mikhailis quipped, earning a sidelong glance from Lira.

"You've thought of everything, haven't you?"

The innkeeper grinned.

"You have to in these parts. Now, here are your rooms." He opened a door, revealing a modest space with two small beds, a wooden table near the window, and a vase of dried lavender adding a faint floral scent to the air.

"Your quarters. The others are just down the hall."

Lira took one look at the room and nodded.

"This will do. Thank you."

Mikhailis eased himself into the nearest bed with a relieved sigh, tossing his pack onto the floor.

"If I don't move for the next hour, don't wake me."

Lira smirked faintly, crossing her arms.

"I'll consider it. If you behave."

Through the window, the faint shimmer of the village's protective wards caught Mikhailis's eye. He propped himself up on one elbow, squinting at the intricate patterns of light that wove through the air outside.

"Rodion, thoughts?"

<The warding patterns are intricate and well-maintained. Based on the faint mana fluctuations, they appear to repel mist particles using low-frequency pulses quite efficiently, but each wards have different efficiencies. Simultaneously, the embedded crystals stabilize local atmospheric humidity. This dual-purpose design is both efficient and sustainable but it becoming clear that they didn't have a set standard for each wards.>

"So, good tech with less efficienc and zero protocols. Is that why does the village still look like it's barely holding together?"

<Indeed. Inconsistencies will always be the root of problems>

Mikhailis sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Always a catch.

Lira glanced at him, her sharp eyes narrowing.

"What's on your mind now?"

"Just thinking about how many layers of problems this place has," he replied, gesturing vaguely toward the window.

"It's like trying to patch a sinking ship with wet paper."

She arched an elegant eyebrow.

"A poetic analogy. Though I'm not sure if it's helpful."

He chuckled.

"It's not. But it's honest."

Later, Mikhailis gathered everyone in the largest of the rented rooms. The space was cramped with all six of them, but the warm light from the lanterns made it feel less oppressive. He leaned against the edge of the table, his arms crossed over his bandaged chest.

"Alright, here's the rundown," he began.

"After we fell off that lovely cliff, I managed to grab onto some vines," Mikhailis said, his voice tinged with humor despite the lingering ache in his body.

"They weren't the sturdiest, but they slowed us down enough to avoid turning into pancakes. I held on for dear life, one hand gripping the vines, the other making sure Cerys didn't tumble further. The horse? Somehow, it got tangled up in a mess of vines further down—an absolute miracle if you ask me."

He paused, his gaze distant as he recalled the ordeal.

"It was a rough landing. I remember dangling there for what felt like forever, trying to figure out how to get us all down without snapping the vines. I ended up swinging us toward a rocky ledge. Not graceful, but it worked."

Estella's eyes widened.

"And the horse survived that too?"

"Against all odds," Mikhailis replied with a smirk.

"Though I swear it gave me the dirtiest look after we got free."

He continued, his tone growing more reflective.

"Once we were on solid ground, the reality set in. We had no food, no clear path, and the mist made every step a gamble. But hey, I've got camping skills. Found some edible plants, snared a few critters—nothing fancy, but it kept us alive. Cooking over a fire in the middle of nowhere while surrounded by eerie mist wolves wasn't exactly ideal, though."

Cerys nodded, her voice quieter now.

"He made it work. Even in the mist, he found a way to navigate. It slowed us down a lot, but his sense of direction kept us from wandering in circles. He even kept the wolves at bay."

Rhea leaned forward, her expression a mix of amazement and disbelief.

"You mean you hunted, cooked, and fought off mist wolves while injured?"

"Well, someone had to," Mikhailis said, flashing a grin.

"Cerys was feverish half the time. She needed rest, and I needed to keep us both alive. The horse, by the way, turned out to be an excellent alarm system—always on edge, so I knew when something was nearby."

"Reckless idiot," Lira muttered under her breath, though the faintest hint of admiration crept into her tone. She tightened a bandage on his arm with more force than necessary, earning a wince from Mikhailis.

"Ow! Careful, Lira! I already survived one cliff, no need to kill me here."

Estella crossed her arms, her worried expression softening slightly.

"You should've waited for us,"

"Waiting wasn't exactly an option," he countered.

"Between the mist wolves and the freezing nights, standing still wasn't on the menu. Besides, we made it here, didn't we?"

Cerys nodded faintly, her gaze meeting Estella's.

"He did what he had to. I wouldn't be here if he hadn't."

"Well I'm just lucky, though," Mikhailis shrugged.

"You call that lucky?" Estella interjected, her arms crossed. Her worried gaze flicked to his injuries. "You

look like you barely survived."

Mikhailis smirked.

"I did survive. That's the important part."

Cerys's cheeks flushed slightly as she spoke.

"He's downplaying it. We were both in bad shape. He got us through it, though."

Rhea's eyes widened.

"Wait, you mean he took care of you while you were injured as well?"

Cerys hesitated, then nodded.

"I had a fever. He handled it."

For a while, everyone's gaze stoppe at Mikhailis for a while.

Everyone is aware of Cerys's dependableness, and Mikhailis's frivolousness. In a normla circumstnace, it won't be surprising for him to be the one getting treated and defended by Cerys all over the place. But it turns out to be the opposite.

Estella's gaze softened as she looked at Mikhailis.

"You really are reckless, you know that?"

Lira, seated beside Mikhailis, adjusted his bandages with sharp, precise movements. Her glare could have cut glass.

"Reckless is putting it mildly. Your Highness, you're going to fall apart if you keep this up."

"I'll be fine," he said with a grin, though he winced as she tightened one of the bandages.

"Probably."

Vyrelda, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke.

"Your actions were foolish. But if the Lone Wolf trusts you, I suppose I'll have to consider doing the same."

Mikhailis raised an eyebrow, his grin widening.

"Is that the Vyrelda version of a compliment? I'll take it."

As the conversation wound down, Mikhailis returned to the window, his gaze drifting to the village below. The bustling inn contrasted sharply with the scene outside: malnourished children playing listlessly in the dirt, a marketplace with meager offerings, and villagers' faces etched with weariness.

<I'm aware that I have already repeated this several times, but The village's hardships stem primarily from the mist's ecological impact. Soil degradation prevents viable crop growth, forcing reliance on imported goods. Economic pressure from the Technomancer Leagues exacerbates resource scarcity, trapping the population in a cycle of poverty. The things that you could do is limited, and it won't give an instant effect to them either. This, is something that you need to be able to accept, Mikhailis.>

Mikhailis sighed, leaning his forehead against the glass.

I guess you're right. Fixing this mess is going to take more than good intentions.

Behind him, Vyrelda cleared her throat.

"Your Highness. While we waited for you, I gathered some intelligence."

He turned, gesturing for her to continue.

"The mist's origins remain unclear, but its spread correlates with increased Technomancer activity in neighboring territories. They're leveraging their technological edge to pressure Serewyn into dependency. Politically, it's a calculated strategy to control the region as the Technomancers are capable of creating those wards easily than Serewyn."

Mikhailis nodded slowly.

"So, science versus magic. Classic."

Vyrelda's gaze was sharp.

"Your knowledge may be the key to countering their influence. But it will require more than idle quips."

"Noted," he said, his tone unusually serious.

He thenpause for a while as he assess the face of his comrades.

I guess this is the time.

"Estella, your turn. Time to explain the task I gave you."