The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 393: The Battle of Princes (5)
Mikhailis stood over Auron, letting the adrenaline settle in his veins. His chest rose and fell rhythmically, each breath trying to calm the storm still swirling within him. The echoes of their fierce battle had faded into unsettling silence, replaced by the faint hum of residual magic and the soft crackle of settling stone dust. The room around him was a shattered mess—broken pillars and crumbled marble, jagged stones scattered across the floor like the teeth of a fallen giant. Thin wisps of greyish mist still lingered, swirling aimlessly like forgotten ghosts, carrying with them the bitter tang of metal and charred ozone.
He allowed his gaze to wander slowly, methodically, scanning every detail. In moments like this, he knew better than to let his guard down, even slightly. He had faced enough backstabbing villains in his lifetime—both in his old world's dramas and this world's twisted reality—to know the danger of premature relief. His eyes caught sight of a torch flickering weakly in a half-broken bracket, casting distorted shadows that danced erratically on the cracked walls. Each fluttering shadow seemed to mock him, whispering silent warnings he couldn't ignore.
Mikhailis glanced over to Laethor, whose chest rose and fell with noticeable difficulty. His blonde hair clung damply to his sweat-slicked forehead, dirt smearing his pale cheeks, and a dark bruise forming vividly along his jaw. Despite his battered state, Laethor's eyes held an unmistakable intensity—a fiery glare that would have reduced most men to ashes. That fierce gaze was locked firmly on Auron, filled with loathing so potent Mikhailis could practically feel its heat. He knew that look well; it was the look of someone betrayed deeply, painfully. It was a gaze that spoke of dreams shattered, trust broken, and loyalties trampled beneath cruel ambition.
Looking at Laethor now, Mikhailis felt a flicker of sympathy. The prince had been naive perhaps, or overly idealistic, but never malicious. His intentions were always clear—he wanted the best for Serewyn. Now he had to watch his kingdom suffer because of the twisted whims of a brother he had once trusted. A brother who now lay ensnared at Mikhailis's feet, yet who radiated arrogant self-assurance despite his situation.
Auron himself remained shockingly composed beneath the necrotic webbing. His lips twisted upwards in a sardonic grin, eyes filled with mocking amusement as they met Mikhailis's stare head-on. It was a look that suggested, irritatingly enough, that everything was still going according to plan. It was almost infuriating. Here was a man who had just been bested in combat, immobilized by dark magic, yet he behaved as if he still held all the cards.
Mikhailis felt his irritation rise again. What the hell is he smirking about? The guy should have been panicking, should have been begging or at least acknowledging defeat—but no, instead he lay there looking smug, as if losing were merely a slight inconvenience.
Damn bastard acts like he's lounging on vacation, not bound by necrotic magic after nearly being blasted into oblivion.
That confidence bothered Mikhailis more than he'd admit, scraping against the edges of his patience like sandpaper. The audacity of this man, who not only betrayed his twin but also destroyed an entire city, slaughtered countless innocents, and nearly stole Elowen's heart before Mikhailis had even appeared in this world.
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At that last thought, a small fire sparked deep within him—a mix of irritation and possessiveness he didn't fully understand yet. He clenched his fist slowly, knuckles popping softly beneath the tight squeeze. Imagining Auron's arrogant face courting Elowen, whispering sweet words, trying to claim what wasn't his, made something inside Mikhailis churn with quiet fury.
It took all his self-control to push those emotions down, reminding himself firmly that there were bigger things at stake. Serewyn's safety, the lives still hanging by threads throughout the kingdom—those mattered more than his wounded pride or simmering jealousy. Still, the image lingered stubbornly in his mind, prodding him annoyingly, reminding him exactly who lay at his mercy.
This is the bastard who's been bothering my wife. The thought resonated clearly in his mind, sharpening his anger, clarifying the stakes. It was personal now—not just about kingdoms or politics or the game of thrones these nobles loved to play—but about protecting what was truly important to him.
But even as his emotions boiled just below the surface, Rodion's voice sliced calmly through his thoughts, grounding him once again in cold reality.
<Switching analysis mode to thermal and aura detection. Adjusting lens.>
Mikhailis blinked in surprise as the lenses of his glasses flickered briefly. The world around him darkened subtly, colors shifting into shades of vibrant red, yellow, and deep violet. He felt the familiar oddity of enhanced vision settle into place, a small tingling sensation at the edges of his eyes.
When his gaze returned to Auron, what he saw made him inhale sharply.
Auron's body was no longer merely flesh and bone to his eyes; now it pulsed with an eerie, unnatural light. Threads of dark red and sickly green ran through him, pulsing steadily—like veins filled with something alien and corrupt. At his core, Mikhailis could clearly see a swirling storm of tainted mana. It wasn't natural. This wasn't the pure magic that flowed freely through living beings—it was something distorted, poisoned. It coiled and writhed inside Auron's chest like an angry beast eager to break free.
Scattered across Auron's body were points of brighter light—glowing fiercely, burning hotter than normal flesh. They stood out starkly against the backdrop of the corrupted energy, marking precisely where artifacts were embedded. These weren't ordinary magical items; they radiated energy that felt foreign, intrusive, likely of Technomancer origin. Mikhailis narrowed his eyes further, squinting at the chaotic patterns swirling within those bright spots. The energy was definitely artificial—amplifying and twisting Auron's innate magical capabilities far beyond normal limits.
Rodion's crisp, analytical voice cut clearly into his ears once again.
<Conclusion: Subject Auron possesses a greater magical affinity than Laethor. Estimated output is enhanced via external sources. Multiple unidentified artifacts detected—likely Technomancer augmentations. Further analysis suggests bloodstream contamination with high-dose doping agents.>
Mikhailis's jaw tightened, the corner of his mouth twitching downward in distaste. So that was it. He'd suspected as much, considering the unnatural strength and endurance Auron displayed during their clash. But seeing it firsthand was unsettling, like discovering a hidden infection festering beneath healthy-looking skin. It also meant Auron was likely far more dangerous than he'd initially thought.
He studied the webbing carefully, reassuring himself it was secure, feeling slightly more confident seeing that the necrotic strands still held strong against the struggling villain. Still, he knew better than to underestimate an enemy this dangerous. His mind raced swiftly through options, contingency plans forming quickly behind his carefully maintained neutral expression.
Mikhailis took a subtle breath, steadying himself further, forcing his heartbeat back into a calm rhythm. He knew now he couldn't afford rash decisions or overly emotional responses—no matter how tempting it might be to let anger dictate his actions. He needed to think clearly, precisely, coldly.
But even as he tried to focus, his irritation at Auron's self-assured smirk grew again, gnawing at his resolve. The man's expression hadn't changed; that smug, arrogant look still taunted him, silently declaring Auron believed he held every advantage, even now.
Mikhailis's fingers twitched at his side, briefly contemplating wiping that smirk permanently from Auron's face. But he restrained himself, exhaling slowly through clenched teeth. There was a bigger picture here, a deeper game to uncover and resolve before letting himself indulge in petty satisfactions.
Yet, his irritation wouldn't fully disappear, lingering stubbornly at the edge of his thoughts, prodding him persistently.
Mikhailis's eye twitched.
Mikhailis felt his jaw clench tightly, grinding his teeth as a surge of irritation flooded through him. It wasn't just the idea of fighting someone stronger or better equipped than himself; no, it was the thought that this smug bastard had the gall to look at him as if he had been wronged. Auron's arrogant expression, even trapped beneath those dark necrotic threads, made Mikhailis's blood boil.
No wonder this bastard is a menace, Mikhailis thought, studying the strange glow emanating from Auron's body. He's running on more enhancements than a forged weapon. He took a step closer, careful but deliberate, eyes never leaving the restrained prince. The sinister aura around Auron seemed to pulse slightly, shifting like dark waves across his form. It was an unsettling, unnatural sight—something no ordinary magic could explain.
His irritation deepened further, but not solely from Auron's augmented strength. No, it was more personal than that. Auron had been courting Elowen long before Mikhailis ever stepped into this world. The very thought made a fierce possessiveness twist deep inside him. He envisioned Auron standing close to her, whispering gentle words, weaving promises and ambitions—all while hiding the darkness behind that charming facade.
And now, Auron had the nerve to look at him with eyes full of accusation, as if Mikhailis were a thief who had stolen his most prized possession. Those cold eyes spoke volumes of resentment, hatred, and bitterness, masking an ego that believed the world owed him something precious. It was maddening.
He's glaring at me like I took something that belonged to him, Mikhailis thought bitterly, eyes narrowing in contempt. But she was never yours in the first place, you arrogant bastard.
