Mikhailis trudged back into the goblin fortress, his body aching and bruised all over from the intense battle with Vyrelda. His joints felt stiff, his muscles throbbed with every step, and his armor had more dents than he cared to count. He held his head high, though, his eyes scanning the fort with a feigned confidence that belied the exhaustion weighing him down.
The goblin warriors that crowded the pathway into the fortress took one look at his beaten-up condition and moved aside, making way for him. So of them grunted in what sounded like approval. In the goblin culture, bruises and signs of exhaustion were seen as marks of bravery. It didn't matter to them that Mikhailis had ordered a retreat; in their eyes, he had fought and survived, and that was worthy of respect.
Mikhailis couldn't help but feel a strange mix of emotions at the sight of the goblins stepping aside. Part of him wanted to laugh at the irony—a human prince, now in a goblin body, being hailed as so kind of hero by goblins of all things. Another part of him, however, felt... a bit proud. He'd fought Vyrelda and lived. That was no small feat, even if it had been a close call.
Even though he is fighting for the wrong faction, but it's all for his own survival.
At least I didn't embarrass myself too much, he thought, a wry smile pulling at his lips.
Just as he was about to reach his quarters, a large figure stepped into his path, and Mikhailis found himself face-to-face with a Goblin Champion. The Champion was taller, broader, and aner-looking than the regular goblins. His eyes were sharp, and they scanned Mikhailis up and down, suspicion clear in his expression.
"You... speak too good," the Champion grunted, his voice carrying a hint of distrust. He crossed his thick arms, his brow furrowed as he studied Mikhailis.
"Not goblin-like. Why talk like... human?"
Mikhailis felt his heart skip a beat, a jolt of panic running through him.
Damn it, he thought, I've been too comfortable talking like myself.
He quickly shifted gears, forcing a dopey grin onto his face as he exaggerated his posture.
"... talk like... goblin," Mikhailis said, his voice louder, his words clumsier. He even scratched the side of his head, trying to look as clueless as possible.
"... fight... strong human lady. Hurt... lot. ... tired."
The Goblin Champion eyed him for a mont longer, his gaze searching. Mikhailis could feel the sweat gathering at the back of his neck. The seconds seed to stretch endlessly, the Champion's eyes narrowing as if trying to see through him.
Finally, the Champion grunted, giving a small nod.
"Good. You... rest." With that, he stepped aside, allowing Mikhailis to pass.
Mikhailis had to suppress the sigh of relief that threatened to escape him. He gave a sloppy nod, muttering, "Yes... rest... now," before hurrying past the Champion.
He didn't look back, not wanting to risk giving anything away. The tension left his body as soon as he rounded a corner, and he let out a quiet breath.
That was way too close, he thought, shaking his head.
Gotta rember to play the part. Can't let my guard down.
He made his way through the fortress, each step feeling heavier than the last. The fatigue was overwhelming now, both from the physical exertion of the fight and the ntal strain of keeping up his act. His quarters—a small, dimly lit room with little more than a mat and a few blankets—felt like a haven at that mont. He stumbled inside, letting the door close behind him before collapsing onto the mat.
"Finally," he muttered, letting his head fall back.
"Rest."
But just as he was about to close his eyes, a faint, distorted noise reached his ears. Mikhailis blinked, lifting his head slightly. He frowned, straining to hear. It was a voice—a familiar voice. His heart skipped a beat as recognition hit him.
Rodion?
He sat up, holding his breath, his eyes darting around the room. The voice ca again, clearer this ti.
Mikhailis gasped, his eyes widening. He looked down at his wrist, his gaze locking onto the tattoos that now covered his arm—intricate, dark lines that twisted around his skin. They were glowing faintly, and he felt a rush of emotion.
"There you are!" he whispered, a grin spreading across his face.
"It's been one hell of a ride without you, Rodion!"
The voice in his head beca clearer, more distinct, and Mikhailis could almost picture Rodion's exasperated expression—if he had one.
Mikhailis let out a laugh, shaking his head. "Yeah, yeah, I know. But hey, you have to admit, it's a creative way to stay undercover."
Mikhailis paused, his smile fading slightly.
"Elowen... she knows?"
Mikhailis felt a pang of guilt at the thought of Lira, always so protective of him. He took a deep breath, nodding.
"And the Queen? How is she holding up?"
Mikhailis grinned.
"Alright, lay it on ."
There was a pause, and then Rodion began to speak again, his voice carrying a tone of satisfaction.
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