Mikhailis exhaled deeply, stretching his arms above his head as he sank into the surprisingly comfortable chair in his private room. The wooden fra creaked slightly under his weight, the scent of aged wood and faint incense lingering in the air. The inn wasn't lavish, but it was leagues better than sleeping in the ruins of a devastated village or out in the open wilderness with only the stars and his Chira Ant soldiers as company.
He rolled his shoulders, loosening the tension that had built up over the past few days. Travel had been grueling, and though Serewyn offered a brief respite, he knew better than to let his guard down. He reached toward the small table beside him, grabbing a wooden goblet of lukewarm ale and taking a sip. It wasn't the best, but it was far from the worst he'd had on this journey.
He let out a lazy chuckle, glancing toward the dim glow of his arcane communicator. "Guess we got caught. That was a very improvised but great plan executed there."
Mikhailis smirked, tapping his fingers against the desk. Rodion always had a way with words.
"Co on, give so credit. Hypnotizing the Radiant Order's forces and letting them implode from the inside? That's so high-level villain play."
Mikhailis leaned back, resting his chin on his palm, watching the dim flickering of the arcane communicator.
"And we crossed into enemy territory without even needing to draw our swords. It's beautiful."
Mikhailis blinked, sitting up straighter.
"Parasitic... worms?"
Mikhailis let out a slow whistle, running a hand through his hair.
"So, you're saying we've accidentally created a biological warfare tool?"
Mikhailis drumd his fingers against the desk, mulling it over. He'd seen the effects firsthand. When Hypnoveil's influence first took hold, it worked like a charm—subtle manipulations, minor alterations in decision-making, a gentle push here and there. The officers of the Radiant Order had unknowingly turned against one another, their paranoia festering like an untreated wound.
But this... this was different.
A weapon that could spread beyond his direct control was both fascinating and dangerous. He could already see the scenarios—covert infiltrations, turning enemy generals against their own n, entire battlefields collapsing before a single sword was drawn. But he could also see the other side of it. What if it spread too far? What if an enemy captured one of the infected and found a way to reverse-engineer the process?
Mikhailis leaned back, tapping his fingers against the wooden table. The room was dimly lit, the single lantern casting long shadows along the wooden walls of his rented inn chamber. Outside, the muffled sounds of Serewyn's bustling streets filtered through the shutters, distant voices rising and falling in a symphony of negotiations, gossip, and quiet desperation.
He clicked his tongue. "Rodion, break down the efficiency rate. How quickly does it spread?"
A brief silence, then Rodion's voice, crisp and calculated, echoed in his mind.
Mikhailis's fingers paused mid-tap. He narrowed his eyes, the implications clicking into place like the final pieces of a puzzle.
That explains how the command chain broke down so fast. Even if they suspected infiltration, it was already too late.
"Just as I thought," he muttered, rubbing his temple. "It's a controlled outbreak rather than a random infection. If they weren't already paranoid, they are now."
Rodion continued, his tone unwavering.
Mikhailis chuckled. "Beautiful. A mutiny without us lifting a finger." He reclined further, exhaling through his nose. "So you're telling if we drop one of these things into an enemy officer's drink, we could turn an entire fortress within a few days?"
Mikhailis tapped the edge of his chair. That was both a strength and a weakness. No chance of things spiraling into an uncontrollable epidemic, but it also ant they had a finite supply to work with.
"How many does Hypnoveil produce per day?" he asked.
Mikhailis's fingers drumd against the table. "So you're saying the longer they're under, the more they lose their ability to fight back?"
Mikhailis narrowed his eyes. "And past that?"
His fingers stopped drumming. A dangerous silence settled in the room as the weight of Rodion's words sank in.
He had watched the entire infiltration unfold through the Chira Ant soldier's vision—seen how the subtle escalations played out, how a single implanted suggestion turned into whispers of paranoia, and whispers turned into action. Officers who had once commanded with certainty were now second-guessing their own decisions, tension spreading like wildfire.
And it had worked. Too well.
Mikhailis wasn't foolish enough to believe absolute control was a good thing. Chaos was ssy, unpredictable—but total domination was just as dangerous in its own way.
"We're not dealing with simple mind control anymore," he muttered, leaning forward, lacing his fingers together. "This is rewriting people from the inside out."
Mikhailis ran a hand through his hair, contemplating. The thought of an entire army turned into drones acting under his influence should have felt like a tactical jackpot, but it left a bitter taste in his mouth. That wasn't how he worked. He didn't need puppets—he needed people who could think, act, and adapt.
"Noted," he muttered. "We'll use it selectively. No point in conquering a land of mindless zombies."
Stay updated via My Virtual Library Empire
Mikhailis chuckled. "Oh? Is that a complint?"
User Comments
0 comments from readers