The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort Chapter 386 386: Zealots in the Dark (2)

His breath stayed asured, the Riftborne Necrolord's cloak rippling around him like living ink. Shadowy tendrils clung to his skin, disguising him so thoroughly that even the faintest beam of torchlight wouldn't betray his form. Every step was a delicate dance, each movent taken with mindful grace. Debris littered the courtyard, shards of glass and collapsed statues scattered across the once-majestic walkway, but he navigated them with an almost eerie precision, guided by that subtle hum of mist within his body.

Rodion spoke softly into his ear, the AI's voice crisp and calm.

Mikhailis let out a quiet breath. "Doesn't it always co to resistance?" he whispered. His mouth curved into a half-smile that never reached his eyes. "They won't find so easily."

Rodion suggested flatly.

He considered that a mont, scanning the periter. True enough, the main entrance was heavily guarded, beams of torchlight crisscrossing the worn stone steps leading inside. From the vantage behind a collapsed column, he could see at least two heavily armored rcenaries pacing near the central doors, each carrying a wide-bladed polearm. Another stood off to the side, scanning the gloom with squinted eyes. They didn't appear relaxed in the slightest, posture tense, as though expecting an attack from any angle.

He rembered the old stories about the rchant Council Hall—how massive underground storerooms and vaults once existed there, storing valuables from across the region. If the Crownless House had indeed seized control of that subterranean space, it made sense they'd guard every entrance. But sothing else tugged at his gut. The hall shouldn't have hosted so many well-trained rcenaries. This was a big operation, ticulously planned. The Crownless House was powerful, but this level of organization hinted at more than just a ragtag rebellion.

Then Rodion's next words made his blood run cold.

Mikhailis's fingers twitched. Finally. This was the sign he'd been dreading yet perversely hoping to find—the confirmation that others also wielded this power. But then the real problem surfaced. If they had the sa brand of mist energy, what else could they do? He'd felt firsthand the surge of unstoppable might and the creeping risk that threatened to devour his sanity if he pushed too far. The Crownless House might be wading into that sa abyss, or maybe they'd already mastered it.

He pressed closer, flattening himself against a fractured piece of wall that still stood a couple of feet high. The vantage gave him a clearer look at the guards' movents. Their coordination was unnervingly tight. Whenever one turned, the other pivoted in perfect sync, leaving almost no blind spots for a stealth approach. If not for his cloak's enhancents, he might have found it impossible to advance unnoticed.

The air around him tasted of ash and tension. Flickering torchlight cast long, jagged shadows on the cracked cobblestones, painting a grim mosaic of war. He wondered fleetingly if this once-bustling district had hosted festivals or gatherings, the halls filled with music and lively conversations. Now all that lingered was an echo of violence, a hush of dread that clung to every battered stone.

Rodion said abruptly.