The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort Chapter 443: Rodion's Exciting Updates (2)

"Let's see how our stolen toys are doing," he murmured, leaning forward slightly, eyes glinting with anticipation.

Inside lay the Syndicate's old alchemist toolset—gleaming silver shears that adjusted size at the barest touch, pipettes that shimred softly as they dripped faint traces of mana, infuser rings etched with runes humming gently with latent energy, and grinders whispering smoothly as they spun without a single physical nudge. He ran his fingers lightly over their sleek surfaces, feeling the delicate thrum of enchantnt vibrating beneath his fingertips.

This wiped-out blacksite may have been the most useful deathtrap we stumbled into.

He chuckled softly at the irony. It wasn't every day that a deadly encounter ended up becoming a source of fortune. Mikhailis reached out and picked up the distillation cage, its silver fra adorned with intricate runic designs that glead softly, almost lovingly. The cage settled into his palm like an old promise finally being fulfilled, its weight sohow comforting. He shifted his grip, examining it carefully. Tiny gears and delicate magical threads humd within, whispering the cage's potential.

His gaze drifted thoughtfully toward one of the large wall screens opposite his workstation. A subtle flick of his wrist caused the screen to hum softly and awaken, zooming smoothly into a distant portion of the nest below—transford now into a makeshift lab, crude but surprisingly sophisticated. He watched as Chira Worker Ants scuttled efficiently around mixing stations carved from bone and illuminated softly by glowing fungi. The ants' antennae twitched rhythmically, synchronized perfectly with one another, their tiny mandibles clicking gently as they blended, stirred, and asured potions.

Several of the worker ants had been equipped with tiny augnted lenses, strapped delicately over their compound eyes. These lenses glead softly, catching and refracting the light as they analyzed faint magical auras rising from the concoctions. Mikhailis couldn't help but smile as he noticed another group of ants standing on hind legs, their tiny front legs gripping miniature levers to churn enchanted mixers. It was fascinating—almost surreal—to witness such precise and coordinated alchemical craftsmanship perford not by human hands but by mandibles and tiny insect limbs.

He leaned forward, elbows resting on the smooth obsidian platform, his expression lighting up as an idea flashed through his mind. "Rodion," he mused aloud, the edge of excitent unmistakable in his voice, "imagine what we can do with this. I can mass-produce healing drafts, detox salves, maybe even those tricky fogburn redies everyone keeps asking about."

Rodion responded imdiately, his crisp, neutral tone carrying a faint note of satisfaction.

Mikhailis let out a low whistle, eyebrows lifting appreciatively. "Two hundred forty a day, huh?" His eyes sparkled, already calculating the possibilities. "That ans a surplus. We can do more than just stockpile this stuff for ergencies."

He straightened, pacing thoughtfully around the platform, the gears of strategy already turning rapidly in his head. His hands moved expressively as he spoke, the excitent palpable. "We can start selling the excess potions—not just here in Silvarion Thalor, but everywhere we have influence. Gods, we could even tap Estella's trade network for this, push our reach well beyond the borders."

He spun suddenly, eyes bright with enthusiasm, almost knocking over a precarious stack of scrolls as he gestured animatedly. "Think about it, Rodion! This could generate enough revenue to finance our own operations independently. No more squeezing kingdom funds, no more annoying budget reviews from Earl Vaelis. Complete autonomy."

He caught his breath, realizing he'd beco unusually impassioned. A soft laugh bubbled from his throat as he shook his head. "Mark the calendar, Rodion actually praised ."

The AI was silent for a fraction of a second, as though deliberating over a response before delivering it calmly.

Mikhailis waved the comnt aside with a dismissive laugh, turning his attention back to the open storage container, fingers brushing fondly against the alchemist tools once more. They represented more than potential profit—they symbolized a new degree of freedom and leverage he hadn't previously possessed.

His mind briefly drifted back to the day they'd discovered the Syndicate blacksite, recalling the fierce clash and the overwhelming sense of victory once the battle was over. It had been ssy and dangerous, but now, as he gazed at these tools humming softly with magical potential, the risk felt entirely justified. He let his gaze linger on the gleaming silver, savoring the mont of triumph.

After a thoughtful pause, he tapped another tab on the console, causing the holographic interface to shift and reconfigure itself. Complex tunnel maps spiraled out, tracing glowing paths beneath Silvarion Thalor. He examined them closely, eyes scanning over pulsing lines that stretched like luminous veins beneath the earth.

"Now," he murmured, voice dropping to a more sober tone, "what about the corpses?"

Rodion's reply ca without hesitation, precise and clinical.

The screen displayed pulsing red lines, illustrating the precise routes the ants had carved out. Mikhailis leaned forward, tracing a fingertip along the glowing pathways thoughtfully. His mind imdiately began calculating the implications—each corpse was a wealth of resources, nutrients, magical residues, and genetic potential. The nest would thrive, expand, and evolve from such a bounty.

He smiled faintly, satisfaction warming his features. "That's enough protein to hatch a dozen new variants..." His voice trailed off as his imagination began constructing vivid images—new Chira Ant warriors, specialized breeds, each designed for unique tasks and combat roles. His smile deepened into a confident grin. "…if the Queen gets creative enough."

He felt a rush of pride and anticipation swell in his chest, already envisioning the possibilities. The Queen had proven herself more than capable of extraordinary feats of adaptation. Given such ample resources, he could scarcely begin to predict what she might accomplish next.

"Now that's the spirit," he muttered approvingly, almost speaking directly to the distant Queen.

Another file shimred into existence before him—a military projection this ti, lined with nurical values and charts detailing army composition and growth.

Rodion's steady voice provided clarity and context.

Mikhailis watched with grim fascination as a short playback appeared. In it, a Worker Ant carefully placed down a swollen nutrient sac. A Fire Scarab approached it, shell unfolding in a delicate pattern before suddenly bursting into controlled fla, creating a defensive periter of fire. Another scarab scuttled forward bravely, drawing the attention of potential predators.

He shivered slightly, a sober realization tightening his expression. The brutality of such calculated tactics wasn't lost on him. It was ruthlessly efficient, and entirely logical—yet sothing about the cold pragmatism made his stomach turn just slightly.

He sighed softly, muttering under his breath, "The politics of insect war... brutal."

Rodion's voice returned without missing a beat, crisp and coolly analytical.