The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort-Chapter 338 Beneath the Streets of Luthadel (1)

The streets of Luthadel were chaos.

The heavy clang of armored boots echoed through the alleyways, mixing with the distant wails of frightened citizens. The Technomancer enforcers moved like an unyielding tide, shoving people aside, dragging them from their homes, and restraining those who dared to resist. Above, the sky darkened with the haze of mist, its tendrils creeping unnaturally through the buildings, as if it were watching.

Shouts rang out from a nearby square, followed by the sharp crackle of magical energy—one of the Technomancers' suppressor spells. A bright flash lit up the fog-ridden streets for a moment, revealing a group of civilians attempting to flee before being intercepted. Resistance was met with brute force—one man tried to run, only to be struck down by an enforcer's gauntlet, his body convulsing from the electric discharge. A woman screamed as she was pulled away, her cries lost beneath the methodical, unrelenting advance of the enforcers.

Mikhailis leaned against the cracked wooden frame of the safehouse window, eyes narrowed as he observed the chaos outside. From here, he could see small fires flickering in the distance, casting ghostly shadows against the stone walls of the lower districts. The people were fighting back. But against the Technomancers? That wasn't a fight they could win.

He exhaled slowly, fingers drumming against the windowsill. This wasn't just about controlling the people—this was preparation. The timing of the lockdown, the sheer scale of the deployment… it wasn't just coincidence. Something had changed.

And I have a very bad feeling about what that something is.

Behind him, tension crackled in the air like a drawn bowstring.

"We can't just stay here," Rhea muttered, pacing near the table, her gloved fingers tapping against the hilt of her dagger. Her usual smirk was absent, replaced with a deep-set frown. "They'll start searching every building, and then what? We sit here like good little prisoners?"

"Rushing out now would be reckless," Vyrelda countered, arms crossed, her posture as rigid as ever. "We don't know their full deployment. There's a reason they've locked down the city. We need to understand the situation before making a move."

Rhea scoffed. "Yeah? And what happens when they're knocking on the door?"

"Then we deal with it." Vyrelda's tone was clipped, unyielding.

The two locked eyes for a moment, neither backing down. The tension between them was almost tangible.

Cerys, who had been silent until now, finally spoke. "If we wait too long, we won't have a choice." Her voice was calm, but there was a weight to it—an unspoken warning. Unlike the others, she wasn't one for unnecessary arguments. She dealt in absolutes, in action. And right now, inaction was the same as surrender.

Mikhailis sighed, pushing away from the window. "Alright, let's cut the debate short before this turns into a strategy seminar. We move. Before they start searching house by house."

He turned to the group, eyes flicking from one face to the next. They were all capable, experienced in their own ways, but none of them had ever dealt with something like this—a city on the brink, with forces pulling strings from the shadows.

Lira, who had been watching quietly from her seat, met his gaze with a knowing look. Unlike the others, she hadn't said much, but Mikhailis had noticed the slight tension in her posture, the subtle shift in her usual composed demeanor.

She was worried.

That, more than anything, unsettled him.

"And where do you propose we go, my reckless master?" Lira finally asked, her voice smooth as ever, but with a sharp edge of sarcasm.

Mikhailis smirked. "Somewhere with fewer heavily armed enforcers and fewer people trying to stab me. So, naturally, we're splitting up and heading toward danger."

Lira sighed, shaking her head. "Of course." Experience new stories with novelbuddy

______

The underground tunnels beneath Luthadel were ancient, winding beneath the city like the veins of a forgotten corpse. The damp air clung to the walls, thick with the scent of mildew, old stone, and something faintly metallic—water, or maybe something worse. Shadows stretched and curled around their flickering lantern, playing tricks against the uneven brickwork.

Mikhailis moved through the dim corridors with Lira and Rhea flanking him. Lira walked ahead, her long ponytail swaying slightly as she studied the faded city map in her hands. Her elegant fingers traced the old ink, barely visible in the poor light, while her eyes remained ever sharp, scanning the path ahead for any signs of trouble.

Rhea, on the other hand, was far less composed. She kept a loose grip on the hilt of her dagger, eyes flicking toward every turn in the tunnel as if expecting something to lunge out of the dark. "I hope you're not just pretending you know where you're going," she whispered, wariness laced in her tone.

Lira didn't even glance back. "If I were pretending, we'd have already drowned in sewage."

"Comforting," Rhea muttered, adjusting the cloak draped over her shoulders. The dampness had already settled into the fabric, making it uncomfortably heavy.

Mikhailis stifled a grin, running a hand through his hair. "We'll be fine. If we get lost, I'll just start digging upward. You two can push me out first to see if it's safe."

Lira shot him a sidelong look, unimpressed. "You're assuming we'd bother digging you out."

Mikhailis clutched his chest in mock betrayal. "Lira, your loyalty wounds me."

"Good," she said dryly, stepping over a broken support beam that had collapsed into the pathway. "Perhaps you'll learn something from it."

Rhea rolled her eyes. "You two have the weirdest dynamic, you know that?"

Mikhailis opened his mouth to retort, but a distant sound made all three of them freeze.

A muffled thud echoed down the tunnel.

Lira halted, tilting her head slightly as she listened. Mikhailis tensed, watching the way her fingers subtly shifted near the concealed dagger at her waist. Rhea took a slow step forward, her free hand pressing against the damp wall, as if she could steady herself against the creeping sense of unease that had settled in the air.

Then—silence.

Mikhailis exhaled, releasing a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "Probably just the tunnels settling."

"Or something settling in the tunnels," Rhea muttered under her breath.

Lira pressed forward again without comment, and they followed.

The tunnels twisted into narrower paths, the ceiling sagging slightly in places where the stone had weakened over time. Patches of mold lined the walls, feeding on the moisture that dripped from unseen cracks above. The deeper they went, the stronger the feeling of unease became, an unspoken tension that none of them wanted to acknowledge.

Eventually, Lira stopped at a rusted metal grate blocking their path. Faint torchlight flickered on the other side, sending shadows dancing across the stone floor. Low murmurs reached their ears—voices, sharp and cautious.

Rhea motioned for silence and pressed against the grate, peering through the gaps. Her eyes narrowed. "Checkpoint. Not Technomancers—mercenaries."

Lira exhaled softly. "Hired muscle. Someone's making a move while the Technomancers are distracted."

Mikhailis tilted his head. "Great. Let's see if they like talking more than shooting."

With careful movements, Rhea reached for the latch and gave it a slow, controlled push. The metal groaned in protest, but the noise wasn't loud enough to alert the men beyond. Mikhailis stepped through first, hands casually at his sides, exuding the kind of lazy confidence that made it difficult for people to decide whether he was a threat or just another idiot in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The reaction was immediate.

Weapons were drawn, the mercenaries' stances shifting into aggressive readiness. The nearest one, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, took a step forward, his grip on his blade tightening.

Mikhailis didn't flinch, merely raising his hands in an exaggerated motion of surrender. "Gentlemen, please. No need for violence. We're just passing through."

The mercenaries weren't convinced.

"You shouldn't be here," the scarred man growled, his eyes flicking toward Lira, then Rhea, before settling back on Mikhailis. "You've got about ten seconds to explain why I shouldn't have you dumped in the river."

Rhea, always quick on her feet, stepped forward before tensions could spark. She raised her hands in a show of non-threat, her voice slipping into a casual, easygoing lilt. "Easy there, boys. We're just traders caught in the wrong place at the wrong time."

The scarred mercenary didn't lower his weapon. "Traders?" His gaze flickered toward Mikhailis's coat, then to Lira, then back again. "Fancy-looking for smugglers."

Lira smiled, slow and refined. The kind of smile that was equal parts charm and quiet warning. "What can I say? I have expensive taste."

The man's brow furrowed, but he didn't press further. His attention shifted slightly to one of the other guards—a wiry man with a nervous energy to him. The two exchanged a glance, something unspoken passing between them.

Mikhailis caught it instantly. They're on edge about something. More than just us.

The scarred mercenary exhaled through his nose. "You don't want to be here right now," he said, his voice lower this time. "Whatever business you think you have in the city—it's not worth it."

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Rhea tilted her head. "And why's that?"

The man hesitated. His fingers drummed against the hilt of his sword, a restless motion. Then, finally, he muttered, "The Crownless House lost control of something big."

Mikhailis's smirk faltered just slightly.

That's ominous.

_____

Meanwhile, in the Technomancer Spire, Cerys and Vyrelda moved through the grand corridors with the ease of shadows. The Spire loomed high above the city, its intricate design blending ancient magic with ruthless technology. The interior gleamed with metallic walls and pulsating runes that cast an eerie blue glow over everything. The deeper they went, the more the air hummed with restrained energy, as though the entire structure was alive, watching, waiting.

Their disguises—stolen from fallen enforcers—blended them seamlessly into the controlled chaos of the lockdown. Dozens of Technomancer officers moved through the halls, speaking in hushed, clipped tones. Some carried heavy metallic cases marked with sigils, others whispered into crystalline communicators. The tension was thick, pressing down like the air before a storm.

Cerys adjusted the collar of her stolen uniform, her red ponytail tucked beneath the standard-issue helmet. She had always despised disguises, but stealth was necessary here. The Spire was the heart of the Technomancer intelligence network—one misstep, and they'd be dead before they reached the lower levels.

Vyrelda walked beside her, posture stiff but controlled, her sharp red eyes scanning their surroundings with practiced efficiency. Unlike Cerys, who carried herself like a seasoned warrior forced into deception, Vyrelda wore the disguise with unnerving ease. Her movements were precise, calculated—an elite knight who knew how to navigate enemy territory.

A squad of enforcers passed by, their boots clanking against the marble floor. Cerys tensed slightly, fingers brushing against the concealed dagger beneath her belt. But they didn't glance her way. The enforcers were preoccupied, their hushed conversation laced with urgency.

"Containment measures are holding—for now," one of them muttered.

"For now isn't good enough," another snapped. "The mist patterns are shifting. If it reaches the upper city—"

"We need to focus on him," the first enforcer interrupted. "The director believes he might be a catalyst."

Cerys felt her blood chill. They didn't say who he was, but she had a feeling it wasn't just some prisoner.

Vyrelda caught her gaze and gave a small nod. They had no time to waste.

They pressed onward, descending deeper into the Spire. The upper levels were lined with command rooms, research halls, and barracks filled with restless enforcers. But as they moved lower, the halls grew colder, quieter, as if the life of the building had been drained away.

The deeper levels weren't meant for ordinary personnel.

Vyrelda's grip tightened on the encrypted device hidden in her sleeve. "We don't have much time."

Cerys gave a sharp nod. "Then let's make it count."