The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis barely had time to draw breath as Vyrelda launched another strike at him, her blade cutting through the air with a speed that seemed impossible for a weapon of its size. Each strike carried such force that the ground under him shuddered when it missed, and Mikhailis found himself constantly on the defensive. His newly evolved body strained under the barrage; every muscle felt like it was ready to snap under the pressure.

She's just too strong, Mikhailis thought as he ducked beneath a horizontal slash, the blade passing mere inches above his head.

He rolled to the side, his hands brushing against the cold earth, and quickly regained his footing. Vyrelda was already advancing again, her eyes focused, determined, her expression calm despite the ferocity of her attacks.

Mikhailis swung his club upwards, barely managing to parry her downward strike. The impact jarred his arms, the shock reverberating up his shoulders, and he let out a strained breath. He had to admit, her precision and power were unmatched. Every move was precise, and there was no wasted effort—just a wellspring of raw power behind each blow.

But Mikhailis wasn't helpless. His time as the Ruslanian Prince had taught him more than just diplomacy and charm; it had taught him how to fight—to survive. He sidestepped another slash, using his smaller size to slip into Vyrelda's blind spot. He swung his club, aiming for her unguarded back, but Vyrelda twisted, her blade catching his club in mid-swing. She redirected his attack with almost insulting ease, her strength enough to send Mikhailis stumbling back.

Alright, focus, he told himself, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. I just need to stay alive... somehow.

Vyrelda wasn't giving him any time to recover. She lunged, her sword slicing through the air. Mikhailis barely raised his club in time to deflect the strike. His arms trembled as the force of her blow sent a shockwave through his body. He felt the ground slip beneath his feet, his balance nearly lost. Her strikes were relentless, each one pushing him closer to the edge.

"You're fast, for a goblin," Vyrelda remarked, her voice almost casual. There was a spark of amusement in her eyes, but Mikhailis could tell she wasn't playing around. She was testing him, her strikes probing his defenses, looking for any sign of weakness.

"Thanks," Mikhailis muttered, sidestepping another strike.

"I'll take that as a compliment." He twisted his body, dodging just in time to avoid her next attack. The blade skimmed past his side, close enough for him to feel the cold bite of steel.

Damn, she's fast.

He spun away from her, his feet moving instinctively, his body flowing through the movements of a form he had learned as a prince. Every step, every dodge, was calculated—a dance of survival. He could feel the strain, the exhaustion pulling at him, but he pushed it aside. He had to keep moving, had to keep dodging, because one clean hit and it would be over.

Vyrelda pressed forward, her strikes fast and vicious. Mikhailis kept up, his body moving on instinct, his mind focused entirely on surviving her relentless assault. He parried one of her strikes, then ducked beneath another, his breathing coming faster, more ragged. He couldn't keep this up for long—not without some kind of plan.

He needed a way out, and he needed it fast.

Suddenly, an idea flashed in his mind.

The goblins.

They could be useful—if he could distract Vyrelda, even for just a moment, it might give him the opening he needed.

Mikhailis took a step back, quickly turning his head towards the goblins that were standing nearby, watching the fight with wide eyes. He shouted in the Goblin tongue, his voice commanding.

"Attack the humans! Now!"

The goblins hesitated, their eyes flickering between Mikhailis and Vyrelda. There was fear in their expressions—fear of Vyrelda, fear of the knights, fear of the entire situation. But Mikhailis' voice carried authority, and after a moment, they obeyed, surging forward with their weapons raised.

The knights, initially caught off guard by the sudden rush of goblins, quickly rallied to defend themselves. The clash of steel rang out, the sound echoing through the forest. The goblins fought with reckless abandon, their crude weapons clashing against the knights' polished armor.

Mikhailis felt the pressure lift, if only slightly. With the goblins engaging Vyrelda's knights, he could focus more on his own fight. Vyrelda's gaze flickered briefly towards the chaos, her eyes narrowing, but she didn't hesitate. Her sword swung at Mikhailis again, and he had to jump back, his feet barely leaving the ground in time to avoid her blade.

"Trying to use your underlings as a distraction, huh?" Vyrelda said, her voice almost mocking.

"Not a bad strategy... for a goblin."

"Yeah, well," Mikhailis replied, panting as he blocked her next strike.

"I've got a lot of tricks up my sleeve."

He swung his club, aiming for her side, but Vyrelda blocked it easily, her blade catching his weapon and pushing it aside. She moved in close, her eyes locked onto his, her expression serious.

"But tricks won't be enough against me."

Mikhailis gritted his teeth, stepping back and raising his club in defense.

She's right.

He could feel his energy waning, his muscles straining under the effort of keeping up with her. Each strike she made felt like it could break him, and it was only through sheer luck and years of training that he was still standing.

Vyrelda's attacks came faster, her sword glowing faintly with a soft blue light. She swung her sword in graceful arcs, her movements smooth, almost effortless. Each strike was powerful, calculated, and carried an incredible force—enough to shatter bone if it connected cleanly.

Mikhailis dodged, ducking behind a thick tree, the bark splintering under Vyrelda's strike. He moved around the tree, using it as cover, keeping his distance as best as he could. He was running out of options. His body was growing tired, his movements slower, less precise. But he had to keep going—he couldn't afford to stop.

Vyrelda moved like a force of nature, her eyes locked onto him, unrelenting. Mikhailis ducked under another swing, then leapt over a root, his body twisting to avoid her blade. He knew he was running out of room—running out of time. He had to come up with something, and fast.

Mikhailis darted between two large trees, turning to look at Vyrelda. She was following, her eyes focused, her sword held in front of her. He needed a way to break her rhythm—something that could give him even a moment's advantage.

The goblins around them were barely holding their ground against Vyrelda's knights. The sounds of battle—the clashing of steel, the shouts and screams—echoed through the forest, a chaotic symphony of violence. Mikhailis could see that they wouldn't last much longer. He needed to end this skirmish, and he needed to end it soon.

He spotted a patch of uneven terrain ahead, roots twisting up from the ground, the earth unstable. A plan began to form in his mind. He would have to lead Vyrelda there, use the terrain to his advantage, and create an opportunity to disengage.

He moved, his feet swift as he led Vyrelda towards the patch of uneven ground. She followed, her expression unwavering, her eyes locked onto him. Mikhailis could feel his heart pounding in his chest, his breaths coming faster, his body aching. But he pushed forward, focusing on his plan.

Vyrelda swung her sword in a powerful downward arc, her blade aimed directly at Mikhailis. He sidestepped at the last moment, his movements quick, his body twisting away. Her blade struck a thick root, the force of the blow lodging it in place.

Mikhailis saw his chance. He swung his club, aiming for her side. Vyrelda twisted her body, her armor taking the brunt of the blow. She pulled her sword free, her eyes narrowing, her stance shifting to a more defensive posture.

"Not bad," Vyrelda said, her voice calm, though her eyes were sharp.

"But you'll have to do better than that."

Mikhailis stepped back, his breathing ragged. He knew he couldn't keep this up. He had to retreat, and he had to do it now.

"Retreat!" Mikhailis shouted, his voice loud, making it sound like a panicked order. The goblins hesitated for a moment, then began to fall back, their movements disorganized. Mikhailis took a step back, feigning fatigue, his body slumping slightly. He made sure his breathing was labored, his face showing exhaustion.

Vyrelda paused, her eyes studying him, her expression unreadable. Mikhailis could see the gears turning in her mind, evaluating whether to pursue. He caught her hesitation and took advantage of it, stumbling back, allowing the distance between them to grow.

"Retreat!" Mikhailis called out again, his voice carrying through the forest. The goblins obeyed, falling back in a chaotic manner, their weapons clattering as they moved. Mikhailis watched them, his eyes scanning the battlefield, making sure that all of his goblins were retreating.

Vyrelda stood still, her eyes narrowed, her sword held at her side. Mikhailis could see the conflict in her eyes—the decision of whether to pursue or not. She glanced towards her knights, some of whom had sustained injuries, their movements slower, their expressions pained. Mikhailis knew she wouldn't risk it—not with her knights injured and the forest terrain working against her.

She allowed the goblins to withdraw, her eyes locking onto Mikhailis one last time. There was something in her gaze—a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. As if she were committing his face to memory, trying to understand who he was.
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Mikhailis took another step back, then turned, following his goblins as they retreated into the forest. His heart pounded in his chest, his body aching, but he forced himself to keep moving. He didn't look back, not until they were well away from Vyrelda and her knights.

When they finally stopped, Mikhailis let out a breath, leaning against a tree, his body trembling from exhaustion. He looked at his goblins, their eyes wide, their expressions a mix of fear and awe. They had survived—barely. And now they were retreating, alive, but shaken.

Mikhailis closed his eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

Now this is enough. This is good. He opened his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"Damn, that was scary as hell."