The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Chapter 266: The Drunk Strict Knight

The forest was alive with the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional rustle of leaves, creating an eerie yet serene backdrop. Mikhailis and Cerys moved cautiously, their footsteps muffled against the damp earth as they tried to slip away unseen. Each step felt like a gamble, the tension between them palpable as they crept further from the clearing. Mikhailis’s sharp eyes darted toward every shadow, his mind calculating their next move while he fought the growing unease in his chest.

We just need to get past this stretch, he thought, his grip tightening on Cerys’s arm as he guided her around a protruding root. Her steady breathing beside him was the only reassurance amidst the suffocating silence.

Then it happened.

A faint rustle, barely audible but enough to send a spike of dread through him. His foot had snagged a stray twig, the snap echoing louder than it had any right to in the stillness of the night. For a moment, it felt as though even the crickets stopped their song.

"What was that?" Vyrelda’s slurred voice cut through the silence like a blade, jarring and unbalanced yet carrying the sharp edge of suspicion. It was the voice of someone teetering between feral anger and unrestrained madness.

Mikhailis froze, his breath catching in his throat. He glanced at Cerys, who stared back at him with wide, alarmed eyes. They exchanged a silent plea for escape before her gaze flicked toward the source of the voice. The weight of their situation hung heavily between them.

"You hear that?" Vyrelda’s voice rose again, tinged with an unsettling mix of drunkenness and anger. The sound of her boots crunching against the forest floor grew louder, each step a hammer striking the fragile glass of their escape.

"Run," Mikhailis hissed, his voice barely audible but firm. He didn’t wait for a response, grabbing Cerys’s hand and pulling her into a desperate sprint. Their sudden movement sent leaves scattering behind them, the sound mingling with their hurried breaths.

Vyrelda’s shout followed them, a sharp cry that made the hairs on the back of Mikhailis’s neck stand on end. "You think you can sneak away from me?" she bellowed, her words slurring but no less intimidating, like a predator stalking its prey.

The air shifted.

Mikhailis felt it before he understood it—a weight, oppressive and suffocating, bearing down on them like a tidal wave. His heart skipped a beat as an almost primal fear clawed at the edges of his mind. M-Murderous intent!? It was unlike anything he had ever felt, not just an aura but a tangible force pressing down on him, like the air itself had turned against him. It struck with the ferocity of a physical blow, freezing the blood in his veins and locking his muscles in place as if his body refused to move.

His legs felt like lead, an unnatural heaviness rooting him to the spot as though even the earth conspired to trap him. A cold sweat broke out across his skin, each bead carrying with it the creeping realization of their peril. The oppressive force seemed to crush his lungs, making every breath a laborious task as panic threatened to consume him.

Beside him, Cerys’s grip on his arm tightened, her usual stoic demeanor shattered.

"What... what is that?" she whispered, her voice trembling and uncharacteristically fragile, betraying the raw fear that had overtaken her.

Mikhailis forced himself to move, his teeth gritted in defiance of the invisible weight.

This isn’t the time to freeze up. Move, damn it! He tightened his hold on Cerys, his mind racing to find a way to escape the suffocating presence.

"Keep running," he managed, his voice strained but urgent. Every step forward felt like wading through a storm of crushing waves, the sheer intensity of Vyrelda’s intent gnawing at his resolve. His eyes darted to her figure illuminated by the pale moonlight, a silhouette that radiated chaotic power, her posture unsteady but her aura sharp enough to cut.

Vyrelda’s aura wasn’t just a presence—it was a predator’s gaze magnified, wild and chaotic, digging into their instincts and forcing every nerve to scream danger. The very air around her seemed to twist and ripple, vibrating with her raw emotion. It clawed at their resolve, stripping away any semblance of control and leaving only the primal urge to flee.

His mind scrambled for a solution, his thoughts racing faster than his feet.

Finally, he spotted a large rock jutting out of the ground, its shadow looming like a protective guardian.

"There!" he hissed, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his own heart. Gripping Cerys’s wrist, he pulled her toward the jagged outcrop, their footsteps skidding on the damp forest floor.

They dove behind the rock, pressing their backs against its cold, uneven surface. The chill seeped through their clothes, a stark contrast to the heat of their frantic escape. Mikhailis’s chest heaved as he struggled to steady his breath, his sharp eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of Vyrelda. Beside him, Cerys was equally winded, her usual composure shattered as she gripped the edge of the rock, her knuckles white.

"She’ll find us," Cerys whispered, her voice trembling with uncharacteristic vulnerability. The faint moonlight caught the beads of sweat on her brow, illuminating her fear.

"Not if I can help it," Mikhailis muttered, forcing himself to think through the adrenaline and terror clouding his mind. His gaze darted to their surroundings, desperate for inspiration. The forest was sparse here, offering little in the way of cover. His eyes fell on a discarded pile of camp debris—a mask, some frayed ropes, and crude wooden stakes—a spark of an idea igniting in his mind.

It’s insane, but it might work, he thought, his hands already moving to gather the items. He worked quickly, his fingers trembling as he tied the stakes together to create a rough humanoid shape. The mask completed the figure, giving it an unsettling goblin-like appearance.

"What are you doing?" Cerys hissed, her green eyes narrowing in disbelief. "She’s going to be here any second!"

Mikhailis’s sharp gaze scanned the scattered remnants near the forest floor. A discarded mask, some frayed ropes, and a few broken stakes—nothing extraordinary, yet in his hands, they were about to become a lifeline. His mind raced, piecing together the image of the goblin figure as he crouched down and gathered the items with deft movements.

"Buying us time," he muttered, his tone firm but quiet. His fingers closed around the mask first, its rough, weathered texture igniting the memory of Vyrelda’s fateful encounter with the Goblin King. He traced the cracks along its surface, imagining the figure he needed to recreate. It’s crude, but it’ll have to do.

"What are you doing?" Cerys hissed, her green eyes wide with urgency as she crouched beside him, glancing nervously over her shoulder.

"Trust me," Mikhailis replied without looking up, his hands already in motion. His voice carried a determination that left no room for doubt.

This has to work.

The broken stakes became the goblin’s limbs. With quick, deliberate movements, Mikhailis lashed them together using strips of fabric torn from his sleeve. Each knot was tight, the kind of precision born of years spent crafting tools for his insect terrariums back in his old life. The stakes wobbled as he adjusted their angles, bending one slightly to mimic a hunched posture.

"The arms need to be shorter, or it won’t look right," he muttered to himself, breaking off the end of one stake with a sharp snap. He winced at the noise but didn’t stop. He fastened the shortened piece to the torso with more fabric, tying it in a series of quick, practiced knots.

Cerys stared, equal parts skeptical and impressed.

"Are you seriously making a—"

"A goblin, yes,"