The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis walked through the dark, narrow corridors of the fortress, led by two Goblin Champions, their heavy footfalls echoing against the stone walls. Their expressions were hard to read, a mix of wariness and respect. The champions kept a close eye on him, and Mikhailis knew that any wrong move might lead to a sudden attack. He couldn't afford that now, especially not with his recent evolution. He was still figuring out what this new form could do, and throwing himself into another fight was not part of the plan—at least, not yet.

The deeper they went, the more the atmosphere changed. The air grew colder, filled with an eerie kind of silence. The decorations—if they could even be called that—became more ominous. Skulls lined the walls, some of them goblin, others of different creatures. Mikhailis eyed them carefully, noticing that many of the skulls still had deep gouges and cracks, signs of brutal ends.

Nice place to hang out. Real cozy vibes, he thought with a mental scoff.

Finally, they reached a massive door made of reinforced wood, bound with heavy iron. One of the champions stepped forward, giving the door a rough push. It creaked open, the sound echoing down the long, empty corridors behind them.

Mikhailis was ushered inside, the door slamming shut behind him, leaving him alone with the presence that seemed to dominate the room. The Goblin Apostle sat upon a throne carved from dark wood, its form more of a twisted mass of roots and branches than a seat. The Apostle was massive, his wooden scales gleaming dully under the flickering torchlight. The dark aura around him seemed almost alive, shifting and pulsing like something that had a will of its own.

The Apostle's eyes fixed on Mikhailis, narrowing slightly as he studied him. Mikhailis could feel the weight of that gaze, the calculating look as the Apostle took in every detail of his newly evolved form. He resisted the urge to squirm, standing straight and looking back at the Apostle. He knew enough about power dynamics to understand that he couldn't appear weak here.

The Apostle finally spoke, his voice a rough growl, broken and simplistic as always.

"You... change. Grow... strong." The Apostle's lips pulled back, revealing sharp teeth, almost like a grim smile. "Show strength. Fight... Apostle."

Mikhailis blinked, processing what had just been said.

Wait... fight the Apostle? This is not exactly what I was hoping for when I got invited here.

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But the look in the Apostle's eyes left no room for negotiation. The challenge had been issued, and refusal wasn't an option.

He swallowed, giving a stiff nod.

"Yeah, sure. I'd love a friendly spar," he said, trying to keep his voice light.

"Nothing like some good old-fashioned... nearly dying to keep the day interesting."

The Apostle rose from his throne, his movements slow but deliberate. He gestured to the Goblin Champions who had remained at the door. They nodded, turning and moving with purpose, presumably to prepare the courtyard for the fight. Mikhailis watched as the Apostle stood to his full height—much taller than Mikhailis even in his evolved form—and felt his stomach twist slightly. This was going to be a challenge, to put it lightly.

"Fight... now," the Apostle growled, his voice reverberating in the enclosed space. Mikhailis took a deep breath, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Alright. I just need to make it out of this alive.

The Goblin Apostle led the way to the courtyard, and Mikhailis followed. The Goblin Champions moved ahead, clearing a path through the fortress, and soon enough, they arrived at the open space. The other goblins were already gathering, murmurs spreading through the crowd as they eyed Mikhailis. Their expressions were filled with excitement—and fear. They knew what their leader was capable of.

The champions began clearing the courtyard, the goblins moving back to form a wide circle. The space was quickly cleared, leaving Mikhailis standing in the center, facing the massive Apostle. A crude iron club was shoved into Mikhailis' hands, the metal cold and heavy. He tested the weight, frowning slightly. It wasn't exactly balanced, and the rough texture made it hard to hold. Across from him, the Apostle was given a much larger club—this one looked like a small tree trunk, with bands of iron reinforcing its massive bulk.

Mikhailis took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders.

Okay. I just need to remember my training. Stay focused, don't get smashed. Simple, right?

He could feel the weight of the goblins' gazes on him, their anticipation almost tangible. Memories of his past life flooded his mind—the hours spent training, the drills, the sparring matches with his instructors. He was good at this. He could do this.

The Apostle let out a roar, signaling the beginning of the fight. He moved faster than Mikhailis had anticipated, his massive frame charging forward, each step shaking the ground beneath him. Mikhailis' eyes widened, and he barely managed to throw himself to the side, the Apostle's club whistling through the air where his head had been moments before.n/ô/vel/b//jn dot c//om

Mikhailis scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding. The Apostle turned, his eyes locked onto Mikhailis, a growl rumbling in his throat. Mikhailis gritted his teeth, adjusting his grip on the iron club. He needed to keep moving—staying still was a death sentence against someone like this.

The Apostle swung again, the massive club coming down with enough force to split the earth. Mikhailis ducked, feeling the wind rush past his face as the club missed him by inches. He moved quickly, darting in and out of the Apostle's range, his eyes scanning for an opening. The goblins around them were cheering, their eyes wide as they watched the battle unfold.

"Come on, big guy," Mikhailis muttered, his voice barely audible over the noise.

"You can't expect me to just stand still and let you squash me."

He moved again, his body reacting almost instinctively. He ducked under another swing, then stepped forward, aiming a strike at the Apostle's side. The iron club connected with a dull thud, but the wooden scales covering the Apostle's body absorbed most of the impact, leaving only a shallow dent. The Apostle barely seemed to notice, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at Mikhailis.

"You... strong," the Apostle growled, his lips pulling back in what might have been a grin. He swung again, this time with both hands, the force behind the blow enough to make the ground tremble. Mikhailis dodged, the gust of wind from the swing almost knocking him off balance.

This is not going to work, Mikhailis thought, his eyes narrowing as he watched the Apostle.

I can't keep dodging forever. I need to end this... somehow.

He moved in again, his movements fluid and precise. He swung his club at the Apostle's knee, the iron making a solid impact. The Apostle let out a grunt, stumbling slightly, his balance momentarily lost. The goblins watching let out a collective gasp, and for a moment, Mikhailis thought he might have a chance.

But the Apostle recovered quickly, his eyes filled with fury. He growled, his pride clearly wounded, and launched a flurry of heavy attacks, each one faster and more powerful than the last. Mikhailis blocked and dodged as best as he could, but the relentless onslaught was taking its toll. His arms ached, his breaths coming in short gasps.

I need to end this, Mikhailis thought, his eyes darting around, looking for an opportunity.

He knew he couldn't win—not without drawing unwanted attention. He needed to lose, but he needed to do it in a way that wouldn't leave him dead.

The Apostle swung again, and Mikhailis saw his chance. He let the blow connect, the iron club slamming into his side. Pain exploded through his body, and he was sent sprawling to the ground, the world spinning around him.

The goblins erupted into cheers, their voices deafening as they watched their leader stand over Mikhailis, his chest heaving, his eyes filled with triumph. Mikhailis stayed down, wincing in pain but making sure to appear defeated. He could feel the bruises forming already, the ache in his ribs making it hard to breathe.

The Apostle grinned, his expression one of satisfaction. He stepped forward, extending a hand to Mikhailis, a sign of respect. Mikhailis hesitated for a moment, then took the Apostle's hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. The goblins cheered even louder, their admiration for both fighters clear.

The Apostle raised Mikhailis' arm, his voice a deep growl as he spoke.

"Variant... worthy. Fight... strong."

Mikhailis forced a smile, nodding as the Apostle spoke.

"Thanks, king. You're not too bad yourself," he said, his voice strained from the pain.

The Apostle nodded, his eyes serious.

"You... special. Have role... in battles."

Mikhailis felt a shiver run down his spine, his unease growing. He nodded again, trying to keep his expression neutral.

"Of course," he said, his mind racing.

Special role? This can't be good.

The goblins began to disperse, the excitement of the sparring match fading as they returned to their duties. The Apostle gave Mikhailis a final nod before turning and walking away, his massive form disappearing into the shadows of the fortress.

Mikhailis stood there for a moment, his body aching, his mind racing. He had survived—barely—but now he was in even deeper. The Apostle saw him as something special, and that meant more danger, more expectations.

He let out a sigh, wincing at the pain in his ribs.

"Now what's next..." he muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked around the courtyard, the reality of his situation sinking in once more.