The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis groaned as he woke up, blinking against the dim light seeping through the cracks in the stone ceiling above him. His entire body ached, a dull throbbing reminding him of the "friendly" sparring session with the Goblin Apostle. He shifted, feeling the rough fabric mat beneath him, a small comfort in the otherwise unwelcoming goblin fortress.

I'm still here, huh...

He sighed, slowly sitting up. His ribs twinged in protest, and he rubbed them absently, recalling the heavy iron club that had crashed into his side. The memory made him wince, but it wasn't just the pain from the fight that was on his mind—it was what had happened after.

The Apostle, in his toddler-like vocabulary, had declared him a worthy fighter and even given him a rank similar to that of a Goblin Champion. And now, he had around eighty goblins under his command, split into four groups of twenty. Mikhailis could hardly believe it himself. He was still just a hobgoblin in this weird, twisted world, and yet, somehow, he had managed to climb up the ladder of authority in such a short duration.

He let out a breath, running a hand through his disheveled hair. And realized that his bald head now have some hair, perhaps because of his evolution into hobgoblin.

The goblins were still treating him differently, like he was some kind of hero or leader. It made him uneasy, the way they looked at him now. Respect, fear, admiration—all emotions he'd seen before, but never like this. Not from goblins at least.

Standing up, he stretched his sore muscles, the ache making him wince again. He glanced around his designated area—a small corner with a mat and a few tattered blankets. He didn't have much to his name here, but it was better than nothing. The sound of activity from outside reached his ears, the usual chaos of the goblin fortress.

He stepped out of his corner, the cold air hitting his face, and made his way towards the main courtyard. The sun was barely up, but the fortress was already bustling with goblins running around, preparing for the day. Since the food storage had been burnt down, the goblins had become desperate for provisions. Mikhailis knew that they needed food if they wanted to continue their campaign against the humans, and that meant hunting—a lot of hunting.

Mikhailis walked to the center of the courtyard, where a group of goblins had already gathered. They were his—his group. Eighty goblins, divided into four groups, each led by a goblin he had somewhat reluctantly assigned as sub-leader. He watched them, their eyes wide with a mix of fear and expectation as they looked at him.

Alright, Mikhailis. Time to put on your leader hat. Or whatever it is goblins wear, he thought, suppressing a grin.

He could hardly take this seriously, but the stakes were too high not to.

"Alright, listen up," he said, his voice carrying authority, though there was a hint of his usual humor.

"We're going hunting. You all know how desperate we are for food, right? So I want no mistakes today." He paused, watching their reactions—mostly nods and murmurs of agreement.

"We'll be splitting up into our four groups. Follow your sub-leaders, and do not, I repeat, do not wander off on your own. You see a boar? You call for backup. You see a deer? You call for backup. You see something weird in the woods? You definitely call for backup. Got it?"

The goblins nodded, their eyes wide, and Mikhailis couldn't help but feel a strange sense of responsibility.

They're actually listening to me. Who would've thought.

The sun was just beginning to rise, painting the fortress in a dim golden light. Mikhailis watched as his groups began preparing, grabbing their weapons—mostly crude spears and clubs—and getting ready to head out. He noticed the coordination among the different units. There were goblin riders mounted on wolves, shamans muttering incantations, and scouts preparing to move ahead of the main hunting party. It was strange, seeing the goblins so organized. They weren't just a horde of chaotic creatures. They had structure—a purpose.

And then there was the lich. Mikhailis spotted it from the corner of his eye—a skeletal figure, cloaked in tattered robes, gliding soundlessly across the courtyard. The air around it seemed to grow colder, and the goblins gave it a wide berth, their eyes filled with fear. The lich was a reminder of the power behind the Goblin Apostle. It wasn't just brute force that made the goblin forces dangerous—it was dark magic, necromancy, and whatever else that lich could do.

I really don't want to find out what that lich can do, Mikhailis thought, suppressing a shiver.

He glanced down at his hands, frowning as he noticed the dark tattoos that now covered his arms. They were intricate, almost like vines wrapping around his skin. He remembered the fruit—the sinister-looking thing he had been forced to eat the previous night. After the fight with the Apostle, he had been praised, and then presented with that fruit. Refusing it wasn't an option, not with the Apostle standing right there, watching him.

He had eaten it, expecting something terrible to happen—maybe even death. Instead, he had felt a burning sensation in his throat, followed by a strange numbness. He had coughed, his vision blurring for a moment, but then... nothing. Except for these tattoos.

Mikhailis flexed his fingers, staring at the dark lines.

Maybe it gave me some kind of power? Dark magic, perhaps?

He tried to focus, to feel something—anything—but there was nothing. No surge of energy, no sense of magic. Just the same soreness and exhaustion from the previous day.

"Guess I'll have to figure that out later," he muttered under his breath. Discover stories at empire

With a final glance at his groups, Mikhailis nodded to the sub-leaders.

"Alright, let's move out. Remember, stay in formation, and don't do anything stupid." He watched as the groups began to file out of the fortress, their movements surprisingly orderly. He took a deep breath, following them, his eyes scanning the forest that lay ahead.

The hunt began, and Mikhailis quickly found himself immersed in the task at hand. He directed his groups, sending scouts ahead to look for signs of game, positioning the riders to cut off any potential escape routes. His strategic mind, honed from years of tactical games and studying strategy as a prince, kicked in. He knew how to organize a hunt, how to maximize their chances of success.

And it worked. Within a few hours, they had managed to hunt several boars, a couple of deer, and even a few smaller creatures. The goblins were efficient, working together under Mikhailis' direction. They moved quickly, their actions coordinated, and for the first time, Mikhailis felt a strange sense of accomplishment. He had led them, and they had succeeded.

Maybe I'm not so bad at this after all, he thought, watching as the goblins gathered the game, preparing to bring it back to the fortress.

The return to the fortress was met with cheers. The other groups had also returned, but none had managed to bring back as much as Mikhailis' group. The goblins looked at him with even more admiration now, their eyes wide with respect. Mikhailis couldn't help but feel a twinge of pride—as strange as it was to be proud of leading goblins.

The food was brought to the center of the courtyard, and the goblins began to gather around, preparing to eat. Mikhailis watched as they started to tear into the raw meat, their teeth gnashing at the bloody flesh. He wrinkled his nose, the sight and smell making his stomach turn.

There's no way I'm eating that, he thought, his expression one of disgust. He glanced around, then made his way towards the pile of game, grabbing a piece of boar meat.

"Alright, you lot, step aside," he said, waving the goblins away.

"I'm going to show you how to actually cook this stuff."

The goblins looked at him, confused, but they obeyed, stepping back and watching as Mikhailis set to work. He found a flat stone, placing it over the fire, and began to cook the meat, using some of the herbs he had seen growing near the fortress. It wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. He worked quickly, his movements efficient, his mind focused.

The smell of the cooking meat began to fill the air, a rich, savory aroma that was a stark contrast to the usual stench of raw flesh. The goblins watched, their eyes wide, their mouths watering. Mikhailis couldn't help but grin, the sight of their eager faces almost amusing.

"See? This is how you do it," he said, flipping the meat over, the sizzling sound making his mouth water. He hadn't realized how hungry he was until now.

The first piece was done, and he took a bite, the flavor bursting in his mouth. It wasn't perfect—not without proper seasoning—but it was a hundred times better than what the goblins usually ate. He handed a piece to one of the goblins, watching as it took a cautious bite. The goblin's eyes widened, and it let out a pleased grunt, nodding eagerly.

Word spread quickly, and soon enough, the Goblin Apostle himself appeared, his massive form looming over the courtyard. He looked down at the cooking meat, then at Mikhailis, his eyes narrowing.

"Food... smell good," the Apostle said, his voice a low growl.

"You... cook. Give Apostle."

Mikhailis nodded, quickly grabbing another piece of meat and handing it to the Apostle. The Apostle took it, sniffing it cautiously before taking a bite. His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded, a pleased grunt escaping his lips.

"Good... food," he said, his voice approving.

"You... cook more. For all."

Mikhailis blinked, taken aback.

Wait, you want me to cook for everyone? He glanced around, seeing the eager faces of the goblins, their eyes wide with anticipation. He let out a sigh, shaking his head.

"Alright, alright. But I'm going to need some help," he said, motioning to the goblins.

"You, you, and you—start gathering more firewood. And you—go find some more herbs. We're going to need a lot more if we're feeding everyone."

The goblins nodded, rushing off to follow his orders. Mikhailis set to work, directing the others on how to prepare the meat, showing them how to cook it properly. It was chaotic, but there was a strange sense of camaraderie in the air. The goblins worked together, their usual bickering forgotten as they focused on the task at hand.

As the sun began to set, the courtyard was filled with the smell of roasting meat, the fires casting long shadows on the stone walls. The goblins sat around, eating the food that Mikhailis had helped prepare, their expressions filled with satisfaction. For the first time, there was a sense of unity among them—a sense of community.

Mikhailis watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips. He had managed to bring them together, even if it was just for a meal. It was a small victory, but it was something.

He leaned back, his eyes scanning the courtyard, taking in the sight of the goblins eating, laughing, enjoying themselves. And then, an idea began to form in his mind—a dark, dangerous idea. He looked down at his hands, the tattoos still visible on his skin, and then at the food the goblins were devouring.

This is good, he thought, his eyes narrowing slightly.

Perhaps I could poison everyone within the base by poisoning their food.

He let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. It was a risky plan—a desperate one—but it might just be his way out of this mess.