The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Mikhailis, Vyrelda, Cerys, and Lira all stared at the massive bear that had stepped onto the road, blocking their path. It wasn't just any bear—the sheer size and the shimmer of its bristling fur gave away that it was no ordinary animal. It was a Bristlewood Bear, an endemic species of the Silvarion Thalor forests. Its bulk loomed almost three meters high, and the eerie, almost supernatural glow that pulsed along its shaggy fur indicated its [Duke] rank magical properties. There was a faint crackle of energy in the air around it, and Mikhailis couldn't help but arch an eyebrow.

Oh, this is going to be fun.

The bear let out a deep, rumbling growl, the air vibrating with its power. The tension in the carriage was palpable. Vyrelda's eyes narrowed as she looked at the beast, her expression hardening. She stepped forward without hesitation, her hand moving to the hilt of her sword.

"Stay back," she ordered, her tone brooking no argument. Her eyes locked on the bear, and her lips curved in what could almost be called a smile—the kind of smile that came from meeting a worthy opponent.

"Vy, be careful," Mikhailis called out, but his voice was casual, as if he were merely cautioning someone about a puddle on the street.

Vyrelda didn't answer, her eyes focused on the bear as she shifted into a stance, her weight balanced perfectly, her body ready to spring. The bear let out a roar, shaking the very ground they stood on, but Vyrelda was unfazed. Her movements were swift, almost elegant, her blade flashing as she charged forward.

With a graceful leap, Vyrelda closed the distance between herself and the Bristlewood Bear, her sword slicing through the air with pinpoint accuracy. The bear reared back, its massive claws crackling with energy as it swung them toward her. Vyrelda twisted her body, avoiding the strike by a hair's breadth, her agility almost inhuman.

"You've got this, Vyrelda," Mikhailis murmured, leaning against the carriage door, his lips curling into a smile.

The bear opened its mouth, letting out a deafening roar, a wave of elemental energy surging forth—the Elemental Roar. The force of it whipped through the air, the sheer power of it enough to make even the trees sway. Vyrelda remained calm, her footwork light, dodging the shockwave with an almost effortless ease. She darted to the side, her blade gleaming as it caught the light, and in one fluid motion, she swung at the bear's side, the metal biting into its thick fur.

The Bristlewood Bear snarled, its eyes burning with an almost intelligent rage. It swung its massive paw, and Mikhailis could see the crackling arcane energy that danced along its claws—Arcane Lightning, another signature of the species. But Vyrelda was ready. She ducked beneath the swing, her body a blur as she moved around the bear, her blade a silver streak.

"Alright, Vyrelda, don't overdo it," Lira muttered, her voice carrying a hint of exasperation.

She leaned back in the carriage, her eyes never leaving the fight.

"It's not a competition."

Vyrelda's lips twitched, her focus unbroken. With a final burst of speed, she shifted her weight forward, her body a blur as she lunged. The Bristlewood Bear's eyes widened, sensing the imminent danger, but it was too late. Vyrelda's blade arced downward with ferocity, her muscles straining as she delivered the decisive blow. The bear tried to twist away, its massive frame moving surprisingly fast, but Vyrelda was faster. She adjusted mid-strike, her blade finding the gap in its defenses, slicing cleanly through its bristling fur and cutting deep.

The Bristlewood Bear let out a deafening roar, a last desperate attempt to intimidate, its voice echoing through the clearing. The ground beneath them seemed to tremble, but Vyrelda stood firm, her eyes locked onto her target. The glow in the bear's fur flickered, the arcane energy dissipating as the creature's strength failed. With a guttural snarl, it collapsed, its legs buckling under its own weight, the life fading from its eyes as it slumped to the ground in a heap.

Vyrelda stepped back slowly, her breathing steady despite the intense exertion. She flicked her wrist, shaking off the blood from her blade, her gaze never leaving the fallen bear. Her expression remained calm, but there was a fire in her eyes—a spark of triumph that spoke of her satisfaction in the fight. She looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting Mikhailis's, and for a brief moment, her lips curled into a faint smile, her gaze almost daring him to say something.

Of course, she made it look easy, and this guy supposed to be a powerful [Duke] rank, Mikhailis thought, shaking his head with a smile.

But before Vyrelda could say anything, the trees rustled, and another bear stepped out from the forest. This one was slightly smaller but just as menacing, its eyes locked onto Vyrelda, its growl echoing through the clearing.

"Another one," Vyrelda said, her eyes lighting up, her grip tightening on her sword. She took a step forward, but Cerys's voice cut through the moment.

"I'll handle this one."

Vyrelda paused, glancing at Cerys, her expression a mix of surprise and curiosity. Cerys stepped forward, her sword drawn, her red hair swaying as she moved, her stance mirroring Vyrelda's earlier position.

"Are you sure?" Vyrelda asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

Cerys nodded, her gaze fixed on the bear.

"Positive."

The Bristlewood Bear let out a roar, its paws slamming into the ground as thorny vines erupted from the earth—a Bramble Surge, another of its abilities. The vines twisted and coiled, sharp thorns glinting in the light as they surged toward Cerys. She moved swiftly, her sword flashing as she cut through the vines, her movements precise and controlled.

She's not as flashy as Vyrelda, Mikhailis thought, watching closely.

But she's tactical—more about precision than power.

Cerys sidestepped the bear's next attack, her eyes narrowing with focus. Her sword moved in swift, controlled arcs, each strike finding its intended mark. The bear roared again, its paw swinging towards her with a force that could crush bones. Cerys ducked low, her body twisting gracefully as she avoided the attack, her blade slicing into the bear's side in a precise counter.

The beast roared in fury, its massive frame rearing up, attempting to intimidate her. Cerys was undeterred. She moved swiftly, her feet gliding over the uneven ground, her red ponytail swaying with each calculated step. She lunged forward, her blade cutting through the air, the metal glinting as it found its target once more. The Bristlewood Bear swung again, this time its claws crackling with energy, but Cerys danced around it, her movements fluid and deliberate, her focus absolute.

She could feel the power of the beast, the ground trembling under its weight, but she was relentless. Her attacks came in quick succession, her strikes deliberate, wearing down the bear bit by bit. She feinted left, drawing the bear's attention, then shifted her weight, her body flowing like water as she drove her sword into its side. The bear let out a roar, its eyes blazing with rage, but Cerys was already moving, her body spinning gracefully as she avoided its desperate swipe.

With each attack, she chipped away at the creature's strength, her sword finding its mark with precision. Unlike Vyrelda's raw aggression, Cerys fought with a quiet determination, her every movement planned, every strike efficient. The Bristlewood Bear let out another roar, its fury mounting, but Cerys sidestepped its lunge, her sword flashing as she brought it down in a final, decisive strike.

The blade found its mark, driving deep into the bear's neck. The beast stumbled, its massive frame shaking as its roar turned into a strangled whimper. Slowly, it crumpled, its legs giving out beneath it as it collapsed to the ground, defeated.

Cerys straightened, her breathing steady despite the exertion. She flicked her sword to the side, the blood splattering onto the grass as she looked back at Vyrelda. There was no need for words—the look they exchanged said enough. A silent acknowledgment of each other's strength, respect born from shared battle.

They're strong, Mikhailis thought, watching them. But there's room for improvement.

<Analyzing combat data. Vyrelda's style is raw power, efficient for overwhelming opponents but lacks finesse. Cerys, on the other hand, relies on tactical precision, but her approach may be inefficient against multiple foes. Suggest combining aspects of both styles for optimal efficiency.>

Mikhailis nodded, his eyes on the two women as they caught their breath. Rodion's analysis was on point, as usual. There was power there—raw, untamed power—but it needed refinement. He couldn't help but think about how he could help them improve, how he could sharpen their skills even further.

Maybe after all this, we'll have to do some training. A little refinement never hurt anyone.

"That was impressive," Mikhailis called out, his voice carrying across the clearing. Vyrelda looked back at him, her expression unreadable.

"Just doing my duty, Your Highness," she replied, her tone even.

Cerys sheathed her sword, her gaze shifting to Mikhailis, her eyes narrowing slightly.

"We should keep moving. There could be more of them."

Mikhailis nodded, pushing himself away from the carriage and stepping forward. But as he approached, he noticed something off about the carriage. One of the wheels was tilted at an odd angle, the wood splintered, the axle bent.

"Uh, Vyrelda," he called out, pointing at the wheel.

"I think we've got a problem."

Vyrelda frowned, walking over to inspect the damage. She knelt, her brow furrowing as she examined the wheel.

"It must have been struck during the fight," she said, her tone filled with frustration.

"The wood is damaged, and the axle's bent. We can't move like this."

Mikhailis sighed, running a hand through his hair.

Of course, it couldn't be that easy.

Cerys stepped forward, her eyes scanning the damage. She knelt beside Vyrelda, her expression thoughtful.

"Let me try," she said, her voice confident.

She reached for the wheel, her hands moving to straighten it. But the wood was fragile, the damage extensive. As she applied pressure, the wheel splintered further, a crack echoing through the clearing.

"Great," Cerys muttered, her tone filled with frustration.

"I think I made it worse."

Mikhailis chuckled softly, stepping forward, tools in hand, a grin spreading across his face.

"Alright, ladies," he said. "Leave this kind of work to me."