The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

"You were never Kain, were you?"

The laughter stopped.

Something shifted. A flicker of resistance, a deep internal battle playing out behind Kain's blank stare. His face contorted, mouth opening as if to speak, but no words came. His muscles trembled, jaw clenched so tightly it seemed like he was holding something in—something struggling to break free.

Then, like a switch had been flipped, it all changed.

The tension melted away. The struggle ceased. His body relaxed into the stone floor as though this was all some elaborate joke. His lips curled into a slow, taunting grin.

And then he spoke.

"You are all fucked, motherfuckers."

The room froze.

A ripple passed through every man present, not from the vulgarity of the statement, but from the way it was said. It wasn't Kain's voice. It wasn't anyone's.

It was wrong.

A twisted mockery of the man they had known, something just slightly… off. Like a voice imitating a human speech pattern but failing to get the tone right. The words dripped with amusement, but beneath them was something deeper, something unsettling.

Veylan did not react.

He merely observed, waiting.

Kain—or whatever had taken hold of him—tilted his head, his eyes gleaming with unspoken malice. He leaned forward despite the restraints, his posture eerily relaxed, as if he was lounging in a tavern rather than pinned beneath a dozen highly trained operatives.

"You should've killed me the second you had the chance," he mused, his voice lighter now, almost playful. "But you waited, you hesitated, and now? Now it's too late."

Veylan remained impassive, his gaze unwavering, but inside, calculations churned at breakneck speed.

This was not possession.

Not standard mind control.

Something worse.

_____

The chamber was thick with tension, the air heavy with the scent of burning incense and old parchment. The torches lining the walls flickered, their flames casting erratic shadows across the cold stone floor. The Order's mind alchemists worked relentlessly, their hands weaving through the invisible threads of Kain's consciousness, peeling back the layers of his mind with surgical precision.

They found none.

Nothing out of place. No gaps in his memories. No forceful tampering. No signs of crude mind control.

He was Kain Varros. A strategist of the Order. A devoted officer. A man who had bled and fought for their cause. He remembered his childhood—the dusty streets of Eredal where he had trained with wooden swords against the older boys. He recalled the sharp scent of leather and steel from the barracks where he had spent his youth honing his skills. He could recount the missions he had led, the battles he had won, the soldiers he had lost.

He did not remember betraying them.

He did not remember turning his blade against his comrade.

He did not recognize the voice that had spoken through his own lips.

But when pressed, when forced to confront his actions, something in him would change. His expression would flicker, like a candle caught in an unseen wind. His breathing would slow. And then, the voice would return.

Mocking. Taunting.

"You should've killed me when you had the chance."

Each time, his posture would shift—his muscles going taut, his lips curling into a smirk that didn't belong to him. It was as if something beneath his skin was trying to claw its way out, something that knew it had won long before they had even begun to fight.

Veylan stood in the shadows, watching. Calculating.

Malakar, never one for patience, finally snapped. He stepped forward, his massive frame casting a long shadow over the restrained figure of Kain. His voice was hard, sharp as a blade. "We kill him now before whatever this is spreads."

Veylan didn't look at him. His gaze remained locked onto Kain, watching the fractures in his mind shift like cracks in glass.

"Not yet."

Malakar exhaled through his nose, nostrils flaring. "You want to wait until whatever did this to him does it to someone else?"

Veylan finally turned, his expression as unreadable as ever. "I want to know who else has already been turned."

A silence fell over the chamber, heavy and suffocating.

One of the technomancers hesitated, their fingers trembling as they traced runes in the air above Kain's restrained body. Their face was pale, eyes darting between the Inquisitor and the imprisoned man before them.

"Sir…" the technomancer swallowed hard. "We found something."

The other alchemists, who had been quietly observing, snapped to attention. The air in the room seemed to constrict as Veylan stepped forward, his presence suffocating in its intensity.

"Explain."

The technomancer's voice was barely above a whisper. "His memories—there's a section that isn't missing, but… locked. As if someone sealed them behind an invisible wall."

That caught Veylan's full attention.

His gaze sharpened, the cold calculation in his eyes turning into something darker, something far more dangerous.

Memory locks weren't uncommon. The Order used them for their most secretive missions—agents who carried information too sensitive to be exposed, even under torture. But those were carefully constructed, crafted by experts, designed with clear markers.

This wasn't one of theirs.

Someone else had done this.

Someone who wanted Kain to remain useful… until the moment he wasn't.

Veylan's fingers tapped against the hilt of his dagger, considering.

"Unlock it."

The technomancer paled further. "Sir, if we break the seal without knowing how it was constructed—"

"Unlock it."

A moment of hesitation. Then the alchemists moved.

They began the delicate process, weaving through Kain's consciousness with threads of magic so thin they barely shimmered. It was like unraveling a tapestry woven with unseen hands, careful not to snap any single strand lest the entire mind collapse.

Kain's body twitched.

His fingers clenched against the restraints.

The voice—no, his voice—escaped his lips in a broken whisper.

"Don't."

Veylan's head tilted slightly. "Why not?"

A shudder ran through Kain's frame, his breathing turning ragged. He struggled against something unseen, his own body betraying him in slow, jagged movements. A choked sound left his throat, half a plea, half a growl.

"Because if you do…" His lips curled again, but this time, the smirk was broken, uneven. Not his.

"They'll know."

A ripple of unease passed through the room.

Veylan did not move. "Who?"

Kain's head snapped up, his eyes wide. "They'll know."

And then, his body convulsed. Read latest chapters on My Virtual Library Empire

The air in the chamber turned sharp, charged with something raw and unnatural. The alchemists recoiled as a sudden surge of power crackled through Kain's restraints, snapping some of the weaker sigils in place. His breath came in gasps, sweat rolling down his temples as he fought.

Not against them.

Against himself.

The moment stretched, thick with something unseen. Kain's lips parted, forming words that did not belong to him.

"They're already here."