The Eccentric Entomologist is Now a Queen's Consort

Chapter 471: Rodion Dungeon Exploration (3)

The corridor ahead trembled like a mirage. Blue?green light seeped through cracks in the stone, painting rippling reflections across mildew?stained walls. Rodion pivoted his torso, scanning progressively: ten meters—clear; twenty meters—ghost readings; thirty meters—abnormal mana saturation spiking off chart.

He stepped across the threshold and the dungeon changed.

Before him stretched a subterranean lake—if water could glow like comet ice. Liquid mana sloshed in lazy eddies, its surface so clear it mirrored stalactites above. At the shoreline, luminescent foam fizzed in slow braids.

Suspended over the lake, a chain of sigil platforms drifted like stepping?stones carved from solid light. Each tile flickered, pulsing with swirling glyphs that morphed every few seconds—letters dissolving into notes, notes into spectral arithmetic. The path threaded into darkness on the far shore, where pillars of quartz rose like organ pipes, humming deep chords that vibrated Rodion's ribs.

He cycled vision modes. Infrared revealed nothing—temperature uniform. Spectral overlay bled cascading symbols across his HUD. One detail snagged his attention: the nearest platform cast no reflection in the mirror?still lake. Illusion.

An ordinary adventurer might have tested by throwing a stone. Rodion preferred certainty.

From his bandolier he removed a Spectral Mirror Probe—a silver orb etched with fractal mirrors no wider than his thumb. He tossed it underhand, smooth as skipping a pebble.

The probe spun, catching stray mana beams that refracted like rainbow spokes. At the apex of its arc it froze, antigravs locking position. Mirror facets unfolded, scattering laser?thin rays in a widening dome. Where beams struck genuine surfaces they rebounded crisp; where they met dream?light they bent, doubling back.

An intricate web drew itself in midair. Real tiles gleamed steady, illusions fizzled as ghost outlines. A safe path zigzagged forward—but half the footholds changed every few seconds. Dynamic riddle, Rodion concluded.

He stepped out. Boot met solid glyphstone. The platform hummed—recognising weight—and a bright rune burst underfoot, sounding a single piano note.

Monkey's side?panel annotated: Key: F? Minor. Another glyph tile ahead shimmered, waiting.

Rodion toggled aural?mapping mode. A translucent staff flowed across his visor, notes blinking like fireflies. Each sigil ahead coalesced into a chord. He interpreted the sequence: rise by fourth, drop by major third, repeat.

If the floor wants a song, he thought, then let it sing through me.

He leapt—a small hop, cloak tails swirling. Another platform accepted him, chiming a bright C. He spun smoothly to land on the third tile—A?—exact interval preserved. Symbols beneath flared green—correct.

"Look at that timing," Mikhailis breathed, admiration soft. If he misses a note, those tiles probably vanish. Elowen squeezed his hand, unable to speak as the feed showed Rodion gliding—almost dancing—across living sheet music. Every impact was a beat, every pivot a measure.

Rodion's processors tracked two hundred variables: glyph rotation speed, mana tide height, acoustic latency echoing off cavern walls. He compensated mid?step when one tile dimmed half?beat early, shifting weight so lightly the platform barely rippled.

Somewhere in the dark lake, a current stirred—silver whirlpools trailing bioluminescent minnows. Rodion ignored them. Pattern first, dangers later.

Sigils ahead cycled again—melody modulating to a minor seventh. Rodion read the shift, shortened stride. The tile directly in front fizzed out—illusion. He lunged for the next, boot skimming just as the glyph solidified.

The platform rang a low G, vibrating like a gong struck under water.

Step. Step. Spin.

Halfway across the shimmering path, just as Rodion's boots landed on a fresh sigil that chimed a soft E?flat, stone began to move. The shift at first masqueraded as another harmonic vibration, but then the scraping grew teeth—granite grinding against itself in a staccato that did not belong to the song.

A robed statue on the lake's edge shuddered, showers of powder drifting from ancient joints. Fingers once clasped in prayer unclenched with brittle pops. Its head turned on a cracking neck, and a mouth—never carved to open—split wide, revealing rows of jagged stone teeth nested like serrated pages.

Rodion's danger grid lit a flaring red arc behind him. He did not pivot; breaking cadence could collapse the musical pathway. Instead he let fresh data spill across his visor: Animated Golem—Subtype: Mimic Proxy | Mass: 640?kg | Weakness: Paradox Logic.

Without diverting his gaze from the next glowing tile, he flexed his left wrist. A slim toggle clicked forward. Micro?cartridges liquefied and spat out as near?invisible strands. A blossom of motion?sensor webs unfolded overhead—fine filaments laced with amber runes that glowed hotter whenever they detected sudden acceleration.

The mimic hurled itself from the shore, robe?stone tearing away to show a ribcage of splintered granite. The webs intersected mid?leap, knitting together in a flash. In under a heartbeat the creature was cocooned, limbs splayed, torso bowing like a harp caught in its own strings. A few broken beard?chips pattered onto an illusion tile, which fizzled out of existence the instant debris touched.

Up in the royal suite, Elowen straightened, hand half?raised in reflex. The bluish light of Monkey's feed tinted her cheeks. Mikhailis held his breath, crumbs of pastry forgotten on his sleeve. One bad step and the melody breaks; but turning his back is worse.

A second thumb?flick ejected a coin?sized logic rune from a thigh compartment into Rodion's palm. He snapped his arm back—never missing the rhythm—flinging the disk in a neat curve. It embedded squarely between the mimic's gaping jaws with a flash of quicksilver.

A sharp hum rose, too high for mortal ears yet strong enough to shiver the mana lake. Monkey's sidebar populated lines of text in real?time:

[Mimic cognitive circuit engaged] [Injecting paradox seed]

Rodion's voice, level as metronome ticks, carried through the audio channel: <Mimic, solve: If the false floor is true, but the truth is a lie, where is the exit?>

The mimic convulsed. Carved eyelids fluttered like shutters in a gale. Rank mana sizzled against the rune's cold logic. Wisps of gray steam twined from ear slits, diffusing in fractal curls.

It tried to roar—managed a strangled syllable—then its eyes cross?hatched, pupils scraping new gouges into stone. The hum peaked, stuttered, then died in a whimper.

Hairline cracks etched across its torso. They widened in jagged lightning until the statue looked like crazed porcelain. One last spasm popped the webs; lattice strands recoiled, but the creature's consciousness was already tangled. With a hollow thunk, it toppled toward a non?solid tile. Illusion offered no purchase; granite and shimmering net plunged through the surface like lead through smoke.

The mana lake swallowed the mass silently. Concentric ripples lapped outward, glowing icy blue whenever they touched a genuine platform before fading into nightglass calm.

On the viewing couch, Elowen burst into delighted laughter, palm over her lips to soften the sound. "He bluffed a mimic into a coma," she gasped, eyes bright.

Mikhailis exhaled, equal parts awe and relief. "And sent it to detention without dropping tempo," he chuckled. Brilliant work, Sentinel.

Below, bubbles popped—air escaping shattered seams. A muted boom rolled up as the logic rune overloaded underwater, neutralising corrupted mana into harmless sparks. Turquoise streaks spiralled to the surface, fizzing out like dying fireflies.

Rodion never stopped moving. His boots tapped out the next interval: F, B?flat, D. He pivoted smoothly, cloak flaring in a half?circle before settling. Internal processors re?charted the melody; one ruined tile forked the harmonic route, but a secondary path opened three steps ahead. He selected it without pause.

Behind him, Scarab S?17 darted to the lake's edge, dipped a micro?probe, and sampled luminescent water near floating shards. Data beamed to Monkey: Corruption minimal | Silica harvest viable. The Scarab tagged the spot, then hurried back to escort formation.

Rodion's visor flashed Path Integrity Recalibrated. A fresh cluster of sigils materialised—a ring of octagons revolving around an unseen spindle. Each displayed a fragment of notation; together they wrote a four?measure loop that erased and rewrote itself every few seconds.

He leapt into the orbit, landing on a G?minor tile exactly as the chord resolved. The platform jerked, rotating faster, testing his balance. He slid one boot half a centimetre, maintaining centre of gravity. Two tiles later he made a controlled half?turn, landing backward so his optics covered the rear quadrant.

Upstairs, Mikhailis whistled low. "He's moon?walking over heliographs."

Elowen traced invisible notes in the air, matching the rhythm. In the glow she looked like a scholar inscribing living parchment.

Shards of the fallen mimic finally settled at the lake's bottom. Subtle tremors distorted reflections so stalactites above swayed like ghost kelp. Rodion logged the hydraulic shift, plotted contingency jumps, then dismissed the threat.

A second statue far off trembled—as though considering rebellion—then stilled, its mana core perhaps deciding caution was the better algorithm.

Rodion never glanced back. The song demanded full attention, and he surrendered none of it. Each step after was a silent duet: machine intellect translating ancient, living code.

Step. Step. Spin.

He did not look back.