Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Taste was known for running his mouth, and he clearly hadn't expected Dexter to throw hands after only a couple of lines.

He immediately realized something was off with Dexter, but Dexter's fist was already flying. A top-tier war insect's punch was no joke—Taste instinctively braced himself and fired back.

Dexter's attacks were all over the place—fast one second, slow the next. He seemed to know he was losing it and was fighting to pull himself back, but when you're that close to snapping, hitting the brakes is never easy.

The fight between the two war insects was controlled but brutal—the air filled with the dull thud of fist meeting flesh. Taste tried several times to fish a psychic stabilizer out of Dexter's gear, but Dexter blocked him every time.

To make it worse, because he was distracted trying to grab the vial, Dexter landed several hits right on the connection point where his prosthetic met his stump. Each hit sent searing pain shooting through the joint, and Taste was starting to get pissed. He was even considering using the hidden bone spur behind his knee to teach this ungrateful idiot a damn lesson!

Yor, watching from the sidelines, was getting worried too. The fight wasn't loud, but the waves of a mental sea spiraling out of control were impossible to miss. If Taste's brother completely lost control, getting aboard that starship to leave the Purification Department would be nearly impossible!

Yor never let a chance slip by.

Seeing Dexter's mental sea getting worse by the second, Yor gritted his teeth, turned slightly, and pressed hard into the sore spot.

Pain exploded—then, with a soft pop, something let loose.

A gland that should have been coaxed open with the gentlest care by the most perfect, beloved mate was instead being forced open by its own owner, rough and desperate. Trembling through the agony, a single drop of thick, golden nectar oozed out.

Yor quickly swiped it up with a test strip he'd swiped from the lab. Even with his voice trembling with pain, he called out urgently: "Taste! Hold him still—just give me three seconds!"

Taste, who'd been quietly planning to go for a killing blow, didn't hesitate. He twisted his body, and the hidden bone spur on his metal thigh shot out with a sharp snikt, slamming clean into Dexter's spine. The war insect, mid-rampage, froze on the spot.

Yor was quick, shoving the nectar-soaked strip into the insect's mouth.

Powerful muscles had already pushed the bone spur back out, and the insect, back in control of his body, instinctively tried to spit the thing out.

Then he froze.

This... this was...

He clamped his lips shut, then instead greedily sucked the whole strip into his mouth, savoring it.

An indescribable sweetness exploded across his tongue, spreading down his throat, along his spine, down to the base of his tailbone, and finally reaching his mental sea. A pleasure so sharp it was almost painful exploded in his mind.

Dexter's mental sea had been a mess for a long time. What should have been a clear, open space was now packed with thick, murky sludge. His mental energy was suffocating in there, barely able to move, and over time it had clumped up into lumps, making the blockage worse.

On the outside, it showed up as headaches, zoning out, and if left alone too long, full-on losing control.

And the repair pod... every insect winced at the mere mention of it. Even the toughest war insects would screw up their faces in disgust, some even wanting to puke.

Because the so-called repair pod worked on a brutally simple principle: it blasted the whole mental sea with specific frequencies, forcibly smashing the blockages apart.

Not only did it hurt like hell while you were in there, but you'd also come out dizzy and sore for another two or three days. Every "repair" was basically just another trauma to the mental sea.

So Dexter, like most war insects, avoided the pod unless he was on the battlefield or at his breaking point. Even if he did lose it, his buddies would just tie him up and toss him in—no big deal.

The experience of being in that pod was enough to make any insect want to bolt.

But now, feeling the blockage in his mental sea being washed away, a gentle force flowing through it like warm clouds brushing against every thread of his mental sea—Dexter wanted to lie down, to bury himself in a sweet dream, and even more than that...

If Taste hadn't been standing right there, the big insect might have already been sobbing and whimpering.

His mental sea had never felt this clean and good since the day he was born.

Dexter stood there, dazed. His body was there, but his mind had already floated off somewhere.

Taste didn't dare move either. Dexter had stopped struggling, but a mental sea meltdown wasn't something that fixed itself that fast. Better to keep a grip on his neck and see what happened.

Yor could sense mental seas better than most. The war insect's mental sea, which had been a muddy swamp moments ago, had turned into a clear spring, gently flowing.

He let out a relieved breath and stepped in front of the towering war insect, speaking earnestly: "Hello, I'm sorry. I'm a failed experiment from the Broodmother project. Taste felt sorry for me, so he wanted to bring me along."

Dexter stared at Yor's face, his brain still trying to catch up. When the words finally sank in, his expression got even weirder. Felt sorry for him? Since when did his brother have a soft spot for anyone? He was the type to kick a random insect just for the hell of it.

But wait—Broodmother experiment... Oh, a Broodmother. That made sense...

As Dexter's thoughts wandered somewhere strange, high above on the starship, War Lord Leonius snapped his eyes open.

That smell... a Broodmother?

The scent vanished as fast as it had appeared. Leonius's face turned serious. Had the Purification Department actually made a Broodmother?

Even though he'd already agreed to their price and the starship was now hovering over Purification territory, Leonius didn't believe for one second that their lab had made a Broodmother.

Not at all.

A Broodmother—the miracle and faith of the whole insect race—couldn't just be "experimented" into being. And the Purification Department claimed they'd made five.

Enough for each department to get one.

Ridiculous.

Leonius had only agreed to come because he figured it was some kind of substitute—like the synthetic pheromones from back in the day. They couldn't fix the root problem, but they could at least take the edge off for lower-ranked insects.

Besides, the War Department had money to burn. Buying one experimental product was nothing.

But that smell just now...

Thinking back to that brief scent, Leonius couldn't sit still. After a moment, he opened his terminal and gave the order: "Throw a banquet to welcome the Broodmother. Make it fast."

The lord's order rippled down the chain of command, and the whole starship jumped into action.

Dexter got the message too. As deputy commander of the Lord's Seventh Guard, he was in charge of the Broodmother's security once she arrived.

The terminal flashed urgent yellow lights, signaling how important the mission was. Dexter should've gone back to his post right away and started getting his team organized.

But he couldn't move a muscle.

A lifelong stickler for discipline, someone who'd climbed to the lord's side young and carved out a spot on the lord's starship—Dexter was one of the most self-controlled insects in the whole War Department.

But right now, his feet might as well have been nailed to the floor.

Yor was confused. This insect was staring right at him, looking shocked and urgent, but mostly just completely dumbstruck.

Yor had no idea what he was thinking. What mattered more was whether he'd get on that ship. He put on his most sincere face, the same one he used when feeling out clients: "Can you give me a spot? I'll be quiet once I'm on board, I swear I won't cause any trouble..."

Right. The ship. He had to get this precious Broodmother back to the War Department.

The war insect, his mental sea back to normal, twisted out of Taste's grip with ease.

Taste instinctively tried to grab him, but Dexter turned and put his dumb brother on the ground with one move. "I'm fine now. Stay here."

Ignoring Taste, who was lying on the ground questioning his whole life, Dexter turned to Yor.

He'd already accepted in his head that this was a Broodmother, but a war insect who'd never learned to soften his voice still spoke in that gruff, stiff tone:

"You'll have to stay in the monitoring cabin." The monitoring cabin had one bug per room, more comfortable than the family cabin where several bugs were crammed together.

"You can't go down to the lower three decks." The lower three decks were filled with soldiers heading home on leave, hard to manage during leave, and who knew what they might do to the precious Broodmother.

"Control your pheromones." More importantly, control that honey that makes bugs' hearts race, heads spin, and nearly forget their duties, or else a swarm of bugs will drain you dry.

In the monitoring cabin he was in charge of, Dexter picked the most spacious and comfortably arranged one. The Broodmother didn't have a terminal, so Dexter could only send the key to Taste.

Watching the Broodmother look wary but still nod gently at him, Dexter barely suppressed the urge to kneel and kiss her fingers in farewell. With extraordinary willpower, he left, glancing back every few steps.

A few steps later, he still felt uneasy, turned around, and said sternly, "Your honey, never take it out casually." He pointed at Taste, who was on the ground nearby. "Including him."

Dexter's terminal was already buzzing; his subordinates had been looking for him and sent a communication.

Burying the attachment, worry, and reluctance in his heart, Dexter turned and walked away, leaving Taste's indignant shouts behind.

As for Yor, he hadn't really understood what the monitoring cabin was, nor did he know how to use the key. He could ask Taste about those, but honey? Not supposed to give it to anyone?

He couldn't help but let out a soft, surprised sound: "Huh?"

The sound was soft, like a small pebble dropped into a deep pool.

Dexter, already several meters away, suddenly stopped in his tracks.

He stood there, back ramrod straight, his terminal still buzzing on his wrist, the yellow light blinking, urging him to get back to his post.

But he didn't leave.

He just stood there with his back to Yor for two seconds, or maybe longer, then turned around.

Yor's eyes widened slightly, and he instinctively wanted to take half a step back, but before the thought even formed, Dexter had knelt down before him.

The dull thud of knees hitting the floor was quiet, but Yor felt something hit his chest.

"Don't worry, you'll get back to the War Department. For anything else, I'm at your command anytime."

Dexter's voice was hoarse, as if something hot, held back for too long, was surging up from his throat.

Yor opened his mouth but didn't know what to say.

He just instinctively hid the test strip he'd been clutching behind his back.

Taste's mouth hung open, and it took him a while to close it.

He wanted to say, "What the hell are you doing?"

Wanted to say, "Are you out of your mind?"

Wanted to say, "Dexter, have you completely lost it?"

But those words got stuck in his throat and finally came out as a single "...Ha?"