Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Before Taste could throw a fit, Dexter turned and left immediately. This time, he didn't dare look back—several incoming calls had already piled up on his terminal, and he truly couldn't delay any longer.

Behind him, Yor felt a twinge of guilt.

First honey—even Yor himself hadn't expected to just shove it into some bug's mouth like that.

And a near-total stranger, at that.

Back in the lab, Yor's mental power had never been idle; he'd carefully probed the surroundings for intel, and the data recorded by the experimenters made it abundantly clear that he was a stunted, disabled Broodmother.

And sure enough, that was the truth. After so many days of modification, he'd only managed to squeeze out this pitiful single drop of honey. Moreover, according to Taste, the honey of disabled Broodmothers like them might even be poisonous...

The situation back there had been truly dire. Although the moment he sensed that chaotic mental sea, Yor had inexplicably felt sure—his honey would work.

But that "feeling" came out of nowhere. It was only because of the insect race's ridiculously tough physiology—and the fact that Dexter was a High-Grade Insect—that Yor had dared to gamble.

As it turned out, the results were surprisingly good.

What Yor didn't realize was that this immediate effect wasn't just "good"—it was... enough to drive a bug crazy, to the point that even after returning to his post, Dexter couldn't get the Broodmother out of his head.

Remembering Taste's pathetic account balance, Dexter grew even more restless. While rushing to the defense point, he managed to transfer a big chunk of merit points to Taste. Though he didn't even have time to leave a message, he trusted Taste would get it—this was for spending on the Broodmother... right?

Still worried about his unreliable brother, Dexter got back to work with a stern face. His freshly cleansed mental sea made him exceptionally efficient, but that's a story for later.

As for Yor, regardless of everything, he'd earned the right to board the starship. And thanks to letting out his first honey, the glands that had been aching and swollen to the point of pain had now eased up a lot.

Yor pressed the back of his hand to his chest, confirming that the earlier discomfort had completely vanished. He couldn't help but feel a bit pleased—even going so far as to forget the pain now that it was done with, and starting to wish he could produce more honey—maybe... he could sell it?

Yor, constantly worried about making ends meet, was slowly losing his scruples. Behind him, Taste's face kept changing, unreadable.

That damn Dexter!

Yor was clearly an insect that Taste himself had found, yet Dexter had gone and arranged for him to stay in some monitoring cabin.

The so-called monitoring cabin was actually set up for soldier insects with messed-up mental seas. Though it did serve monitoring and isolation purposes, but really, it was meant to give soldier insects a quiet, private place to rest.

Taste knew damn well that staying in a monitoring cabin alone meant a much better environment than cramming in with other dependent bugs.

But that meant... he'd be separated from Yor.

Dexter did that on purpose!

He knew it all along!

Ever since they were young, no matter what Taste liked, that bastard Dexter would always grab it first.

From a small piece of cake to a laser cannon, he could never beat Dexter!

More importantly... Yor seemed to have a thing for Dexter too—he'd just fed him his first honey.

That was his first honey!

Forget the nutritional value—the meaning alone was completely different.

Compared to Dexter, who he'd just met, shouldn't Taste be the closer, more trustworthy bug?

The more he thought about it, the more pissed he got. Taste shoved his big face right up in Yor's face.

"Hmph!" Afraid Yor might not catch that he was upset, Taste showed off his sour face from every angle.

Facing Taste's obvious displeasure, Yor was... not surprised at all. He'd grown quite accustomed to this emotionally transparent, straightforward insect—he could even find it a little cute.

After all, this was the first bug to help him out after escaping the lab. Though the help had been a bit rough and direct, the fact that they'd made it safely to the spaceport so quickly was really thanks to this young bug.

Yor thought for a moment, not bothering to answer Taste's question directly. Instead, he reached up and cupped the face shoved in his, saying cheerfully, "Taste, we can go to the War Department together now!"

Sure enough, the young bug's eyes lit up right away. "That's right!"

He started rambling on again, "Even though the monitoring cabin's on the upper level and hard to get into, you'll still have to come out to eat. I'll come find you then..."

So easy to please.

Watching Taste's face light up, Yor suddenly had a bad feeling. He hesitated, then narrowed his eyes and asked, "Speaking of which, I've been meaning to ask... how old are you?"

"Huh? I'm sixteen, been in the army for two years now!"

Yor's hand went still.

He looked down at his palm still pressed against Taste's cheek—beneath it was the young insect's warm skin, his cheekbone fitting perfectly into the spaces between Yor's fingers.

Sixteen.

Just sixteen.

What was Yor doing at sixteen? That age felt so far away his memories blurred—high school uniform, basketball court, squeezing into a convenience store to buy water... in the end, it was all just kid stuff...

No.

This was different.

This was the insect race. A sixteen-year-old bug had already been in the military for two years. Not a kid.

But he still pulled his hand back.

Taste didn't get why Yor's face suddenly changed so much, but his body always moved faster than his brain. He immediately grabbed Yor's hand and pressed it back against his face. "What's wrong? Keep touching me—I like when you touch me."

Sixteen. No decent person should lay a hand on a sixteen-year-old. Though... he wasn't exactly human anymore either. But Yor still pulled his hand back with effort, using his last shred of decency to change the subject: "...Let's just get on the ship. I'm hungry."

The War Department's ship had a cold, no-nonsense style—even the lord's vessel wasn't fancy.

......

The cabin walls were coated in a deep gray matte finish—stain-resistant and sound-absorbing. Light strips were tucked into hidden recesses, bright enough without being harsh. The floor was covered in dark, fine-textured alloy plating—highly slip-resistant.

Compared to the Purification Department's cold, sterile, overly pale laboratory aesthetic, this was an entirely different look—industrial, if you had to put a name to it.

Taste led Yor in through the cargo bay entrance. Once inside, Yor immediately saw how orderly everything was—supply crates strapped flush against the walls, glow-in-the-dark marker strips glowing faintly in the shadows, every pipeline running along its designated channel, neatly bundled and tied down with matching-colored straps.

So tidy it'd be a godsend for anyone with OCD.

Going deeper in, you could smell a faint metallic scent in the air, mixed with traces of fuel and cleaning products.

The cargo bay was vast yet quiet, broken only by the occasional short "clack" of insect soldier boots hitting metal seams. The bugs moving around seemed to know exactly what they were doing—even when given an unprecedented emergency order like "throw a banquet," the whole compartment stayed visibly organized.

One look told you the ship's master valued efficiency and practicality—and ran a tight ship.

From the cargo bay, Taste led Yor up to the upper levels to get his ID tag, then used the "activity funds" Dexter had given him to buy Yor a bunch of essential supplies. The whole process was quick and smooth—the busy working bugs weren't exactly friendly, but they were all on top of their jobs.

Yor felt quite reassured—how familiar that smell of toil was. The War Department was definitely the right place to be.

After a full meal, a thorough wash, and a change into comfortable sleepwear, he lay down in the monitoring bay's fully enclosed sleep pod. The lights dimmed automatically, then slowly faded to complete darkness.

After all that travel and commotion, stepping into such a comfortable environment, Yor didn't even have a chance to let his mind wander before he quickly fell into a dark, sweet slumber.

Night fell, and lights came on across the pitch-black starship. The high-intensity combat searchlights blazed to life, illuminating the port area as bright as day.

The starship didn't land, but a platform extended from one side of the hull—a fairly impressive area, nearly the size of a plaza.

After an afternoon of preparation, the platform was now covered in soft beige felt carpet. Along the VIP walkway in the center, fine, dry, fragrant downy grass was piled high—the most ancient of traditions, the very material male bugs once gathered to line the Broodmother's nest. Now, it couldn't be more fitting to welcome her.

The platform connected all the way to the tallest landing pad at the interstellar port. Along both sides of the completed VIP walkway, ranks of high-tier bugs stood in perfect formation.

Leonius didn't put on airs. The War Lord stood at the very front of the welcoming party—if the one arriving were the true Broodmother, even kneeling to welcome her would be expected of him.

Though there were no flowers, no music, no cannon salutes, the entire reception site simmered with an eerie, suppressed fervor—except for Leonius, every war bug stood in immaculate formation, freshly turned out, brimming with spirit.

For countless years, the absence of the Broodmother had brought not only the decline of the entire insect race, but for each individual, a dazed, aimless existence, not knowing what they lived for. The instinct carved into their genes—to serve the Broodmother, to propagate offspring—went unfulfilled, let alone the countless pains and lostness from lacking a psychic link.

Ever since receiving the mission and hearing that the War Department would soon welcome a Broodmother—and one belonging exclusively to the War Department itself—every war bug couldn't contain the excitement in their hearts.

For countless generations, the Broodmother had existed only in legends and prayers. In the endless emptiness of day after day, the insect race's longing for her was more agonizing than hunger, more searing than battle.

And now, the Broodmother was truly coming.

The war bugs in formation pictured her in their minds. Perhaps she was unmatched in presence, perhaps fragile in her newness, perhaps tall and strong, perhaps small and delicate. So many generations had passed that no bug could picture her clearly.

But they knew that no matter her outward form, they would offer her their loyalty and their lives.

The appointed time was drawing near. In the distance, the faint sound of a ship cutting through the sky drifted over. The war bugs snapped their heads up, eyes burning with fervor, staring toward the silver-white vessel.

The silver-white ship descended slowly onto the landing pad. The war bugs nearest to it felt every one of their several hearts refusing to behave, each scrambling to leap out of their chests. But they could only force themselves to stay still, barely remembering to breathe.

They suppressed the turmoil within, maintaining their crisp formation, staring in unison at the ship's hatch, waiting for their Broodmother to emerge and cast a touch of her grace upon them.

The hatch finally opened, and two squads of pure bugs filed out.

Yet what these Purification Department guards were escorting was not a single bug... but a massive glass container.

When they saw the... creature within, every bug present couldn't help but furrow their brows.

This... was their Broodmother?