Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Leonius dared not move.

The moment the honey-gold mist appeared in the air, Leonius immediately recognized it—that fleeting scent that had made his mental sea tremble before.

It was not an illusion born of his morbid longing, but a real presence.

Yor...

Standing in the center of the medical room, confused and helpless, pitiful yet charming, trying to hide himself...

He was the true Broodmother.

Though incomplete, though underdeveloped, there was no doubt—he was the genuine, real Broodmother.

The golden mist clung to his skin, seeping into him even when he held his breath, like countless tiny tendrils teasing his consciousness.

Every drop of his mental energy screamed to draw closer to the Broodmother, craving his touch and favor, while his body remained taut as iron—excitement and tension battling within his cells, both determined to win.

This was the devotion and fear etched into the genes of war bugs for their Broodmother.

Leonius's Adam's apple bobbed.

A war bug had no right to stand in the Broodmother's presence.

Since ancient times, war bugs could only live at the outermost edge of the nest, tasked with guarding it and capturing prey, until food ran low and they became rations for the Broodmother and other castes.

The only time a war bug could approach the Broodmother was during the sacrifice—washed clean, brought to the nest's depths, and lying flat, waiting for the Broodmother's mouthparts to pierce the nape of the neck and drain his flesh and blood.

As the Lord of the War Department, these dark, damp, blood-soaked memories had been passed down through generations, piling up like a deep well buried in his mind.

Now, the Broodmother the entire insect race had sought in vain—sweet, beautiful, alive—stood before him.

No mountain-sized insect body to inspire awe, no guard clan radiating fearsome pressure to protect him, no lofty disdain toward the War Department.

He was a war bug's kin. He was a war bug's medic. He cared for war bugs. When Leonius didn't kneel and kiss his toes right away, he didn't get angry. He was even... shaking.

He was afraid. He resisted. His pheromones were sickeningly sweet, and his eyes held a fear with nowhere to run.

He was incomplete, he was weak, but he could belong to the War Department alone.

Leonius... was ecstatic.

Leonius nearly shook along with his Broodmother.

"Where is Dexter?" the Broodmother asked.

Leonius wanted to say the kid was safe, but he feared that if he spoke, jealous venom and shameless, despicable joy would spill out.

So he kept his mouth shut.

The pheromone concentration kept rising, the air thinning, the Broodmother's breathing growing faster.

The pheromones didn't just affect the male insect—the Broodmother himself desperately needed relief.

The Broodmother lifted his head, gazing at him through the mist filling the room.

He seemed to realize he was alone here with only Leonius.

Poor Broodmother, with no other options.

He spoke again, his voice breaking, as if using every last ounce of strength.

"My Lord..."

Leonius's lips quivered. No, not Lord, and definitely not that title...

What did the Broodmother usually call the War Department anyway?

"Those meat bugs," "outer bugs," "the doorkeepers."

....

Please, call me by my name. Say it just once—the name you gave the war bug lord.

The longing of every generation of war bug lords for the Broodmother was nothing more than this.

Leonius's mind screamed, but his mouth felt sealed shut by a branding iron.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he struggled to hide any unseemly reaction.

Yor seemed to hesitate, and when Leonius didn't move, he took two hesitant steps forward.

His movements were slow, as if gauging the male insect's reaction.

But he was determined, walking steadily until he stood before Leonius—close enough to see his own reflection in the other's eyes.

They looked strangely alike: both flushed, sweat on their brows, eyes filled with unease and hidden fear.

"My Lord, perhaps we can make another deal."

Yor's voice was so soft it seemed meant only for himself, but at this distance, the breathy whisper reaching Leonius's ears—however proper the words—carried an intimate undertone. "I'll groom your mental sea, and you help me with my pheromones... okay?"

A bargain?

This was a gift.

And he was a despicable thief.

But a race starved for ten thousand years couldn't refuse a blessing. He'd grab it by any means necessary. As for the price... there'd be time to pay later.

Leonius spoke with the greatest composure of his life: "A fair deal."

The next moment, the taut string deep in his consciousness snapped.

Leonius rose from his seat, stepped in front of the Broodmother, and finally—unable to resist—dropped to his knees.

A lord insect who could precisely control every muscle in his body, yet his knees hit the floor with a dull thud that echoed in both their hearts.

Leonius looked up, checking His eyes one last time—Yor's gaze shimmered with faint golden tears, glistening, nearly spilling over.

He was looking back, understanding what the confirmation meant.

His fingers curled at his sides, tips trembling, but he didn't step back.

Leonius leaned down.

Casting aside the generational marks seared into his blood, he pressed his forehead to His lower abdomen. Through the thin fabric, he felt the warmth of the Broodmother's skin and the pulse of the gestation sac.

This despicable insect, yielding to the craving in his heart, with no detour, no buffer—opened his mouth and drank in the richest pheromones in a single gulp.

Sweet.

So sweet it numbs the tip of the tongue, tightens the throat, and lifts the entire mental sea as if something suddenly hoisted it into midair, suspended, neither rising nor falling, leaving only a blank void.

He keeps his eyes closed, keeping the dampness at the corners of his eyes from spilling over.

He crushes wisp after wisp of golden mist between his teeth. He greedily, cautiously sucks in those pheromones, like a bug parched for ten thousand years finally finding water.

The root of his tongue goes numb, but he cannot stop.

Yor's body trembles violently. He endures the first development of his brood sac with all his might, insisting on "keeping his promise" as a fair trade, probing his mental power into Leonius's mental sea.

The lord's mental power is on an entirely different scale from that of other insects.

If a High-Grade Insect's mental sea is like a rushing, lively stream, then Leonius's is an ocean.

Vast, deep, and boundless.

The concentration of mental power is so high that the moment Yor's mental threads probe into it, it's like a drop of ink falling into the sea—instantly engulfed, swallowed whole.

But as he sinks, he "sees."

Leonius repeatedly observing his movements through surveillance;

Leonius issuing wartime orders, shifting tactics to lure all Serian clan members as far as possible from the medical bay;

Leonius looking over his ordeal in the Purification Department's laboratory...

Yor clenches his jaw and begins to comb through it.

His mental power carves channels through the ocean, clearing away blockages, smoothing whirlpools, leaving deep anchors throughout Leonius's mental sea.

At the same time... he greedily absorbs the War Lord's mental power.

Outside the mental sea, Leonius's tail has already emerged—slender, covered in soft scales, its tip eagerly brushing over every gland on the Broodmother's body.

Yor trembles so much he can't stand, but before he can collapse from weakness, the cunning tail has already wrapped around him tightly.

The male insect seems to grow considerate, his thick tail exerting slight force to suspend the poor Broodmother in midair, so she no longer has to struggle to stay upright.

Thanks to having treated so many war bugs, and with Leonius's mental sea completely unguarded against Yor, this mental combing quickly reaches its end.

After branding the final anchor, Yor finally stops forcing himself and withdraws his mental power from Leonius's mental sea.

The next moment—he sinks.

The medical bay is utterly quiet.

Occasionally, there's the sound of metal being crushed, but it's quickly drowned out by other sounds—breathing, heartbeats, a three-day, three-night sinking into oblivion where the world fades away.

The insects on the entire ship lose contact with their lord for three days, and as panic spreads through the swarm, the pheromone concentration in the medical bay finally begins to drop.

From thick to thin, from honey-colored to transparent, like the tide going out.

Leonius lies on the ground, protecting his Broodmother from the dampness of the floor.

His tail tip still coils around the Broodmother's calf, the tickling sensation making her toes unconsciously twitch. Only then does the tail that labored so hard these three days reluctantly release her, shifting to gently pat her back.

Sure enough, the Broodmother's breathing becomes deep and even.

Leonius's stamina remains abundant, but his Broodmother... even after this irrigation, she is still not whole.

He cannot continue, but he can go do other things—there are many tasks waiting for him.

Leonius lies on the ground, his mind buzzing with eager plans.

What kind of nest to build, what food to prepare, how to bypass Zane to run a checkup on Yor, where to hide Yor so no other insect will find him...

Each task is urgent.

The highly efficient lord spares a reluctant glance at Yor atop him, about to rise with him in his arms...

"Are you going to leave me?"

Yor's voice is so soft, as if he's talking in his sleep.

Leonius is about to shake his head and explain when he sees that his Broodmother's eyes are still closed, but a slight curve forms at the corners of her lips as she continues:

"You wouldn't have the heart to."

With that, she gently lifts her head.

Leonius immediately leans forward, as if pulled by an invisible thread, pressing his forehead against Yor's.

Yor's eyes crinkle into a smile as he kisses him.

His lips are soft, carrying the lingering sweetness of pheromones.

Leonius's heart warms, and his mental sea warms along with it...

Wait.

What was it?

He just felt... something?

Something is rapidly slipping away from his mind, like sand trickling through fingers.

Important, burning memories that made him willingly kneel here... those memories are crushed by an invisible hand, fragments dissolving into deeper currents, never to be retrieved.

Leonius senses something is wrong and struggles in a panic.

But his mental sea is already covered with Yor's imprints, layer upon layer of marks spread across every corner while he was off his guard.

The thought of resistance barely arises before being gently pressed down.

He stares blankly ahead, Yor's face reflected in his pupils.

Yor looks at him, his eyes slightly reddening.

"I'm sorry," he says in a very soft voice. "Have a good dream."

The next moment—Leonius falls into a deep sleep.

Yor gently pushes aside Leonius's arms still wrapped around him, straightens up, and looks at the robust male insect.

The male insect lies obediently beside him, eyes closed, breathing steady, elytra half-open, his brow relaxed.

He instinctively bent down, but his lips froze just before they touched Leonius's forehead.

No. He shouldn't do this.

Yor pushed himself off the ground.

His body ached—a tearing sensation spread from his lower abdomen to his lower back, every step like walking on knife blades—but he didn't stop.

He walked to the door of the medical bay, raised his hand, and the door opened.

Third deck... second deck... first deck.

As the last sliver of the metal gap disappeared, he turned back and glanced at Leonius one more time.

The other bug lay there, as if lost in a beautiful dream.

These three days really had been a dream.

Yor turned and walked out.

His mental power could now cover the whole starship, too. Dodging the patrolling males, Yor stumbled his way back to the monitoring room.

When the door of the monitoring bay closed, Yor practically crawled into the bathroom.

He turned on the water, pressed himself against the freezing metal floor, bit his lip, and tried to force out what was inside him.

*Don't get pregnant.*

*Can't get pregnant.*

It hurt so much.

He was too rough. His fingertips were stained with blood, but he kept going.

The monitoring room door suddenly slid open, and Dexter appeared at the entrance.

Hearing the sound of water in the bathroom, the male who hadn't seen Yor in three days rushed in without hesitation, only to be hit by the sight of blood, his eyes going red.

He grabbed Yor's wrist. "What are you doing?!"

"Help me." Yor's voice was barely a whisper. "I don't want to be pregnant..."

Leaning against Dexter's chest, he told him everything in broken fragments.

"He won't remember I'm the Broodmother." Yor's voice was so soft, like he was afraid someone might hear. "He'll only remember that the rare doctor who could treat mental illnesses was injured right as the Serian clan attacked, insisted on treating the wounded to the very end, and then died."

"He'll be sorry—sorry that the War Department lost a rare doctor, sorry that you lost a dependent bug. He's always generous with the bugs in the War Department, so he'll specifically tell you to set aside a lifeboat to send the doctor's body to a planet with life on it, so he won't end up as space debris, and his soul won't wander alone after death."

Dexter knelt in front of him, eyes red.

His hand still hovered over Yor's wrist, afraid to apply pressure, afraid of hurting him, afraid he'd shatter at the slightest touch.

His lips trembled.

He wanted to say "You can't leave," wanted to say "What about me and Taste?" wanted to say so many things, but the words got stuck in his throat, not a single one escaping.

This was Her wish.

Yor looked at him, curving his lips into a faint smile—so brief, like a flower that bloomed and died in an instant.

"Help me." There was pleading in his eyes.

Dexter buried his face in his hands, letting out a choked sob before forcing the words out: "...Okay."

He carefully reached in... but the passage was empty—nothing there but Yor's own blood.

Dexter stared at the blinding red, his eyes bloodshot.

Yor clutched his lower abdomen, trying to smile, but couldn't manage even the faintest curve.

The gestational sac sat there, content and silent, but Yor refused to think about what it meant.

"...I can't even say goodbye to Taste." Yor's voice was hoarse. "These... are for you both."

He took out two tubes of honey in medical vials from his chest and placed them in Dexter's palm.

Golden, thick, radiating a faint luster.

Dexter pressed his lips together into a thin line.

He couldn't bring himself to selfishly beg her to stay. He buried the pain deep in his heart and offered only devout blessing: "You will go to a wonderful place."

You deserve the best of everything. May your journey ahead grant all that you wish for.

Yor finally smiled. "Our home in the War Department was the best place, even though I never got to go there."

He dared not linger any longer. He rose, picked up the small gray box on the table—the centaur clan's urn—and took the remaining suppressant.

Nothing else.

Stepping into the lifeboat Dexter had set with a destination, he walked to the door and gave Dexter one last hug.

"Live." he said.

The lifeboat's door closed behind him, and the lights along the cabin walls went dark.

The entire starship was silent as he slipped away unnoticed.

Through the porthole, the universe remained vast, the star rivers still flowing.

Clutching the small gray box, he lay down in the sleep pod.

In his sleep, Leonius felt a sudden inexplicable pang in his chest, then jolted awake.

He sat up abruptly.

The medical bay was empty, carrying only a faint scent of disinfectant in the air—nothing else.

But something was wrong.