Chapter 40

Chapter 40

After sleeping in the pitch dark for ages, Yor woke up still a bit dazed.

He blinked, staring at the gaps in the leaves above his grass cage for a long moment before slowly sitting up.

Dexter brought breakfast—besides the usual insect-race grilled meat and nutrient paste, there were actually two plates of baozi!

White, plump, piping hot, with neat little pleats.

Yor's eyes went wide on the spot. He couldn't help snatching one up and turning it over in his hands. No doubt about it—the pleats, the smell...

"Th-This... where'd this come from?" he asked, a little excited.

Dexter looked slightly embarrassed. "I followed a Blue Star human's tutorial," he said, then paused. "I actually wanted to try it a long time ago, but the ingredients and seasonings took forever to ship over, so it got delayed until now."

He pointed to one plate—the buns looked whiter and bigger. "These are made the way the best-selling manufacturer does it." Then he gestured to the other plate, where the buns were slightly more yellow. "These are made the way Blue Star humans do it at home."

Yor blinked, caught off guard. He could understand "home-style," but what exactly was a "best-selling manufacturer"?

Curious, he grabbed one of the white, plump buns and took a bite. Mmm... it tasted exactly like a convenience store bun—the dough was overly fluffy in a way that felt off, and the filling was mushy, with no real texture to it.

"These are usually machine-made," he said, chewing a couple of times before swallowing. "How'd you manage to make these?"

Dexter answered seriously: "I built a set of machines just like that manufacturer's. The principle's simple, so it wasn't that hard."

"..."

Building machines was the easier part?

What a strange cultural difference.

Yor quietly set down the bun and grabbed one from the other plate.

One bite—the dough was chewy and springy, the filling tender and juicy. As the juices spread across his tongue, he couldn't help blurting out: "Delicious!"

"Glad you like it," Dexter said, looking relieved.

The Blue Star human tutorials were thorough, but way too imprecise, always using vague wording like "knead the dough longer for a chewier texture" or "stir the filling hard after mixing"...

The "longer" and "vigorously" really threw Dexter for a loop. If only they'd say how many kilopascals of pressure to use and exactly how many minutes and seconds to knead—that'd be perfect.

And it was because of all those experiments that Yor was only now getting to eat the buns.

The more he ate, the better they got.

Yor wolfed down one bun in a few bites, grabbed another, and casually handed one to Dexter: "You eaten yet?"

"Yes." Dexter nodded. Truth was, he'd already eaten countless test batches while making them, but he still took the bun Yor offered and bit into it.

The Blue Star human cooking tutorial said food tastes better when shared with family.

Yor clearly thought so too. He poured Dexter a glass of water and asked, "Where's Taste at?"

"Something came up on the mining planet last night, so he went down to deal with it. He oughta be back by now."

Truth was, over the past few days, war bug miners had been disappearing one after another. The search-and-rescue team had only found partial remains deep in the jungle—nasty deaths—and since they couldn't handle it, they'd called the starship for help. Taste had taken the mission and left.

But no need to tell Yor about that bloody, horrifying stuff—it'd just ruin his appetite.

As they talked, footsteps sounded at the nest entrance—light and bouncy, unmistakably Taste.

Sure enough, he plopped down at the table, patted his belly, and announced he was starving, looking totally carefree.

But Dexter took one look at him and knew it wasn't that simple—Taste was still damp, clearly fresh from a shower, but it couldn't fully hide the faint smell of blood.

Taste acted like nothing was wrong, picking up a bun and turning it over curiously: "So this is what you've been slaving over these past few days?"

Dexter casually pushed the convenience-store buns—the ones Yor didn't like—toward him: "Try these."

Taste went along with it, took a bite, and chewed.

Soft and mushy, not really his thing. But Yor had weak jaws, so they were perfect for him.

....

Male bugs could eat anything. After running around all night, Taste was legit starving. He scarfed down several buns before slowing up: "Got a lead on the mission. Gotta hit another planet soon."

Dexter nodded: "I've put in a request to head to the front lines too. I'll head out after a few more days of training."

After getting promoted to Sub-Lord, his strength, speed, and even joint flexibility had all changed. He needed time to adjust, and the best training was still real combat.

Yor ate his bun, listening to the brothers hash out their plans, and suddenly felt a hollow pang.

They all had goals—stuff they wanted to do, places to go.

What about him?

Sure, he was planning to visit the Serian clan soon, but that was just for safety—to avoid being locked up for breeding, to make sure he wasn't totally helpless against male bugs.

But that wasn't really something he *wanted* to do, right?

He'd gone from an ordinary Blue Star human to a Broodmother... but what now?

There was no playbook for this. He couldn't just stay in the nest popping out eggs forever!!!

Just thinking about it made his skin crawl.

Lost in thought, he slowed down. The bun hung in mid-air, forgotten, as he stared off into space.

Dexter noticed and leaned in, asking softly: "What's wrong?"

Yor set the bun down and was quiet for a beat before mumbling: "You two both got stuff to do... I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

???

Taste looked just as confused as Yor: "You're the Broodmother. Do whatever you want."

Dexter nodded along: "Just do whatever makes you happy."

Yor was even more lost.

"Don't I need a life goal? A purpose? Something to accomplish?"

The second he asked that seemingly careless question, Taste looked even more confused than he did: "Isn't just being alive enough?"

Yor: "???"

Dexter thought for a moment: "That time the domain clan lord showed you the breeding center through a mental link—it was huge, wasn't it?"

Not sure why Dexter brought this up, but Yor obediently nodded—after all, this was where the eggs of the entire bug race were born, so no matter how much space it occupied, it wouldn't be an exaggeration.

Dexter continued, "But the Domain Clan lord showed you only the above-ground part of the incubation center. But underground... it's several times the size of the above-ground area. That's where they handle... burying the eggs that never made it."

Taste nodded seriously as well. "After the Broodmother disappeared, for our generation of bugs, just being born is already a victory."

Yor was a little stunned.

Taste lowered his head and picked at his bun. "I take missions because war bugs have the instinct to guard territory and repel enemies. Taking missions makes me happy."

Dexter chimed in, "I'm heading to the front lines to earn more money." He looked down, a little embarrassed. "That home we have in the War Department—I hope I can make it a little nicer. It won't compare to the nest the Honey Clan will build for you someday, but if you ever want to go back and visit... I hope you'll like it."

Of course he'd like it. No matter what it looked like, he'd like it.

That was their home.

Yor sat there, a slow smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

So... just living and being happy is enough?

That made sense. It's not like he was some special person destined for greatness. Just living happily was already a goal most people would spend their whole lives chasing.

It was all these big-shot bugs around him that made him overthink things.

He took a deep breath, and his voice became light again. "Eat up, eat up. After this, I'm heading to the Serian Clan with Leonius and the others. I really feel like something's calling to me over there."

In the office at the top of the starship, Leonius stood with his back to the door, hunched over paperwork. The more he knocked out now, the more time he'd have with Yor later.

He paused mid-motion, then turned slightly, reached back to grab a layer of gray-white shell curling up at the edge of his back, and yanked hard. With a sharp "shk," another piece of molted shell tore off, and he tossed it into the box beside him, already nearly half-full of shed exoskeletons.

He rolled his shoulders. Physically, he was fine, but his mood... it wasn't good, to say the least.

Molting had never shown up in the inherited memories of war bugs. Unknown stuff always made a bug uneasy—especially now, when he had Yor to protect.

And what unsettled him even more was the missing miners on Vorna.

Those gnaw marks were way too similar to the traces left by the Guard Clan in his inherited memories...

The Guard Clan... the oldest companion species of the Broodmother. Beautiful, powerful. Because of them, the bug race had once flourished.

But it was also their enslavement and rejection of other tribes, their monopolization and over... use of the Broodmother, that drove her step by step to collapse.

When the Broodmother disappeared, they chose to slumber, and only then did the other tribes get a chance to catch their breath and grow into what they were today.

But the Guard Clan... remained a shadow hanging over every bug's heart.

Zane felt that same shadow over his heart.

His ship was parked near Vorna, not daring to get closer—not because he was afraid of Leonius, of course, but because just moments ago, Amon had sent him a message. Short, just one line.

"Mother absolutely hates the Purification Department."

Zane stared at that line for a long moment.

His gaze fell on the surveillance screen, where Yor was happily tagging along with Leonius and Seraphiel, heading toward the Serian Clan.

He wasn't afraid of Mother's disgust, but the Purification Clan needed its next lord. He couldn't act rashly—he needed to figure something out.

Activating the most advanced stealth mode, Zane's ship silently slipped into pursuit.

"So, you still have no clue why the Serian Clan keeps attacking you?" Yor asked, incredulous.

Leonius nodded grimly. "Every time, they jump to areas packed with bugs, then self-destruct... There's no way to communicate."

The starship descended slowly as Yor looked on, confused.

The planet where the Serian Clan lived had a bizarre magnetic field and barely any land. This race focused on mental power, and their material world was almost barren.

In short, they didn't even have a spaceport. All ships and starships had to land right on the ocean surface, relying on buoyancy to stay afloat.

When Yor stepped out of the starship and got his first look at this planet, only one thought crossed his mind:

This is literally the underworld!!!

No metaphor—literally the underworld.

This planet probably had very little land. Most of it was misty, eerily colored water, with landmasses connected by all kinds of bridges.

And the first thing Yor saw was a translucent head silently floating on the water's surface beneath a bridge. As if sensing his gaze, it turned its half-gone skull and glared over with dead, hollow eyes.

And beside that head—in the water, on the bridge, even in midair—were pale, blurry spirit forms everywhere.

They drifted like fog, barely keeping the outlines of what they'd been in life. Some were missing limbs, some curled up sickly, some so mangled and bloody you couldn't even make out their faces.

Yor stumbled back a step.

If this wasn't ghosts, what was it? It couldn't be payback for telling ghost stories, right?