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| The Beloved Little Mother Insect (LITTLE MOTHER) |
All doors within the warship were designed to be silent. When someone with registered identity information turned the handle, the sleek silver-gray door would split open like a perfect eggshell—the upper part rising and the lower part descending along jagged seams.
Completely noiseless.
Once the visitor stepped into the room, the eggshell door would automatically close, still without making any sound.
But when the door opened, Tilan's already slightly furrowed brow tightened further—
The soft, large bed remained pristine without any signs of having been slept in. Everything in the room appeared untouched, exactly as it had been initially arranged, almost completely unchanged.
It was as if the scene from half an hour ago, where Aslan had gently placed the Little Mother Insect he was carrying in his arms onto the bed, had been an illusion.
Tilan's lips pressed into a tighter line. Only when the panic of suddenly finding someone missing subsided did his senses finally kick in, helping him detect subtle movements from the side.
Extremely faint, like the breathing sounds of some small mammal—pitifully light, no wonder he couldn't detect anything through the door.
He turned his head and saw a small figure wrapped in a thin blanket that was sleeping while curled up in the corner with knees hugged to the chest.
Like a little mushroom, sleeping soundly, with only a pinkish-white face visible at the edge of the thin blanket that was pressed against the knees with a small blush—and half of a robe pattern imprinted on it.
So adorable.
Tilan's gaze almost completely fixated on the little figure in the corner.
He looked somewhat conflicted at the carpeted floor, then turned to glance at the soft bed, his lips moving slightly as if trying to convince himself of something. Then he silently approached, carefully bent down, and reached out, attempting to pick up the curled-up sleeping figure and move them to the bed.
But just as his fingers touched the thin blanket, the Little Mother Insect sleeping inside murmured something indistinct in their dream.
Unconsciously, they said, "Don't."
A clear refusal.
Tilan's outstretched fingers stiffened. He slowly withdrew them before standing straight and looking down at the small whorl of hair visible beneath the blanket.
Like a spiral galaxy, somehow even its shape was so adorable.
Tilan originally didn't like the Mother Insect. He had no interest in the "King" that existed in history, whom he had never actually seen, and he couldn't even imagine how he could possibly worship a randomly appearing king like fanatics.
But that was until he saw the Little Mother Insect's appearance in that pale white cavern.
From the strands of hair to the fingertips, every part seemed to be crafted according to his aesthetic preferences. How could... they be so adorable?!
It seemed he had rather superficially fallen in love at first sight with the New King.
Tilan tilted his head while still silently staring at the Little Mother Insect curled up and sleeping on the floor.
And so, one standing tall, and the other low; one awake, and the other asleep—they remained in this quiet stalemate for five minutes.
During this time, Tilan felt that he was standing too far to see clearly, so he carefully secured his combat belt around his waist. His gloved fingertips pressed beneath the metal buckle as he squared his broad shoulders and straightened his back before gradually lowering into a half-crouch.
His crouching posture was impeccably standard. The tailored military uniform accentuated the excellent lines of his physique beneath the fabric—broad shoulders, narrow waist, and the resilient, powerful curves of his hips and legs beneath the half-palm-wide belt.
When he wore the military uniform, it seemed as though a temporarily dormant beast was restrained within.
Tilan lowered his gaze and noticed the slumbering Little Mother Insect seemed troubled by the stray hairs falling over his forehead. His long, delicate eyelashes fluttered restlessly, indicating some discomfort.
The half-crouching Vice Chief of the Order Alliance swallowed hard. His outstretched hand froze for a moment before he carefully brushed aside that lock of dry white hair while cautiously maintaining distance without actually touching his skin.
The leather combat gloves... perhaps their texture wasn't gentle enough for direct contact?
...
Pearl slept deeply, though not for very long.
He woke up inexplicably—or perhaps, in a way, he was disturbed awake. He seemed to hear again the murmurs of the Narga People, somewhat unfamiliar this time—coming from very, very close by, and chattering incessantly without pause.
【So cute.】
【Looks so pale and soft.】
【Would it leave a little dent if poked?】
【Might it break? So small and fragile, feels like it could break if poked. Ah, forget it...】
【Hold back, can't keep looking.】
【...No, can't resist.】
【Just one poke.】
【A gentle poke.】
Still drowsy, Pearl was drawn into this chaotic stream of consciousness, unable to help wondering what exactly was so pale and soft. If you want to poke it, just poke it gently, with minimal force—it definitely wouldn't break.
...And he'd grown curious too—what were they trying to poke?
Driven by this curiosity, the sleepy little artificial person struggled to pull himself from his dreams. He fluttered his thick eyelashes and slowly opened his eyes, just as a faint shadow approached from the side and poked his right cheek.
Poke... poking me?
Squish.
The soft cheek indented with a small dimple, and its owner, following the external pressure, tilted stiffly to the other side like a broken roly-poly toy.
Pearl never expected there actually existed a poking force strong enough to knock someone over!
Tilan never expected there actually existed someone who could be knocked over by a poke!
Just as Pearl's head was about to hit the ground, the startled Tilan reacted quickly, reaching out to catch the Little Mother Insect by the shoulder and pulling him upright again.
Feeling guilty, he pressed down the fluffy thin blanket draped over Pearl's head, tucking away that small cowlick, then gently rubbed the cheek where a faint red mark had appeared from the poke.
"Tss..."
Pearl couldn't help inhaling sharply when he felt a stinging pain on his cheek.
Tilan stiffened further—he should have been more careful.
With one arm supporting the Little Mother Insect and the other hovering motionless in mid-air, afraid that any movement might make the little one hiss again, it was Pearl who recovered first. He tilted his head, his vacant light blue eyes accurately finding Tilan's face, and whispered, "Who... who's there?"
This made Tilan inexplicably nervous as well.
But he was absolutely certain that throughout his academic and professional career—even when taking the extremely difficult 28 examinations to become a Star Alliance Joint Officer—he had never felt this nervous!
Thus, the youngest Star Alliance Joint Officer from the Narga Hivemind Imperium also began to stammer, uttering a meaningless phrase, "...It's, it's me."
Who, who is it?
It's, it's me.
Pearl: Eyes and ears both looked confused.jpg
The call-and-response pairing was quite neat, like matching couplets.
Then Tilan, who had been staring intently at the Little Mother Insect, couldn't help but slap himself across the face.
Smack.
Quite crisp.
Pearl stared dumbfounded, his mouth half-open. The words he had meant to say were completely forgotten in this interruption.
Tilan felt somewhat embarrassed.
From childhood—ever since his birth from that somewhat dry Hive Substance—he had always held an intellectual superiority, being a typical Order Alliance-type talent. This was innate and fixed, and Tilan had always taken pride in it.
In all kinds of exams, big and small, Tilan always ranked at the top, either first or second.
Of course, he had only been second once—that was when he competed with his twin brother Hui for the leadership position in the Order Alliance, and he lost, becoming the Vice Chief.
Tilan—Star Alliance Joint Officer and Vice Chief of the Order Alliance—remained silent for a long time, so long that Pearl slowly regained his senses and, once again in this strange silence, opened his mouth, "I, I was asking about the name."
With an escape route offered, Tilan crawled down on his knees.
"I am Tilan." After a pause, and under the Little Mother Insect's confused, unfamiliar gaze, he reluctantly added, "I'm Hui's younger brother."
Pearl paused.
His expression shifted through faint confusion, thoughtfulness, understanding, slight surprise, a hint of delight, and finally certainty and sudden realization. "Hui's younger brother... also a big snail?"
Tilan was taken aback. "What snail? Do you like snails?"
He thought of those slimy creatures that carried hard shells.
This little one looked so cute—how could he like something so utterly un-cute?
Pearl thought of Hui.
He liked Hui's gentleness, although he occasionally sensed another strange feeling beneath that tenderness—but he still liked him.
If snails equaled Hui, then he liked snails too.
Pearl nodded.
Tilan frowned, speaking with some gravity, "I understand."
He picked up the briefcase he had silently placed to one side, his tone somewhat regretful. "I didn't prepare enough this time. Next time, I'll be better prepared."
Pearl: "Pre, prepare what?"
"A visiting gift."
A strange, faint blush flashed across Tilan's face.
The large briefcase was slowly opened by a hand clad in half-gloves. Inside, the case was filled with various items, all sorts of bits and pieces packing the entire case. Clearly, its owner had put careful thought into the selection beforehand.
This was practically Tilan's prized collection, something he carried with him on the warship during routine business trips and missions.
At that moment, Pearl felt his cheek being poked again, though this time the touch was much, much lighter.
The one poking him said, "Little one, let's do something fun."
...
In the central conference hall of the Titan-class warship—
Well-dressed and dignified High-level Narga sat one by one around the oval conference table.
Semi-transparent high-tech light screens floated above the black metallic table, displaying image signals transmitted by several Observation Spheres. Among these, the content from Observation Sphere No. 8 appeared most frequently.
Photos, videos, ambiguous recordings.
A variety of content was displayed on the freely resizable light screen, with one section even dedicated to communicating with the conservative high-ranking officials on the Imperial Star.
The projected figure of a high-ranking official nodded slightly, his eyes carrying a trace of reverence for the powerful Narga. "I never expected the Silver Species' Chief would reappear."
Aslan, who hadn't taken a seat at the conference table but stood by the warship's floor-to-ceiling window gazing at the magnificent nebula in the distance, was dressed in exotic attire reminiscent of the Narga Empire's ancient era. Large areas of his deep wheat-colored skin were exposed, with silver hive markings flowing slowly across it, creating an eerie yet stunning beauty.
Upon hearing the Empire official's greeting, he turned around, his silver eyes falling upon the faint image on the light screen.
Aslan: "I never expected to wake up either."
Awakened by a newborn, tender little one—he could hardly imagine how such a soft temperament could possibly suppress a pack of mad dog-like Narga People.
Official: "Back in your day..."
Aslan: "There's no need to dwell on the past."
Recognizing that the Silver Chief had no intention of discussing old matters, the official immediately nodded, wanting to say something but unsure how to begin.
This was probably the mentality of meeting an ancient ancestor after a long separation—if one were to trace the origins of this living Silver Species being before him, he might qualify as a great-great-great-grand ancestor! When he was born, the Narga People were still waiting for their rise on the Aetherion Star!
Aslan said: "I'll observe. Proceed as you wish."
He had no intention of interfering too much. This journey back to the Imperial Star was merely to serve as a guide for the Little Mother Insect—he needed to teach the young one how to survive among a pack of mad dogs.
The New King, who hadn't grown up within the Narga Empire's territory, lacked too many essential things.
He ought to possess everything.
The official understood. He bowed to Aslan once more, then turned to look at the others seated around the table.
The moment he saw them, he felt a headache coming on.
Among the new generation of high-level Narga powerhouses, there wasn't a single easy one, nor anyone who had inherited the conservative faction's legacy.
Official: A bunch of troublemakers!
The seemingly docile and respectful Order Alliance was full of cunning foxes, with Hui and Tilan as primary examples—every sentence contained three traps and nine twists. Who could tell what was true and what was false? You might end up helping them count the money while they sold you out.
The Royal Guard, who in the old calendar served as the hounds under the Mother Insect's throne, should have been utterly loyal. But years ago, the guard had become Olovikin's personal domain, with the deputy chief thoroughly suppressed and given almost no opportunity to emerge.
This aristocratic guard was tightly controlled by Olovikin, becoming as impenetrable as an egg without cracks—the Empire's high-ranking officials simply couldn't get a word in or intervene.
The Blood-burning group was a gathering of battle maniacs led by Xagai. While this wasn't anyone's personal dictatorship, trying to reason with a bunch of berserkers who only loved fighting...
Wasn't that like a scholar meeting soldiers—impossible to reason with? Whatever you said would just be like wind blowing past their ears. Who would care?
No one cares!!!
As for the consistently silent Scorpion group...
Forget it, we can't even find the person. To this day, the higher-ups have no idea where Scorpion group's chief Ega spends his time. When we ask his subordinates, those masked tough guys all clam up like sealed gourds. With their tight little masks and full-body polymer combat suits covering every inch of skin, who knows if they're even listening? It's enough to make the higher-ups' heads and mouths ache simultaneously.
Higher-ups: Whoever wants this damn job can have it! Another day dreaming of early retirement!
Though getting on in years but still far from retirement age, Empire higher-up Quentin let out a deep sigh, and forced to become the active participant shouldering the meeting's burden—
*...Then let's hear it. What are your thoughts on this matter?"
"Any opinion is welcome."
The appearance of the Mother Insect, and the return of Narga's New King, the public's curiosity and speculation, how to handle subsequent matters...
And why exactly did Narga's New King appear on an Irradiated Wasteland planet used for Beast trials?
As a conservative, Quentin hadn't yet met this newborn King, but based on his years studying Narga Empire's history, he suspected the New King would be somewhat troublesome and willful. So before making decisions, he wanted to consult others who'd already spent time with the New King.
He cleared his throat lightly, first calling on Xagai.
Dressed in pirate attire revealing large areas of his dark chest, Xagai sat slouched in a spacious tech chair. His restrained pectoral muscles nearly burst through the fabric, exuding a bloodthirsty yet restrained flamboyance.
Droopy-eyed and fiddling with a small bone trinket, he didn't even glance at Quentin, merely uttering: "Whatever."
Quentin took a deep breath, then turned to Guard Corps Chief Olovikin with encouragement and expectation in his eyes.
Even his sitting posture radiated elegance in his cloak-style noble attire. Olovikin tilted slightly with his platinum blond hair braided into a long sidelock draped over his shoulder, luxurious yet somewhat languid, his tone returning to that drawn-out aristocratic cadence.
Olovikin: "My dear Quentin, while I'd love to ease your worries, you know I've never enjoyed being first to offer opinions on such matters. Moreover, this concerns little Pearl—I mean, it concerns the King. Why not seek his opinion? Hmm? Surely he has more decision-making power than we do, no?"
Damn aristocrat! If I could ask the King, would I be asking you?
Listening to your speech truly was just listening to a speech—how many useful words could be counted in that entire monologue?
Quentin's mouth twitched, wrinkles at the corners of his eyes deepening with helplessness as he turned to look at Scorpion group's Chief.
Oh, it's Ega.
No need to ask then—this one doesn't speak. Next.
His final hopeful gaze fell upon Order Alliance Chief Hui.
The youth in black-and-white military uniform appeared refined yet aloof. A monocle hanging at his cheek obscuring half his gaze, projecting an ascetic gentlemanly aura.
Hui curved his lips slightly, voice clear and relatively cooperative: "It's too early to discuss how to handle matters concerning the King. Before that, we have a more severe and urgent problem to resolve."
Aslan, backed by the cosmic view through the window, raised his eyebrows toward Hui.
Quentin, still not fully informed of the details, asked: "What problem?"
Hui: "There are questions regarding the Mother Insect's sense of belonging to the Narga Empire's New King, as well as the Little Mother Insect's physical, mental, and personality conditions."
Quentin was momentarily stunned.
Hui nodded and began speaking—
"The New King was not born within the Hive Substance. He knows very little about the Narga Empire and does not identify with his identity as the Mother Insect."
"He is fragile, timid, and even somewhat overly soft in character. He rejects the title 'Mother' which carries significant identity meaning. Even after receiving mild psionic power soothing from me and Ega, he still doesn't believe he is the person we've been searching for."
"He suffers from deep inferiority and intense self-loathing; yet he remains kind-hearted with almost no strong defensive instincts. He resists change, perceives external matters with confusion, and responds relatively slowly—but this doesn't mean he's foolish. He has his own behavioral principles and bottom line, being both kind and mentally resilient."
"His physical condition is very poor—malnourished, excessively thin, with physical fitness visually estimated at D-grade or even lower. And..."
Quentin furrowed his brows, his face turning cold and grim, unable to resist pressing: "And what?"
The other Narga People seated at the conference table had already lifted their heads, all looking at Hui at some point.
Xagai lowered his gaze and irritably rubbed a bone artifact; Ega's Tail Hook swayed and was gloomy like mushrooms in a sewer.
Olovikin had mostly speculated about these contents, but hearing them again from an audience perspective still made him hold back a suffocating anger in his chest.
Hui exhaled heavily, "And he can't see anything."
Bang!
On the other side of the light screen, Quentin on the Imperial Star couldn't restrain himself and smashed another table.
His chest heaved and only calming after the third breath, though his elegant and handsome features that were tempered by time, remained icy cold.
"How is this possible?"
This was a fact Quentin found hard to believe.
Quentin said heavily: "The New King... why wasn't he born from the Hive Substance?"
This question troubled him, as well as the other Narga People present.
Although dwelling on this question now held little significance, some matters required definite answers. If there were conspiracies imposed upon the Mother Insect, they would undoubtedly mobilize all forces to eliminate those causing trouble.
Quentin: "...Forget it, set other matters aside. The most important thing now is the New King's physical condition. This kind of personality..."
He paused as his expression turned somewhat peculiar, "With this kind of personality, keep yourselves restrained on the way back! Don't frighten him! Understood?"
Hui nodded gracefully, "Rest assured, we will."
Even before putting Pearl to sleep for rest, they had already used the simple medical equipment on the warship to examine the New King's physical condition. Every reading that lit up showed dangerous red, and this rarely used machine started screeching alarms accusing them of abusing a juvenile.
Of course, not a juvenile in the physiological sense, but a juvenile in terms of psionic power development compared to previous Mother Insects.
This little Pearl possesses explosive psionic power but lacks sustainability, like a tender little one still residing within a cocoon.
Olovikin added, "According to the test results, the King's physical weakness and blindness are partly due to poor upbringing, and partly because his body is too fragile to withstand the psionic power of the Mother Insect..."
"The medical equipment on the warship is limited. The psionic power detection device also picked up some slightly unusual data, which I've already transmitted to you. Remember to have the medical team on the Imperial Star review it. More detailed examinations will have to wait until we return."
Earlier, during the Beast Tide, the fragile Mother Insect had unleashed a powerful psionic force that far exceeded his physical constitution. The psionic power, which typically soothes and heals the Offspring of Narga, had suddenly turned aggressive in that moment. While completely annihilating the Giant Sandworm, it also caused some internal damage to the vessel bearing the psionic power.
—The bloodstains seeping through his clothing were proof.
This was an extremely rare occurrence in Narga's history; almost no Mother Insect's psionic power had ever possessed such lethal force.
At the very least, it was absolutely, absolutely impossible for one to single-handedly take on a King-level Mutated Beast.
A potent yet difficult-to-control psionic power housed in an extremely fragile and frail body—this was the critical issue they needed to focus on now.
"And now," Olovikin's voice softened, "...we must take very meticulous care of him."
A scoff echoed in the conference room.
Xagai pocketed the bone trinket, placed his hands on the table, and leaned his robust upper body forward slightly, casting a dense, faintly shifting shadow that exuded immense pressure.
"Do whatever you decide, but take care of a young one?" Xagai grinned, "—No time for that. I'd rather lead my subordinates to purge Beasts on other planets. I won't accompany you in playing nanny!"
With that, Xagai turned, his long coat sweeping in an arc as he strode out decisively, leaving only the faint sound of the automatic metal door closing behind him.
Quentin choked back a retort.
It's fine, he's used to dealing with troublemakers.
Hui said, "Don't worry, we'll take good care of him on the return journey. As for subsequent issues, let's discuss them after the New King recovers his health and develops a sense of belonging in Narga."
The meeting hadn't gone smoothly, but it was completed passably. Quentin had other urgent matters to attend to and ended the call first, plunging the room into sudden silence. Ega was the first to stand, quickly heading for the door.
He wanted to see Mother, to see little Pearl.
He couldn't wait.
Olovikin shook his head but stood up gracefully, preparing to check on Pearl's condition.
But after taking just one step, he suddenly remembered something and scanned the people in the conference room with a grave expression—
Hui was lowering his head to organize those physical examination reports related to the Little Mother Insect with his expression unclear; the Silver Species Chief Aslan remained standing by the vast floor-to-ceiling window and quietly gazing at the cosmic starscape beyond the warship, silent and still as a stone.
Xagai had left earlier, and Ega had followed the scent to find the Little Mother Insect.
Participation in the meeting was limited to the Chief's of each department.
Olovikin opened his mouth, his voice suddenly turning slightly hoarse. "...What about Tilan?"
Hui turned his head. "The Vice-Chief doesn't need to attend the meeting."
"I know." Olovikin's expression began to grow cold and stern. "But you should be aware—he's never had any fondness for the Mother Insect."
Crinkle.
Half of the inspection report held in Hui's hand was torn apart by the usually rational and composed young man.
Those slender, black-gloved hands hastily set down the remaining half of the paper before turning with Olovikin to head toward Pearl's resting room. Their pace was swift, as if afraid they might be too late.
The meeting room fell silent once more. Aslan focused solely on the nebula outside, seemingly captivated by the dazzling splendor of the cosmos.
That strand of Mycelium still clung to Pearl's ankle. The little one was safe—even feeling somewhat shy and happy?
Hmm, a bunch of eager, young pups.
...
Meanwhile, Hui and Olovikin caught up with Ega, who had left earlier. Though they shared the same destination and should have been walking in a staggered line along the metallic corridor, someone—no one knew who—started setting a fast pace, as if trying to overtake the others.
Thus, they fell into an eerie formation: walking side by side in silence, each striving to outpace the others.
In this side-by-side arrangement, the muscular contours honed by certain individuals became rather conspicuous, even turning into the decisive factor in their unspoken competition.
Ega, clad in form-fitting rubber combat gear, displayed a more defined and intricate chest contour. The tight-fitting attire clearly outlined the ridges of his muscles, like ranges of mountains constrained by a leather tactical chest harness—a clash of restraint and ferocity.
In contrast, Hui and Olovikin, dressed in military uniforms and aristocratic formalwear, lacked that blatant, overt masculinity.
From the opposite corridor, Xagai—on his way to the pressure training room—twitched the corner of his mouth in disdain, his gaze as if looking at dogs in a garbage dump.
Then, Xagai glanced down at the shadow cast below his collarbone that were formed by the contours of his chest, sneered coldly, and turned toward the warship's training room.
Some masculine assets don't need to be flaunted to be glaringly obvious.
...
A few minutes later, the three high-ranking Narga People nearly simultaneously came to a halt outside Pearl's door.
Before they could even knock politely, their heightened Narga senses detected faint, peculiar noises from behind the door.
It was the sound of Tilan and Pearl's conversation—
"...Shall we... do it... one more time?"
It was Tilan, his tone coaxing, like a wolf in sheep's clothing—clearly up to no good.
"N-No..."
It was Pearl, his tone primarily resistant and laced with shyness, as if struggling to accept something.
"You promised... to do... something fun... something enjoyable..."
Tilan countered, with a hint of feigned pitifulness—he was always good at acting, a typical two-faced individual.
"But... alright then. Be g-gentle..."
The Little Mother Insect, unable to refuse, agreed—a compromise and submission, willingly offering himself into the beast's jaws.
The Narga People outside: ???
Fun what?
What enjoyable thing?
Gentle with what?
Almost simultaneously, with a thunderous boom, the metallic eggshell door was shattered by limbs partially transformed into Pincer Legs and a Tail Hook extending from the base of a spine.
As the alarm blared through the warship corridor, Olovikin, Hui, and Ega charged in simultaneously with their faces dark with tension.
Even the usually taciturn Ega spoke in unison with them: "Tilan, how dare you—"
Inside the room, Tilan sat cross-legged on the floor in his military uniform and holding a fluffy little bunny in his arms while raising an eyebrow at them.
His hands, now free of the half-finger gloves, were gently covering the ears of the confused little bunny in his embrace.
The little bunny tilted its head, its fluffy long ears drooping amidst the white hair braided into small pigtails. Its paws, adorned with rabbit claw accessories, were clasped over its chest and holding a pair of gloves that looked somewhat familiar.
Pearl's face was pale and clean, his misty light blue eyes wide with innocent confusion, as if asking what had happened.
What else could it be?
Tilan chuckled softly as a sly glint flashing in his eyes. He rubbed the base of Pearl's soft, fluffy ears with his palms, blocking out the earlier loud noise from the mechanical door, then leisurely tugged at one of the drooping bunny ears with his playful expression.
It was nothing more than the filthy and vulgar thoughts of a group of adult Narga people.
...Did they really think he would so recklessly expose the little bunny in his arms to his own somewhat inappropriate and perverse ideas?
At least not now.
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