“Have you already registered? Please show your ID.”
The smart device lit up, displaying the black-robed insect’s competition information in full detail.
[Contestant: Kaka
Alias: Your Daddy
Gender: Sub-Male
Race: Guess
Record: None
Self-Introduction: Professional scammer with top-tier stealth skills. Services include knife sharpening, scissor grinding, haircuts, blowouts, and full-body massages—comprehensive one-stop service. For details, contact via smart device account: xxxxxxxxx.]
Attendant Insect: Wait, can someone like this even register? I feel like I’m seeing something strange, but I’m not entirely sure.
“Alright, I understand. Please follow me.” Thanks to the attendant insect’s professionalism, he managed to maintain a composed expression.
The black-robed insect followed closely behind the tuxedo-clad attendant, the two insects proceeding one after the other toward the waiting room.
As they wound through the corridors of the arena, the arched doorways receded like frames of film. Sunlight filtered through, outlining the black-robed insect’s indistinct figure. Shadows stretched beneath his feet, making him appear increasingly mysterious.
When did the black market get an insect like this? Why hadn’t he heard of him? The attendant insect grew more puzzled the more he thought about it.
“Please wait here. The match will begin in half an hour. Once you hear the prompt, proceed to the entrance of the arena.”
The attendant insect bowed slightly and considerately closed the waiting room door as he left.
The waiting room was now empty, save for the black-robed insect.
Seeing no other insects around, the black-robed insect lifted the hood from his head and let out a long sigh of relief. However, he kept his mask carefully in place, with only the faint outline of his antennae visible from a distance. It was none other than Carlos himself.
[So, Host, how did you suddenly become a contestant?]
Carlos realized he had developed a bad habit. Whenever he saw the system, he felt like flicking it a couple of times. Although the system had no name, he thought “Qiuqiu” suited it perfectly.
“Those extra fake identities I prepared earlier are coming in handy now.”
After receiving the notice from Sweet Home, Carlos sensed something suspicious about it. Believing that signing up wouldn’t cost him anything, he decided to wade into the muddy waters. Now, it had indeed proven useful.
In the arena, if Zelan won, he would be trapped in an endless cycle of matches until he was eventually killed by another contestant.
If Zelan lost, in such a brutal and bloody place, the fights were almost always to the death—even if he survived, he’d be severely injured.
That’s why Carlos chose to participate himself. He planned to “defeat” Zelan in the upcoming match, allowing the female insect to leave the arena alive.
[But, but Host, you’re a male insect! Won’t you just be delivering yourself to your death by going on stage?]
Before the system could finish, it seemed on the verge of bouncing around and bursting into tears. [The mission isn’t complete yet. If this identity dies, it’s game over for real, Host! Waaah—]
“Hold on, don’t panic yet.” Carlos helplessly pinched the system’s spherical head, manually silencing it and finally achieving a moment of peace.
Fixing matches was something you got better at with practice. Carlos had considered paying for a fixed match or finding another way to get Zelan out. But with the enemy hidden and himself exposed, he thought it over and decided it was better to step into the arena himself. This way, he could ensure Zelan’s safety through the crisis while also probing the mastermind behind it all or rather, the master insect.
Carlos spat and corrected himself. Although he had been transmigrated into the insectoid race for some time, he still couldn’t quite get used to terms like “insectoid creature.”
The digital clock glowed with a fluorescent blue light in mid-air, counting down bit by bit. All Carlos had to do now was wait for his turn to go on stage, so he propped his head up in boredom, lost in thought.
A faint, broken groan suddenly echoed through the waiting room.
Were there other insectoids here?
The waiting room he was currently in was located far to the south, while Zelan’s was in the north, separated by a vast distance. Logically, there shouldn’t be any other insectoids here.
Following the source of the sound, Carlos approached the innermost corner of the waiting room, where an insectoid was curled up against the wall.
The insectoid on the ground wore a slave collar, covered in blood and sweat, looking utterly wretched. Judging by the code on its neck, it was a slave from the Sweet Home.
Carlos found it somewhat familiar.
1349—a blue-haired, blue-eyed insectoid slave. As a female insectoid, its body was nearly drained of life, just like the slave the overseer Heiga had dragged around that day.
Why was it here alone?
“Save… me, please, save me.”
Before Carlos could react, the blue-haired slave grabbed his pant leg, whimpering softly.
“Save me, cough, cough, cough.”
Before the blue-haired slave could finish speaking, it was seized by a violent coughing fit. A large amount of blood gushed from its mouth, splattering onto Carlos’s robe and leaving a mess all over.
Carlos paid no attention to the bloodstains on his clothes or the foul-smelling blood on the floor. He simply knelt in the pool of blood and helped the slave up.
“Can you hear me? Tell me what happened?”
Carlos noticed that although the blue-haired slave’s eyes were open, the whites were nearly rolled back, clearly indicating it was barely conscious. Even after he patted its face, there was no response.
“No… cough, cough, cough, no! Please, I want to live.”
Whether the slave had regained some consciousness or not, it continued to wail, “I’ll obey, I’ll obey, but at least, at least, please spare my brother.”
“How can I help you?”
Carlos and Zelan were already in a precarious situation themselves. He knew he shouldn’t recklessly get involved in trouble, but he still asked tentatively.
“Ugh.” The slave’s voice suddenly cut off.
The blue-haired slave, who had been half-collapsed on the ground, suddenly jerked up like a dying fish, clutching its head in agony and tearing at its own hair.
As it struggled, strange changes began to occur on its body. Its arms gradually transformed into sharp insectoid limbs, and the bristles that grew out pricked Carlos painfully.
The blue-haired slave’s mouth, which had been wide open and spewing blood, suddenly stopped. It was as if an invisible knife was slicing it open from both sides. The corners of its mouth split apart, resembling the slit-mouthed woman from horror illustrations, as a pair of mandibles slowly emerged from the opening.
It looked less like a mouth now and more like an insectoid’s mouthparts.
“1349! 1349!” Carlos repeatedly called out the slave’s number, but it was completely futile.
The slave’s condition was similar to the insectoid transformations he had seen before, but this state was far more frenzied, as if the story had shifted from a melodramatic novel to a horror film.
Adhering to the principle of seeing things through to the end, Carlos took out the remaining sedative he had and injected it into the slave’s neck. Then, he quickly retreated to maintain a safe distance.
“Ding! Ten minutes until the match begins. Please prepare, waiting contestants.”
The announcement echoed overhead in the arena.
Before leaving, Carlos sent a message on his neural interface to the medic, Ethan, asking him to come and provide emergency treatment. That was all he could do.
He had to go now.
Carlos adjusted his black robe, secured his mask, and headed toward the arena.
On the other side, his next opponent was Zelan.
[Host, why did you bother with that slave insect just now? It was completely unnecessary.]
The system, still in its metallic sphere form, followed behind Carlos, voicing its confusion.
“Consider it a whim,” Carlos replied, unsure why he had acted on impulse earlier.
Thinking back now, it was because the slave insect’s eyes reminded him of Zelan.
It was just a small gesture, but perhaps it could change the fate of that blue-haired slave insect.
Carlos raised his hand, blocking a ray of light from the sky. Through the gaps between his fingers, he could faintly see white clouds and a white bird flying by. A gentle breeze brushed against his fingertips.
If Zelan hadn’t gone through all this, would his eyes be as clear as the sky?
The wind lifted Carlos’s black robe, and he found himself lost in these wandering thoughts.
The system, trailing behind, grew even more puzzled. When the host had injected the sedative into the protagonist earlier, he had been gentle. But just now, he had acted swiftly and decisively, with a firm and precise hand.
Perhaps, this was what they called the legendary insect’s double standard. The system nodded inwardly, convinced it possessed an exceptionally sharp insight.
The passage was nearing its end. The circular entrance ahead grew larger, and the cheers from the surroundings were as loud as before.
A contestant clad in a black robe and silver mask stepped into the center of the arena.
Disguised contestants were not uncommon in the arena. Many used aliases, and desperate outlaws often hid their identities to compete.
Yet, the opponent before him made Zelan pause.
Not out of intimidation, but he looked strangely familiar, reminiscent of that odd warden insect.
Above them, the referee’s miniature drone hovered between the two insects, beginning the pre-match introductions. But the spectators in the stands were growing restless.
“Did I hear that right? The opponent is a sub-female?”
“How could a sub-female participate in the arena? Does she have a death wish?”
“If it’s a sub-female, what’s there to watch in this match?”
Some in the stands even shouted angrily, “What the hell! Refund my money!”
In a place like the arena, the appearance of a sub-female was unheard of. Sub-females couldn’t transform, and they were all weak in combat. Most wouldn’t even set foot in such a place, let alone compete—it was practically suicide.
Zelan noticed the faint antennae protruding from the opponent’s head, confirming she was indeed a sub-female. Even though he was injured and nearly exhausted, if his opponent was a sub-female, the outcome was a foregone conclusion.
The robed insect stood there, unmoving.
At this point, Zelan wasn’t the type to show mercy. To survive, he had to defeat the sub-female.
“Match begins!” the referee shouted.
Zelan’s movements weren’t particularly fast, but in the blink of an eye, he closed the distance between them.
His current physical condition demanded a swift and decisive end.
Zelan’s palms came together, transforming into a blade in an instant. Without the slightest hesitation, he aimed straight for the neck of the sub-male.
In the next second, the opponent’s insectoid head would be severed.