"I'll go down and handle it."
With a sigh, the Core-gene species stood up and gave a nod to the Sub-Queen beside him, quickly tallying the troops that would descend to the surface with him. The other party acknowledged him with a silent nod.
To rewind a moment:
The meeting with Evelyn had ended quickly. It wasn't the right time for a formal negotiation; it felt more like she had traveled a thousand miles just to catch a glimpse of him after hearing news of his return. A formal restart of talks would have to wait until he had swept through the star system of the Leg-Limb tribe. Only then, with Clark present, could a formal invitation be issued and a date set.
Serious business required formal procedures, not a private meeting with such a relaxed atmosphere. The current Emperor, born of the Holman family, would never yield an inch in negotiations or trade due to past sentiment. Instead, he would be like a predator scenting blood, relentless in his pursuit.
Coincidentally, Sarkdi was also a man single-mindedly focused on amassing wealth. Having gone through the absurd process of dying, failing an upload, and then opening his eyes to crawl back up, his habit of swallowing gold without ever spitting it back out hadn't diminished in the slightest. Whether the Zerg were worth his trouble was one thing, but more importantly, Sarkdi had a bit of a hoarding instinct. Ample resources, money, and weapons were the foundation of his ability to stir up trouble.
His current living environment was like walking on thin ice; it looked infinitely glorious on the surface, but in reality, it was leaking from all sides. None of the other Core-gene tribes were up to any good. Only by hoarding more supplies could he beat down any other insects that tried to cause trouble in the future. Compared to that, the friendship between old friends was as flimsy as a hamburger wrapper.
This tug-of-war was essentially a magical clash between a Merchant of Venice and a Grandet.
In the early stages of the Time River's construction, the human camp had to face the turmoil caused by the previous Emperor's passing and the lack of key technologies. Back then, Evelyn might have considered showing mercy, reaching a consensus with the Core-gene tribes through a generous cooperation plan.
However, now that they had caught their breath, the Emperor would absolutely not show any sentimentality. When Sarkdi raised the demand for a trade zone, he hadn't missed the undisguised ambition and desire in those green eyes.
"When the time comes, I’ll be the one setting the terms," he warned the silver-grey female insect seriously. "Your hands are too loose. You’ll be slaughtered like a fat sheep by the other side."
Clark: "???"
It was a classic trope—regardless of the species, high-ranking individuals or nobles with "damn good luck" would clutch their resources tightly like a dog guarding its food, yet simultaneously have absolutely no concept of actual money.
Thus, a direct-descent Sub-Queen could casually terraform a habitat star system just to make it more comfortable for a human to live in, or easily promise twenty percent of the profits from an entire star-core energy mine as a salary.
The Core-gene species had almost forgotten that this guy could drop a pile of energy stones without a second thought even when facing Katla. Back when Sarkdi was destitute and fighting underground matches on Ja, Clark was sitting in the Core Star Zone, lording over his own planets and his own fleet. Even at his lowest point, the man held firmly onto nearly half of the Grey-Wing tribe.
Truly, the joys and sorrows of insects were not shared.
"Promise me, brother."
The Core-gene species' face, full of earnest sincerity, almost pressed against the silver-grey female, causing the Sub-Queen to lean back in a tactical retreat of pure disgust.
If he were to hand over a profit that should have been his, Sarkdi couldn't imagine how much his heart would ache. It would probably be to the extent that he wouldn't be able to act cheerful whenever he saw Evelyn from then on. And his old friend would, in every subsequent meeting, remind him of this Waterloo-esque defeat with a sincere smile.
"I get it. Get away from me."
The "don't touch me" sentiment was practically overflowing. Clark's grey eyes held a faint, knowing smile as he looked at the pitch-black female. "You likely still have many things to explain to me. We will settle the accounts slowly later."
Tapping his fingers on the table, the Grey-Wing who had just finished the call with the human was, for some reason, in a very good mood. He didn't even mock the somewhat overstepping suggestion, instead conversing quite calmly.
"Particularly... regarding the little secret between you and the human."
"..."
*If I explain that clearly, we won't be allies anymore, friend.*
The Core-gene species prepared to laugh it off and skip the topic. However, before he could continue his banter, another Grey-Wing sent a communication.
The Leg-Limb tribe's remaining three core planets were heavily guarded. The simplest way to take them was to bombard them directly from space. If casualties weren't a concern, both humans and the Zerg actually preferred using automated weapons. But on the planet closest to them, they had discovered an Angon, along with a massive number of males and larvae living within it.
Upon hearing this news, Sarkdi wore an expression of pure confusion. "Are you kidding me?"
He looked up at the insect who had patched into the comms to report in person. "Why would a core planet have something like that?"
A central zone in a state of combat almost never left behind burdensome males or larvae; both Krisha and the Broad-Wing Sub-Queen followed this principle. Furthermore, an Angon had always been a place where female insects congregated; it didn't seem to fit the description of "massive numbers" of males at all.
The reason lay in the differing philosophies of the two sides.
Clark was more accustomed to keeping the members of the Grey-Wing tribe under his nose. Males and larvae would only die faster after migrating to low- or mid-tier planets, so it was better to let them live in the safest places. This practice led to the population density of the core habitats belonging to Clark constantly increasing.
Conversely, those like Krisha, who practiced subtraction, were much simpler. Anyone without combat power was kicked out to fend for themselves; only the strong and fierce direct-descendants could claim a spot in the steel fortresses.
The Sub-Queen of the Leg-Limb tribe was clearly cut from the same cloth as Krisha. Sarkdi didn't believe for a second that the opponent had suddenly found a conscience.
"It is an invitation for us to descend to the surface."
When he met Clark's grey eyes, he suddenly understood. "He's using this method to interfere, making it impossible for me to level half the planet with a single shot from space."
"I told you long ago, your way of thinking is unlike any other Zerg. It is full of useless morality and a sense of justice," the high-ranking insect said softly, sitting in place. That fleeting look of insight and pity surfaced in his eyes once more. "Any insect can see your mercy and restraint. They can also see your special leniency toward the males."
"So, the Leg-Limb tribe can stockpile a large number of males in a combat zone that could be obliterated in an instant, all just to stall your advance."
"Either have enough power, or hide your true thoughts. What you value is worthless in the eyes of others. It’s just like when you expose your bottom line to a creature with no morality—they won't politely stop before the line; they will only step over it with even more audacity."
The leaden-grey eyes looked at his ally. There was no resentment or mockery, only a faint, weary sense of exhaustion, like the aftereffects of the tribal schism finally surfacing at this moment.
"I warned you."
"I'll handle it," Sarkdi said, wasting no time.
Cleaning up the mess one created was a principle everyone in this universe should learn to follow. During the siege of the Broad-Wing tribe, his overly gentle approach toward the males in the hatching nests had clearly caught the attention of those with ulterior motives, leading to the current situation.
Regardless, he had engaged in close-quarters combat many times; one more wouldn't hurt. If the Leg-Limb Sub-Queen had the ability, he could try to pin Sarkdi to the ground; otherwise, Sarkdi would soon remove that troublesome head of his.
"Hiding is useless."
He smiled and bumped tails with his ally, then pulled up the information linker, entering combat mode with the troops about to detach from the fleet and descend to the planet's surface.
In the past, before a campaign, he and Evelyn would likely mess up Klein's hair, giving the refined, honest man a vigorous "rua" as a "farewell ritual for good luck"—much like how he enjoyed grabbing Kleiman's scaled tail.
But "rua-ing" Clark might actually result in death.
"Experience tells me that only by beating the opponent until they can't get up, until they have no power to resist—beating them until those cheering onlookers are silenced by fear and never dare to cross the line again—can you make them understand what should and shouldn't be done."
Sarkdi had always believed that whether it was humans or Zerg, those at the bottom often bore the greater share of self-attrition. This attrition was passive, reflected not only in the labor they were forced to provide but also in their lack of control over their own destinies.
He had worked hard for many years on a low-tier planet just to scramble for an illegal smuggling ticket. That was built on the premise that he was more savage, more ferocious, and more cunning than his peers.
But for Ms. Finley Young, the entire process—from paying the fines and deposits to processing a legal residency permit for him—took a mere two weeks.
And for the Federation conservatives, it took only an instant to flick a finger and let a Star-Swallowing weapon incinerate V217.
The difference between them was an absolute disparity in hierarchy.
So, once those in high positions started learning to act without regard for others, everyone would discover... that there really were a lot of bastards who climbed higher and higher. They didn't have to bear the corresponding social labor, nor did they need to spend effort interpreting social dynamics; they could just do whatever they wanted.
For instance, the Sub-Queen of the Leg-Limb tribe had used its brilliant brain to come up with the "great" idea of clogging the entrance with the old, weak, and sick to delay the progress of the war.
His golden-brown pupils now looked exactly like those of a standard Zerg.
A beast from the wilderness would always find its own comfort zone. Morality was morality, and war was war. Only a fool would cling to humility in the middle of a battle.
Although the Core-gene tribes liked to set up an Angon in their star systems as a sort of spiritual symbol, the only one Sarkdi was truly familiar with was the one on Ja. When fighting the Broad-Wings, all their energy had been spent on destroying the nursery nests; they had no mood to care about the enemy's spiritual civilization.
He was about to visit the Great Angon Sacrificial Ground established by the Leg-Limb tribe. Thinking about it made him feel a little excited.
"You'd better not be too optimistic."
With a soft sigh, the Sub-Queen stood up as well.
Compared to an outsider like Sarkdi, the silver-grey female clearly understood the true nature of his fellow tribesmen better. They were hatched from different batches of eggs laid by several successive Queens, categorized into different tribes based on their functions.
In the later stages of the war between the Zerg and humans, due to certain... unspeakable factors, the turnover rate of the Queens was absurdly fast. Often, a new Queen would have been in power for only a few years before being taken out by an irresistible external force, causing these direct-descendants from different batches to be chaotically layered together.
But when it came to being malicious, none of them were second to any other. The higher the grade of their genes, the more vividly they displayed their cruelty and savagery.
"The scene might not be very pleasant," the silver-grey female said. It was a well-intentioned warning. "If you haven't yet seen a *real* Angon established by the other tribes."
***
