The deep brown worker-female from the defeated tribe was named Selim—a crisp onomatopoeia, like the sound of floating ice colliding, which stood in stark contrast to its earthy coloration.
It was a medium-gene species.
Gera showed a hint of surprise when he finally saw these fear-stricken Zerg.
"They’re from the Short-wing tribe," he remarked, whispering into the ear of the female beside him. "This tribe has a very good temperament. Their females prefer to raise larvae together with their mates. If direct kin die, a group of worker-females will stay behind specifically to protect the eggs that lost their hatchers and the newly emerged larvae."
After a long absence, the "Encyclopedia" was back online. Sarkdi wore a look of realization.
"Good temperament" was a relative term; even the gentlest Zerg was more aggressive than a human. But compared to their own kind, these old, weak, and disabled survivors could practically be called the herbivores of the Zerg race.
The group was equally startled to see Gera.
The black Core-species had left the sickly, wounded survivors on the ship and departed the night before. After a night of rest, the cowering females huddled together, finally looking as though they weren't on the verge of death.
They had nowhere to go. As survivors of a defeated tribe sold to Ja, any attempt to slip away from their owner would inevitably result in a ruthless manhunt.
They shrank into the corner, trembling and afraid to move—a scene that looked remarkably familiar.
Sarkdi had previously exhausted himself just trying to drag one reactive "cat" out; now he had five in front of him, and each one was physically imposing.
"My companion, Gera," the Core-species said, gesturing toward the white male, though his gaze remained fixed on the huddle of newcomers. "From now on, you will follow his orders as well."
The term "companion" caused the deep brown worker-female to cautiously study the male, as if trying to probe the true meaning of the word. "Is he your... mate?"
"Companion," Sarkdi corrected again.
Now Selim looked truly bewildered.
Males did not become "companions" to females. Ill-tempered females treated males as consumables and toys; those with better temperaments viewed them as tribal property; and a few with strong family instincts treated them as mates to be protected.
The Short-wing tribe mostly belonged to the last category. They acted collectively and cared for the offspring of other tribe members. Aside from their mediocre combat strength, the internal atmosphere of this tribe was much gentler than that of other Zerg.
Gera gave a cautious buzz, greeting them.
He was generally terrified of adult females, but these Short-wingers didn't seem aggressive, so he tried taking a step forward.
The females responded one by one, buzzing back at him.
"Very good."
The black Core-species smiled, patting Gera’s head in encouragement.
The damage caused by psychological trauma was long-lasting; it wouldn't have mattered if Gera chose to hide behind him right now. But the previous night, when he mentioned to the male that he had "packaged up the five losers from the Sacrificial Match and brought them to the ship," Gera had unexpectedly expressed a desire to meet them.
Observing the interaction between them, the brown medium-species' eyes lit up.
It shifted its body as if wanting to say something, but in the next second, the Core-species' golden-brown pupils swept over. That calm gaze froze the creature in place, making it fear to utter a sound.
The white male felt a bit shy from the head-pat. He wagged his tail awkwardly, seemingly at a loss for words.
"I'll drop you off at Kata’s place first, then head to the Great Sacrificial Arena," Sarkdi said to Gera in a gentle tone, as if seeking the male's opinion. "Once these new partners have recovered, you can get to know each other slowly."
Gera nodded. His keen spiritual perception told him that Sarkdi had things to discuss with these females alone. He pretended not to notice, reining in his emotions and hugging the other’s arm.
After seeing the male off, the Core-species quickly turned back to the ship.
This time, the soft atmosphere surrounding him vanished. He sat in the bridge chair, wearing a knowing, half-smiling expression.
"Speak. You looked like you had something to say just now."
This attitude made the females uneasy.
They rustled for a moment before the one acting as representative lowered its body again, curling its limbs and wings close to its torso.
"One of our males was taken by another High-rank species of Angon." The brown medium-species prostrated itself deeply on the floor, its trembling companions behind it.
Selim acted as if it wanted to bury its entire body into the ground, refusing to look the other in the eye to show total submission.
The interaction between the black female and that male had given it a spark of courage.
It could sense that this Core-species' attitude toward males was far more lenient and gentle than that of a typical High-rank. This allowed a flickering, uncertain hope to seize its heart, which had previously been mired in despair.
It felt it was going mad, but it couldn't give up on trying.
"He’s still alive—my, our sub-adult male was still alive when he was taken."
Nervousness made its words incoherent, but it feared that if it stopped, it would never find the courage to beg this Core-species again.
"I am willing to offer every one of my scales, every piece of my flesh, and obey your will until death. My tribe is also willing to follow you closely."
"If only you could bring our companion—"
"I cannot," the black Core-species said calmly, cutting off the other’s violently trembling voice.
"Your male is in Katra’s hands. He won't give back a toy he’s claimed."
"For now, no Zerg can defeat the champion of the Angon Great Sacrificial Arena. You can't, and I, having just entered adulthood, cannot either."
As if stung by the word "toy," Selim’s body arched, nearly snapping from the pain.
During the Sacrificial Match, it had nearly been torn open by the opposing High-rank while trying to protect the male behind it.
The male had buzzed in desperate terror, clutching the female’s arm tightly, even throwing himself onto the female to stop the opponent from further harming Selim.
But then, he was snatched up by that High-rank species.
Selim had never heard such a terrified scream.
The entire Great Sacrificial Arena was filled with fanatical, excited shouts. Its little sub-adult male was dragged away by the Core-species, letting out tragic wails of agony, but no one cared.
All the spectators were mad with joy, agitated by the scene, as thousands of buzzing sounds merged into a single, cold, chilling language.
Females who had just left childhood were assigned to care for orphaned eggs and larvae because of their low combat strength.
The medium-species male cub had been so, so small, struggling to follow behind the worker-females who weren't much larger themselves, stumbling on four legs that seemed to have minds of their own.
The medium-species female, then too young and resentful of the job, had been gruff and blunt while nursing those brats, stuffing large mouthfuls of beast-paste into the mouths of every female and male cub.
Only Xiao would keep a mouthful of paste while happily hugging its leg, like a sticky little tail, joyfully burrowing into its embrace.
"Xiao is not a toy," the worker-female hissed in pain. It knew no help would come. Having experienced it firsthand, it knew the horror of that High-rank species better than anyone. That creature sat perched on the high platform of the arena, feasting on two dead females.
Those two females had been very young, having only recently entered sub-adulthood. They were from the same batch of cubs as Xiao, and they had stood at the very front to protect their broken tribe.
It had failed to protect a single surviving cub of the tribe.
"Xiao is not a toy," the medium-species could only repeat over and over, like a cicada screaming hoarsely until it died of exhaustion.
Most Zerg did not possess tear glands; when they imitated human mimicry, they could only produce the sound of weeping without the moisture. Blood filled its eyes, burning its sockets, leaving what looked like red tear stains on its face.
"My friend Kata told me that if one wins ten rounds against other High-gene species, they have the right to challenge the champion of the Great Sacrificial Arena."
The black female spoke again. He spent a long time scrutinizing the defeated tribe before him.
"Coincidentally, I’ve already taken down one Core-species."
Selim looked up with a look of disbelief, its movement so fast it nearly snapped its own neck.
"If luck is on my side, in nine more matches, I can directly face the champion of the Great Sacrificial Arena."
The Zerg body possessed extreme adaptability and pressure resistance.
Sarkdi found that the places where his scales had been torn off in the first match had already grown new ones, and within a few days, these scales had become harder and sharper than before.
Combat was like a whetstone; he needed to roll across the chopping block in the shortest time possible.
All the techniques he lacked would be gained from a high volume of battles against other Core-species.
Those slaughters would repeatedly tear away his current protective scales, forcing his body to regrow new, indestructible ones, grinding away everything that didn't fit the optimal solution for combat in a cruel, bloody fashion before reshaping him.
"If your male is still alive by then."
Sarkdi looked down at the female with red blood trailing down its face, his expression unchanged.
"I will challenge Katra to a death match."
A battle against the champion of Angon was different from any other event.
A challenger from below had only one choice: to initiate a death match. The Zerg social structure, chaotic yet strictly hierarchical, dictated that they only obeyed the strong. Unlike the minor scuffle of beating up the audience, all eyes were fixed on the sole throne of the Great Sacrificial Arena.
Before the old king died, a new king would not be born.
To become the master of Angon, he had to tear open the current champion's throat, crush its heart, and pull it down from the throne.
This struggle was destined to have only one side walk onto the high platform.
But the benefits of winning were also obvious.
He didn't have much time to waste on Angon acting as a glorified security guard. Ja’s power was fragmented and scattered; high-aggression weapons were not allowed on the surface, and the gap in combat power between residents and armed species was too vast.
He was going to forcibly pull everyone's gaze toward him, making this mindless, head-on-colliding crowd realize that a new tribe had taken root here.
"What do you need us to do?" The brown medium-species was so urgent its voice became muffled. It moved closer, its breathing slits letting out huffing sounds of ventilation, its short wings rubbing anxiously as if it wanted to reach out a forelimb to grab him.
Sarkdi remained unmoved.
"Regardless of whether your male makes it back alive, I will throw all of you into the Great Sacrificial Arena to train. You'll train until you can't crawl, and then you'll come back to repair the ship."
"I want you to get used to squad tactics. Get used to using thermal weapons to compensate for your lack of natural attack power. I want any one of you to be able to operate this ship with ease."
"We can, we—"
A gesture from the other again interrupted this eager confession.
"I want you to protect Gera as if you were protecting your own male," the black Core-species said. The brown in his eyes faded, replaced by an eerie gold. "I want you to never abandon him. As long as you have a single breath left, you must keep all calamity and harm away from him."
His fingers tapped rhythmically against the armrest of the chair, his words carrying a strange, resonant hum.
Pheromones as sharp and pungent as rust choked the medium-species' breath, welding into its scent gland like a red-hot iron, searing into the depths of its body.
This was the Core-species' sign of accepting new family members.
Selim looked blankly at the female opposite it, not understanding why the other had suddenly accepted them. But euphoria soon flooded its entire body. Together with its companions, it prostrated itself deeply once more, emitting a soft buzzing sound.
Then, they were saddled with a mountain of work.
When the black Core-species utilized labor, he was more cold-hearted than the management of a monopoly.
Worker-females had always possessed good pressure resistance and thick nerves, making them suitable for creating economic value. Not only did he throw this "family set" of members into the arena every day to be trained to within an inch of their lives, but he also filled their remaining time with tasks.
When humans migrated to space, several tech companies quickly formed monopolies.
Some early oligarchic enterprises even transcended the scale of a corporation, expanding and devouring at an unimaginable magnitude.
The concept of a "nation" in the narrow sense of the Old Earth was quickly shattered and then reorganized.
Sarkdi, like a ruthless capitalist, worked every Zerg around him until they were howling.
Once Selim gradually learned how to handle customer relations, Sarkdi directly established a network of communication bubbles between himself, the brown medium-species, black-market weapon suppliers, and ship upgrade material suppliers. As soon as the female came out of the arena, it would be holding an information connector, saying, "Yes, understood, no problem."
The Short-wingers were all relatively mild-tempered, making them perfect for customer service work.
The large batch of workers instantly eased his pressure, giving him more time for self-improvement.
"Don't do anything dangerous," Kata warned. Lately, he would occasionally drop by Sarkdi’s raider ship to check on the rescued Short-wingers and teach Gera how to better use the ship to interface with the information nest.
He glanced at the male sitting in a far corner with a long face, dismantling a weapon—Sarkdi was a man of his word and iron-hearted; if he said there was a test, there was a test. In a voice that wouldn't be overheard, Kata warned the scoundrel in front of him: "I heard several black-market traders are doing business with you. Don't do something you can't clean up."
He truly suspected that this fearless fellow before him could pull off some disastrous operation that would punch a hole in the sky.
"I'm not going to start an armed insurrection right now," the black Core-species laughed, looking lazy. "A whole fleet of orbital cannons is hanging over our heads."
The owners of the energy stars and the armed Zerg armies stationed by the Core-tribes on those two moons were clearly not there for decoration. Ja had seen several riots in the past, but they had all been effortlessly suppressed by the High-rank species.
Most of the worker-females mining here belonged to the low-to-medium species groups; they found it difficult to gather enough strength to fight back when faced with overwhelming heavy firepower.
Struggles usually occurred between two powers of similar magnitude, where one side used force to compel the other to submit, and both sides were prepared to use violence to the maximum extent. But if the gap in strength was too large, it was merely a farcical comedy.
Overwhelming difference triggered fear, and the side that used power without hesitation or regard for cost would easily force the other to retreat and gain the advantage.
Now, the residents of Ja would only retreat faster when facing High-rank armed species, driven by fear and the experience of past crushing defeats.
To flip the table, one first had to be qualified to sit at it.
He needed to get that entry ticket.
"You know, among the nobles—the High-rank species—of the human race, it was once very popular to keep dogs. But a hound is just a hound. When the old pack leader has its throat bitten through by a challenger, the master will pretend to be angry for a while, then immediately praise the new lead dog for being braver and stronger than the last."
Sarkdi didn't like being a dog at all.
However, the strategy for punching someone, stealing their goods, and running away was entirely different from the strategy for taking a whole planet for oneself.
"Aren't there always stories like that? The old, frail tribal leader being bitten to death by a new challenger."
It took Kata a moment to realize the other was talking about Katra. His eyes widened.
"You're crazy!"
He instinctively looked at Gera, who was still buried in reassembling the weapon. The male seemed to have discovered two extra parts during the process and was currently in a state of patient contemplation, completely oblivious to the conversation here.
"You don't value your own life, and you want to take your mate to his death too?! You've only been an adult for a few days; it's impossible for you to win against that female!"
"There will be other, better ways," the elderly administrator urged earnestly. "Don't gamble with your life and Gera's."
Whether a battle was difficult and whether it could be won were two different things.
Once an act of violence began, it would only stop when one side was completely defeated. The cowardly and the noble often pinned their hopes on a less cruel struggle, harboring fantasies of help falling from the sky or their enemies suddenly finding their conscience.
But such things never happened in reality.
"I can wait."
The black Core-species said, his steady tone soothing the other as if nothing could make him lose control of his emotions. "If I wait out one Great Cosmic Cycle, my combat power will stabilize at the peak of adulthood. But the Short-wing male will die."
He said.
"That male won't last long in that creature's hands."
"..." Kata stared at him.
Finally, the elder female let out a sigh-like hiss, covering its cheeks with its forelimbs. "But you can't take such a risk. If you lose, what will happen to Gera?"
"Then you and those Short-wingers can just take the ship and lead him away." This time Sarkdi laughed, returning to that irritatingly lazy manner. "Why do you think I gave this ship such a massive upgrade?"
Unable to persuade him, the elderly administrator left, full of worry.
The white male looked up, silently watching that retreating back. He fluttered his wings but ultimately said nothing.
Some things could be handled with tricks, but others could not.
Sarkdi could delegate upgrading the ship and contacting black-market suppliers to Selim and Kai; he could leave monitoring Katra and the movements of the Great Sacrificial Arena to those "colleagues"; and finally, he could leave the classification and organization of information to Gera and Kata.
But regarding the crucial step of pulling Katra down, no other Zerg could share the burden for him.
The gap in combat power between the others and Katra was too vast.
Going up would just be delivering a snack.
He had to beat the other into the ground without any tricks or cheating.
The Core-species began to leave early and return late, his movements becoming erratic.
Gera saw fresh wounds on him several times. The other didn't hide it, stating bluntly that he was going to fight matches against other High-rank species.
"You're going to do something very dangerous," Gera said. The male had also become quieter lately, spending his days following Kata or the small team formed by the five survivors.
The five-Zerg squad was often pulled away by worker-females to be trained alongside other females at the Great Sacrificial Arena.
Although Sarkdi had only spoken with those females after sending Gera away, Gera had still keenly sensed something.
He gently licked the wounds, helping the other heal faster.
The male lay atop him, curled up, his white scaled tail gently coiling around the other’s pitch-black tail-whip. Sarkdi stroked his small wings.
"There's something I have to tell you," Gera whispered, his two pairs of beautiful eyes carrying a trace of weariness.
"I will only leave Ja with you. My tribe abandoned me once; I don't want to be thrown away a second time."
The Core-species' fingers grooming his wings paused for a moment, but then continued.
The rough friction made the male tremble slightly.
"If you fail, then I will devour your remains and turn into blood-sludge and mire at the bottom of Angon with you."
The other’s figure was reflected in those glass-bead-like pupils; the non-human emotion flowing within them made him seem extremely alien in that moment.
This was the first time Gera had shown a certain aggression in front of him.
The human disguise had fallen away from him.
But Sarkdi was not afraid.
He laughed softly and pulled the other, along with the blanket, into his arms.
"That day will never come."
Sarkdi’s low voice was close to him, as if coaxing a larva to sleep.
"After the battle is over, I will carry you on a circuit through the Great Sacrificial Arena and place you on the throne of the high platform."
"And then I will tell them that you are my brightest little star."
***
| Chinese | English | Notes/Explanation |
| :--- | :--- | :--- |
| 瑟临 | Selim | Name of the brown medium-species worker-female. |
| 短翅族群 | Short-wing tribe | A Zerg tribe known for being gentle and family-oriented. |
| 肖 | Xiao | The sub-adult male Zerg from Selim's tribe. |
| 喀特拉 | Katra | The current champion/ruler of the Angon Great Sacrificial Arena. |
| 拟声词 | Onomatopoeia | A word that phonetically imitates a sound. |
| 大宇宙循环 | Great Cosmic Cycle | A unit of time in this setting, likely related to Zerg maturation. |
| 恺 | Kai | One of the worker-females (implied to be one of the new group). |
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