The counterattack came swifter than anticipated.
Direct descendants were considered such because they were sufficiently powerful. Even Krisha, who struggled to command respect and had retained only half of his followers, was no exception. Over the past ten great cycles, several rounds of rebellion had been launched against the current Sub-King, yet he remained firmly seated upon his throne.
The few Armed Seeds who had dealt with Sarkdi for a long time were already quite accustomed to their current commander's style. However, the other female insects belonging to the armed squads began to look at this outsider with increasingly strange expressions after following him through a few tactical maps.
*You are truly devious.*
As the most ferocious and bellicose breed, the Gray-wing Tribe had always favored head-on clashes and swarming their enemies. Yet, Sarkdi preferred flanking, sneak attacks, and pincer movements. He frequently pulled off maneuvers where the main force held the front while he went in light to raid the enemy’s home base from behind.
It wasn’t that it didn't feel good to win, it was just... absurd.
At the latest outpost planet they had taken down, the Armed Seeds' warships had initially bombarded the defense grid that blanketed the entire anti-air zone. The defensive facilities intercepted any target larger than a light patrol ship in space; occasionally, a few small landing craft that broke through to a low enough altitude were quickly sniped by ground fire.
In the end, no one knew when that reckless Core Seed had squeezed through the grid, piloting a feather-light speed-attack ship like a drag racer. These fragile vessels were incredibly fast but possessed nearly zero defense; a single hit would send the pilot to meet their ancestors on the spot. To maximize the advantage of speed, the ammunition carried by a speed-attack ship was also quite limited. Most Zerg only used them as beachhead landing equipment during the surface combat phase.
The thick-skinned Sarkdi had stripped away all armaments, carrying only a single oversized Devouring Bomb and a set of high-powered loudspeakers. He scurried about under fire the whole way, without even a chance to strike back.
Climan, who was tracking Sarkdi’s signal, was terrified, fearing their commander might accidentally kick the bucket at any moment. To carry the "gift package" of the Devouring Bomb while maintaining enough strength to flee, Sarkdi had discarded all means of counterattack and defensive barriers, relying purely on his piloting skills to graze past danger.
Fortunately, the military strength of the peripheral planets was indeed not that formidable.
The commander, as slippery as a marsh-fish, even had the spare time to maintain communication with them: "Keep up the frontal assault. Once I tear open the defense grid, be ready for a rapid landing at any time."
Then, the Core Seed flew, darting and leaping all the way, delivering the only "big baby" he had brought directly to the enemy's central control nest.
The control nest was blown to smithereens, blooming on the spot.
Unlike the small-scale Devouring Bombs they had cobbled together on VX197, the thing being set off like a firework now was of an entirely different magnitude—a full "nuclear peace" specification. After completely annihilating the target, overwhelming fleshy sprouts and tentacles instantly spread across the entire area, expanding and devouring outward at a frenzied pace.
The defense grid that had blocked the main force shattered instantly with the destruction of the control nest.
Countless warships charged through the interception line like moths to a flame, pouncing on the temporarily stunned enemy planet. Another round of the devouring carnival began.
Climan’s mood was complicated.
The members of the "Mad Dog" squads who had their muzzles removed also felt quite complicated.
To say it felt good was an understatement. But something felt... off.
This contradictory emotion became even more complex when the main force surrounded the central nest area. Upon landing, they heard a broadcast echoing through the sky on a loop: "Lay down your arms and you will not be killed. Surrender and you will not be killed. Give up resistance and we are still good comrades."
The Core Seed, having finished bombing the enemy’s general headquarters, was still flying his light speed-attack ship all over the sky. As he flew, he broadcasted propaganda slogans in the Zerg common tongue with such perfect pronunciation that even a hatchling could understand.
*How embarrassing.*
Climan suddenly understood why the other man had insisted on bringing a loudspeaker system. This operation, reminiscent of someone shouting about selling roasted sweet potatoes on a busy street, made those Armed Seeds—who hailed from Core Gene lineages and were habitually arrogant and reserved—want to find hoods to cover their faces en masse.
This was the most undignified battle they had ever fought, and their mental states were a rollercoaster of ups and downs.
When the man had single-handedly torn through the defense grid, all the Gray-wing members were excited and joyful. When they charged toward the ground, those emotions transformed into the carnival of impending slaughter. Who would have thought that the joy wouldn't last two seconds before being replaced by a desire to die of embarrassment?
History is a cycle. They were experiencing the same path as the audience at the Great Sacrificial Arena of Angon. The Core Seed truly understood "edge control"—first getting everyone's excitement up, then kicking them back down.
"Can you turn that piece of junk off?!"
Climan, who ran into Sarkdi face-to-face during the mopping-up operation, frantically cut into the other's internal communication line. That damn loudspeaker was echoing through the heavens; for the Zerg, creatures exceptionally sensitive to sound, smell, and temperature, it was practically an attack in another sense.
"No," the Core Seed replied quickly. While moving freely, he maintained a tight grip on the fleet's command, directing all Armed Seeds to push rapidly into the core nest area and disarm the remaining enemy core defense forces. "You should listen to it too, to prevent yourselves from getting hot-headed and accidentally killing all your kin."
The day before, his throat had nearly gone hoarse trying to pull back these "crazy puppies." Once hounds got excited, they would chase their prey at full speed, completely ignoring their master's recall until the moment they bit the rabbit to death. He cherished his own body; since shouting was too difficult, it was better for everyone to lose face together.
"There's something wrong with you!"
Among all the insects burdened by their "idol baggage," Climan was the most standard example. A direct descendant of a Sub-King, born of a Core Gene lineage, powerful and arrogant—translated into a human perspective, he was roughly equivalent to the orthodox heir of an old-money noble family.
"I don't want to hear this thing every time I fight!"
"No, you do," Sarkdi replied heartlessly.
And so, all the insects following the Core Seed across the maps listened to it for three consecutive days. Every insect's head was buzzing, nearly forming an instinctive reflex to the words: *Lay down your arms and you will not be killed, surrender and you will not be killed, give up resistance and we are still good comrades.*
***
"Just how did you manage to make Climan so angry?"
The silver-gray high-ranking insect was re-partitioning the star map. This was the first time they had met in three days, and the Armed Seed leader sat in the very back with a stony, furious face.
"I rarely see him... express his emotions so outwardly." Clark chuckled softly; evidently, he also found it quite amusing.
Over the past few days, he had been locked in a fierce struggle with the Broad-wing Tribe. After their last discussion, he had turned around and headed for the external battlefields. Fighting against other species didn't require holding back. Having an outsider like Sarkdi handle the internal tribal purging allowed for more leeway, effectively preventing Clark from being criticized for "slaughtering his own kind" in the future.
"I am building their spiritual home." The Core Seed, looking like he didn't fear death, waved at Climan. "What is our slogan?"
"Lay down your arms and you will not be killed, surrender and you will not be killed, give up resistance and we are still good comrades."
The other man's face was so dark it could practically drip ink. He squeezed the words out one by one, but under the pressure of authority, he repeated them nonetheless.
The other Armed Seed managers cast sympathetic glances his way.
*Brother, you’ve got it rough. Why does the commander only pick on you?*
"See?" The Core Seed shrugged and raised an eyebrow at Clark. "I can't help it. Your subordinates are too wild; the moment I look away, they run off like mad. I can't exactly kill off the other half of the Gray-wings, so I have to cultivate their sense of brotherly love."
"Don't bully him." Clark shook his head, his fingers gently pushing some planets aside. "The Broad-wing Tribe has retreated beyond our star sector. They aren't strong enough and don't dare show their faces for now, but they haven't completely left either."
"Once the Sub-King and I are both wounded, they will return again—no tribe will pass up the chance to swallow the Third Quadrant."
The "not strong enough" in Clark's mouth was absurd in itself. In three days, the silver-gray female insect had slain a quarter of the Broad-wing direct descendants, biting at their heels and refusing to let go, forcefully crushing the neighbor who had tried to fish in troubled waters.
There was no need for sentimentality when dealing with foreign tribes. The "biting" was literal. A Zerg swarm could gnaw through anything: wood, mud, energy stones, their own kind... After blasting open the enemy's command ship, the Gray-wing Tribe in their xenomorphic state descended like a swarm of predators, dragging the losers out to be devoured.
This was the truest form of the species.
"I want Arthur to stay in the nest area," Clark suddenly spoke, his fingers pausing as they rearranged the star map. "He shouldn't follow me."
"Could you try to persuade him?"
Sarkdi’s mood was somewhat complicated. He could understand his boss's thoughts to an extent. Clark had likely always presented a steady and dignified posture before humans, far removed from bloodshed; he would even clean himself immediately after leaving the battlefield. He didn't want the human he had raised to see such an alien and cruel side of him.
"Has he shown any disgust?" In truth, the Core Seed didn't like getting involved in such matters, especially since the relationship between the two was a bit delicate. One wrong move and he, the instigator, might find his head flying.
"No." After a moment of hesitation, the high-ranking insect lowered his gaze. He stared for a long time at the floating white miniature planets before him. "But no human wants their nurturer to be a monster."
"Is that what he told you?"
***
The young man who had returned to the nest area was currently with Gera, helping him adjust the link bolts and testing the connection environment. The human, who was quite familiar with the Information Nest system, greatly relieved the pressure Gera faced due to a lack of subordinates. The young man's stamina was excellent; after drifting through space on a Zerg warship for three days, he still had the energy to dive into other work the moment he landed.
Hammering a wandering connection element into its fixed port, Arthur signaled gently to the male insect, "Try it now. Does this feel better?"
After receiving an affirmative answer, the youth wiped his hands and hopped lightly off the equipment.
"If he protected you well before, then you should have seen Clark's other side during this period. Has your mind still not changed?"
Most of the time, Sarkdi’s feelings toward the human before him were hard to summarize. The man had no direct relation to him, yet there were countless indirect threads. A descendant of the Fifth Army, a remnant of the Federation... any one of those labels was an identity the old Sarkdi would have had to consider carefully.
"You and he are completely different species. Your habits, living environments, and perceptions are worlds apart. What he showed you before was merely mimicry and a facade; that kindness was part of the falsehood."
"Thank you for your concern and sincerity." However, the youth did not get angry; instead, he thanked him earnestly.
Gera, who had come over for fear they might argue, breathed a sigh of relief. He subconsciously took Sarkdi’s hand and shook his head. His partner sometimes spoke with too sharp an edge, which could wound those who didn't know or weren't close to him.
But Arthur was clearly not among them. The precocious human could easily distinguish between sincerity and pretense, and thus felt no resentment toward Sarkdi's harsh words.
"I don't like him because of his human-like appearance, nor am I grateful because he provided abundant resources and a privileged life. Even if he remained in his xenomorphic form forever, it wouldn't matter to me," he said seriously. "Appearance can be disguised, and language can lie, but emotions cannot be faked or hidden. Can you understand that?"
"Before I even understood the difference in our identities, he was already clumsily learning how to love me." A smile touched his blue eyes. "So, I know exactly what I am doing and what I want."
*Fine. The four of them: three 'love-brains' and one 'cub-loving brain.' Their filters are dozens of layers thick.*
The Core Seed nodded curtly. Since things had been put this way, he understood the youth was serious, and he had never been one to interfere much with those who made serious choices.
"Fine, I won't try to persuade you anymore. Do as you see fit, just don't do anything too over the top."
"When you have time, explain it clearly to him yourself."
Gera, watching his partner’s expression, couldn't help but laugh out loud. Sarkdi grumpily grabbed the male insect's small tail and gave it a squeeze.
"You have no defense against sincerity," the male insect whispered, taking the other's hand and giving it a little shake.
Not only did he have no defense against sincerity, but Gera had also discovered that Sarkdi was not very good at handling "straight balls"—direct expressions of emotion.
Having captured this point, Gera made a mental note. He wanted to praise his partner ten times a day, until the other man became so embarrassed he would put on a fierce act to scare him.
His learning ability had always been strong; he could do this well.
So thought the male insect, determined to launch a "praise campaign."
***
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Sacre-D: Reborn as the Swarm's Apex | Chapter 70 | Psychological Warfare and Sincerity | Novela.app | Novela.app
