After Transmigrating, I Raised Cubs in the Insectoid Clan - Chapter 31

In the bustling banquet hall, fragmented spots of light reflected from crystal chandeliers danced across the gilded decor.

Amidst the clinking of glasses, champagne bubbled like pearls in tulip flutes. The scent of wine spilled from colliding glasses, mixing with the sickeningly sweet perfume floating in the air, drifting through the clamorous crowd.

After some brief socializing, Suter went to meet his father, Chairman Isela.

Chairman Isela was effectively the protagonist of this banquet. He had just been reappointed by the Insect Emperor in the Federal Council general election and was currently surrounded by a group of well-dressed dignitaries.

Light fell upon Isela’s shoulders, making his perfectly tailored black formal suit appear even more majestic.

“Father.”

Isela turned his head. His sharp eyes rested briefly on Suter before he revealed a standard, formulaic smile.

“Ah, Suter.” His voice was deep and authoritative. “You have arrived at the perfect time.”

The surrounding crowd immediately stepped back to create a slight gap, yet they did not truly retreat. They maintained a calculated distance, appearing respectful while ensuring they would not miss any potential conversation.

Their faces wore identical fake smiles, but their eyes sized Suter up repeatedly.

“General.”

Amidst the wave of greetings, Suter noticed a subtle hesitation from several older councilors before they spoke.

Their bodies instinctively bowed to him, a general with actual power, yet their eyes still harbored the malice of viewing him as nothing more than a lowly military insect.

Suter found this fragmentation quite amusing, and a playful arc touched the corner of his mouth.

He nodded slightly. The shadow of his military cap perfectly concealed the mockery flashing in his eyes.

After a few insignificant pleasantries, he found a proper excuse to slip away.

Samuel had not come with him, which greatly diminished his interest in the events here.

Suter found a secluded small balcony and leaned against the carved iron railing. The night wind, carrying a slight damp chill, brushed past his brow.

He looked down and lit a long, slender cigarette, the flame flickering at his fingertips.

As the long-absent nicotine flooded his lungs, he closed his eyes.

The last time he had smoked in such a self-punishing manner was in that endless corridor of the military hospital. The smell of disinfectant mixed with the mechanical hum of the medical pods. Xiwen’s pale face through the observation window had looked like a frozen black-and-white photograph.

The night wind swept across the back of his neck with a chill, and the cigarette ash fell silently.

He lowered his eyes to watch the falling ash.

The rose garden below appeared a strange bluish-gray in the moonlight. Those flowers that should have been vibrant now looked like congealed blood scabs. The lights of the distant city blurred in the mist like a festering wound.

“General.”

Trang’s voice came from behind him.

Suter did not turn around. He simply flicked the ash into a crystal ashtray he had picked up, watching the gray-white debris get swept away by the wind.

He leaned against the railing, watching the rotting roses below while quietly listening to the report from his adjutant, Trang.

The lights from the banquet hall projected through the French windows, casting a blurred line between light and shadow at his feet. Standing in the darkness, he could still hear the lingering sounds of social drinking. Those laughs felt distorted and distant, as if separated by a layer of frosted glass.

“Trang,” Suter spoke suddenly, his voice so light it was nearly scattered by the wind. “How long have you been following me?”

The air suddenly froze. Trang’s breathing became exceptionally clear in the silence.

Suter suddenly laughed softly. A plume of blue smoke escaped his lips, glowing with an eerie blue tint under the cold white moonlight.

He slowly turned around, one eyebrow arched slightly. His narrow, dark green eyes flickered with a dangerous light in the shadows.

“You do not remember?”

Trang’s pupils suddenly contracted in the darkness. His Adam’s apple bobbed instinctively, and he tightened his jaw.

Suter’s gaze slowly moved down, finally landing on Trang’s right hand hanging at his side. It was trembling very slightly, the knuckles white from excessive force.

“I would not dare to forget.” Trang’s voice sounded as if it were squeezed through his teeth, every word carrying a deliberately controlled steadiness. “Five years, four months, and sixteen days, General.”

“Yes.”

“That was when you first entered the Third Army, still a brainless little soldier.”

Suter slowly approached him. The cigarette was held between his long index and middle fingers, the tip glowing intermittently in the night. His military boots made dull thuds against the marble floor.

One step. Ash fell rapidly, spreading a patch of pale embers on the ground between them.

Two steps. The smoke curled upward, twisting into a bizarre shape under the moonlight.

Trang maintained a standard military posture, his muscles aching from tension, yet he did not dare move an inch.

Suter stopped half a step away from him and slowly raised the hand holding the cigarette. The burning red light of the tip was inches away. Trang could feel the heat scorching the skin on the side of his neck, and his Adam’s apple bobbed again.

“It seems,” Suter’s voice was raspy from the tobacco, the smoke rings he exhaled slowly enveloping Trang’s stiff face, “your memory is very good.”

The military posture remained perfect.

Only the slight trembling of the fingertips betrayed the nerves nearing collapse beneath that flawless facade.

Suter narrowed his eyes with interest, the moonlight casting dangerous shadows into those dark green pupils.

This was likely the only fun he would find tonight.

“Let me think.”

He spoke slowly, his voice carrying the pleasure of a cat playing with a mouse. His slender fingers held the cigarette as the glowing tip traced a demonic red line through the darkness, slowly outlining Trang’s tense jawline. “What should I call you?”

“Ah!”

The moment the scalding cigarette butt was slammed into his cheek, a shrill scream pierced the night sky. The person posing as Trang could no longer maintain his military posture. He clutched his burned cheek with both hands and stumbled to the ground.

“General, General.”

He curled his body, his voice trembling with disbelief as fine beads of blood seeped through the gaps in his fingers.

Suter looked down from above, admiring this pathetic state, and lightly flicked the ash.

The gray-white debris drifted onto the man’s twitching shoulders.

“Tarang.” He laughed softly, using the toe of his boot to lift Tarang’s chin. “Long time no see.”

The craftsmanship required to create a mask that fits perfectly against bone is so complex it is nearly a lost art. But Fang Ye happened to have such a master craftsman under his command. Rumor had it that the masks he made could not be detected even by the most precise biological scanners.

Moonlight shone on the fresh burn, where the mangled flesh was emitting wisps of white smoke.

But the most horrifying part was that beneath the mangled flesh, another perfectly intact face was faintly visible. That small patch of skin was appearing intermittently at the edge of the burn, showing an unnatural paleness.

A meticulously crafted human skin mask.

Suter knelt down and slowly began to tear away the mask, starting from the burned skin.

The human skin mask made a cringing sound as it was torn off, like a layer of fresh skin being peeled away. The face revealed beneath the mask was refined to a point of being eerie, the skin so pale that the blue veins underneath were visible.

Suddenly, chaotic screams erupted from the banquet hall just a door away. If one listened closely, the sound of orderly footsteps could be heard amidst the chaos.

It was the army.

“Everyone, please cooperate with the inspection.”

“Sorry, you cannot leave.”

The beautiful face that had just been wearing an expression of fear now turned cold. The moonlight cast a cold glaze over that exquisite face. Tarang looked up at Suter, his neck stretching into a fragile, graceful arc.

“How did the General recognize me?” Tarang tilted his head slightly, looking past the cold, black gun barrel pressed against his temple toward Trang.

The real Trang.

“There were many flaws.” Suter casually flicked the cigarette butt away. The sparks drew a crimson arc in the night before finally being extinguished on the marble floor. “Take him away.”

Trang replied, “Yes.”

During the process, Suter’s gaze remained locked on Tarang like a hawk.

It was too smooth.

That thought hammered repeatedly in his mind. He had dealt with Fang Ye for five years, and they were both too familiar with each other’s styles.

The moonlight cast mottled shadows on Tarang’s pale face. That expression, so calm it was eerie, seemed to be silently mocking something. Suter’s temples throbbed, and a dangerous premonition screamed in his blood.

This was very likely just the beginning.

“General.” Tarang suddenly stopped and turned to look at Suter. “Do you not find it strange?”

He did not smile. In those eyes, which were so calm they were almost lifeless, Suter’s stern face was reflected.

Suter also looked at him. “Even if I ask, you will not say.”

“This kind of tiring work should be left to Slade. Telling him or telling you is the same.”

Tarang’s Adam’s apple moved slightly, his voice as light as a feather landing. “No, I will tell you. It will be tonight, or”

“Now.”

Suter’s lips twitched into a cold smile. “A diversion. I have seen that trick since I was a child.”

“Do you think I am unprepared?”

“Is that so?” The corner of Tarang’s mouth finally turned up in a subtle arc.

In an instant, a blinding flash of fire erupted from the distant horizon. The shockwave of the explosion made the glass and walls hum. Suter instinctively turned his head, and Trang’s gaze was also drawn to the expanding fireball.

In a flash, Tarang’s wrist twisted at an incredible angle. An ice-blue injection drew a cold arc in the moonlight. With a soft thud, the needle sank into the side of Trang’s neck. Trang stumbled a few steps, his back hitting the cold wall.

Suter moved to strike, but Tarang seemed to anticipate every movement, avoiding the capture by a fraction of a millimeter. His figure drifted to the edge of the railing like a ghost, the night wind lifting his blood-stained clothes.

“It has been five years,” Tarang blinked gently. This action, which should have been playful, looked extremely bizarre when he did it. “We have both grown.”

“It is a pleasure to see you again, General. Please enjoy the fireworks show I have prepared for you.”

The distant sounds of explosions followed one after another, cutting his words into fragments.

“Give my regards to your Lord.”

The moment the final note faded into the night wind, Tarang’s body leaned back like a broken puppet and was instantly swallowed by the thick darkness.

Two fully armed soldiers heard the explosion and walked quickly onto the balcony. “Reporting to the General, the banquet hall has been brought under control, and the inspection of everyone has already”

Suter was oblivious. His gaze was fixed on the distant night sky dyed red by fire, his knuckles turning pale from excessive force. A bone-chilling cold crawled up his spine, and his blood seemed to freeze into ice in his veins.

That direction was his home.

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