After Transmigrating, I Raised Cubs in the Insectoid Clan - Chapter 34

Borr calmly extended both hands, allowing the cold handcuffs and the inhibitor ring to snap onto his wrists. The clinking of metal was particularly piercing in the silent room.

“Take him away.”

“Yes, sir!”

Borr was escorted out, held by the arms by two military police officers. Just as he was about to be led from the room, Borr suddenly stopped and slowly turned his head.

His narrow eyes glinted with a cold light in the dimness. His lips slowly twisted into a bizarre curve. There was no sound, but he clearly mouthed three words: “Just you wait.”

This subtle change in expression lasted only a fleeting moment. Trang instinctively moved his hand toward the handgun at his waist, but in the next heartbeat, Borr had already returned to his submissive facade, allowing the police to lead him out the door.

Yet, it was unmistakable. In that exact moment, what had flashed in Borr’s eyes was a venomous hatred and a disturbing, eerie confidence of a man holding the winning hand.

Suter met Borr’s gaze head-on, but only for a brief second before indifferently looking away.

To him, such a provocation was nothing more than the howl of a defeated dog. He had seen too many similar looks and had personally ended too many similar threats.

For Borr, everything happening now was only the beginning.

Soon enough, he would learn that the blade from earlier was merely a simple appetizer.

Suter continued to hold the unconscious Samuel tightly in his arms. The young male insect’s weight leaned almost entirely against his chest. Trang followed closely behind, remaining hyper-aware of their surroundings.

Suter gave Trang rapid instructions regarding the next steps while walking quickly toward the exit.

Just a few meters outside the main gate, a young police officer ran up in a hurry, his uniform still coated in dust.

“General Suter!” The officer saluted, panting for breath.

Suter gave a slight nod.

“An ambulance is on standby. Please follow me.”

Suter did not respond. He carefully supported the back of Samuel’s neck with one hand while the other slipped beneath the bend of his knees. The simple movement strained the gunshot wound on his back. Blood seeped out once again, darkening his already deep red military uniform. The powerful self-healing abilities of a military insect were working, but the wound caused by the bullet was healing unnaturally slowly.

This was abnormal, but Suter’s attention was entirely focused on Samuel, leaving him no room to worry about anything else.

Although the hemostatic agent injected earlier had stopped the external bleeding, it could not improve Samuel’s increasingly weak vital signs.

Samuel felt terrifyingly light in his arms, as if he might dissipate at any moment. Suter instinctively tightened his grip but immediately relaxed it, terrified of hurting him. His breathing was so faint it was nearly imperceptible. His cold cheek rested against Suter’s neck, and those fingers that were once always warm now hung powerlessly, swaying gently with each step, appearing translucently pale in the sunlight.

“He must be sent to the hospital immediately for surgery and a blood transfusion!” a doctor shouted, signaling for the stretcher to move closer.

Suter carefully placed Samuel onto the stretcher. The medical staff immediately placed an oxygen mask over Samuel     ’s face. The transparent mask was quickly clouded by a thin mist, which vanished just as fast due to his weak breathing.

The doctor said, “Your Lord’s condition is critical. It would be best if you came with us.”

According to military regulations, Suter was supposed to complete a handover to Slade immediately and then proceed directly to the Procuratorate for investigation. For an A-rank male insect to suffer such severe injuries while under the protection of his female monarch was not just a breach of duty; it was an intolerable and major negligence.

Suter’s gaze fell upon Samuel’s pale face. Beneath eyelids as thin as cicada wings, purple veins were clearly visible. The unwiped blood at the corner of his mouth was stark against his pallid skin, dry streaks extending down to his jaw, making that usually clean and exquisite face look battered.

Suter’s fingers tightened unconsciously, touching the wet blood on his military sleeve, which had already begun to turn a dark shade of black.

In that moment, Suter realized for the first time that the pain he brought to Samuel might be far greater than the pleasure.

“Fine.”

The single word seemed to be squeezed from the depths of his chest.

Suter turned to Trang to give his orders: “While I am away, handle the matters I entrusted to you.”

Trang’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yes, General. Lord Samuel will certainly be safe. You also, please take care of yourself.”

“Go.”

A very faint arc touched the corner of Suter’s mouth, but his eyes remained dark.

The nearest hospital was located in the suburbs, which usually required a twenty-minute drive. Under the traffic control and police escort coordinated in advance by Slade, the ambulance fleet roared into the emergency bay in just twelve minutes.

The medical staff efficiently pushed Samuel into the operating room. The moment the automatic doors closed, Suter was left alone in the cold corridor, surrounded by freezing white walls.

He slowly lowered his head, staring at his blood-stained hands.

Just yesterday, these hands were held tightly by Samuel’s warm fingers. They had embraced closely, falling asleep together in the quiet night. Now, these hands might have lost the right to touch that warmth ever again.

Time seemed to stagnate in the scent of disinfectant. Every second was infinitely elongated. The red light above the operating room made Suter’s eyes ache.

The doors pushed open, and a doctor emerged. He asked Suter, who was waiting by the entrance, “Are you his family?”

Suter spoke slowly and with difficulty, “I am.”

“The surgery was successful, but the patient’s physical condition is quite poor. The post-operative recovery may be very difficult.”

Suter was silent for a moment, appearing to wonder why Samuel’s physical condition would be poor. After a while, he asked, “Can I see him?”

The doctor shook his head. “The patient needs to be observed in the intensive care unit for a period. Once he regains consciousness in a few days and is transferred to a general ward, you will be able to see him.”

“I understand.”

Suter blinked hard against his stinging eyes. A single tear silently traced a path down his blood-stained cheek. “Thank you for your hard work.”

His voice was so quiet it was almost inaudible, as if all his strength had drained away with that single tear.

He leaned against the wall. The wound on his back throbbed with pain, yet it did not equal even a ten-thousandth of the agony in his heart. He stared fixedly at the operating room door, as if he could pierce through it to see the person inside.

“General.”

This call of “General” sounded particularly abrupt in the empty corridor outside the operating room. Suter turned stiffly.

It was Chief Prosecutor Remans and Chief Noel.

Chief Noel said anxiously, “What happened? You have such a serious injury; why have you not had it treated first?”

“It is a minor injury. It does not need treatment.”

Chief Prosecutor Remans stepped slowly out of the shadows. His silver cane tapped the ground with a rhythmic click as he walked. He was tall and upright, his black uniform wrapping his frame perfectly. Gold patterns flowed with a cold luster under the lights like a golden python coiled around his body.

His face was pale with an unhealthy greenish-gray tint, his sharp features appearing as if carved from ice. His narrow eyes held a strange gray hue under the light, always looking down with a sense of scrutiny. His thin lips were pressed into a straight line, the corners turned slightly downward. It seemed no one had ever seen him smile.

“The wound needs treatment, General.” His voice was like an undercurrent beneath a layer of ice, carrying a bone-chilling cold within its calm. “The military court will not accept any excuses regarding poor health.”

“You should understand that an A-rank male insect being heavily injured under the guardianship of his female monarch constitutes a major dereliction of duty.” He leaned forward slightly, his silver hair falling to cast web-like shadows across his pale cheeks.

Noel took a step forward. “Remans!”

This suppressed shout contained complex emotions known only to those involved.

Remans paused, but his gray-blue pupils remained locked on Suter. For a few seconds, there was a very subtle silence. He then slowly turned his gaze toward Noel. “In the face of the law, all personal feelings are false. You should know this better than I do.”

“If we are to talk about how he reached this point today, perhaps you deserve some credit as well, given he is the star pupil you personally trained.”

“He has walked down the same old path you did years ago.”

Noel’s body stiffened. His lips trembled as if a thousand words were stuck in his throat, but in the end, they only formed a nearly inaudible sigh.

For so many years, no matter how he explained, it always ended as a pale and powerless defense.

Finally, he simply closed his eyes and said, “Many years have passed since those events. There is no point in speaking of them now.”

Noel never looked up to see Remans’ expression, as if by not looking, he could avoid those long-buried pains.

Leaving those words behind, he took Suter by the arm to find a place to treat his wounds.

The sound of footsteps walking away echoed in the empty corridor. Remans stood in place, his back straight. The cold light reflected from his silver cane flickered in his eyes, appearing and disappearing like falling tears.

Only when the two figures had completely disappeared around the corner did his tense shoulders relax imperceptibly. He looked as if all his strength had been suddenly drained, and he leaned slowly against the cold wall.

…

After Noel finished treating Suter’s wounds, Chief Prosecutor Remans took him back to the Procuratorate.

The interrogation room was small and cramped. All four walls were covered in sound-absorbing material. The only source of sound was the old exhaust fan overhead, emitting a monotonous hum.

Set into the wall facing the interrogation chair was a massive one-way mirror, occupying nearly two-thirds of the wall. The mirror reflected the pallid light like a cold eye.

The glass had been specially treated. From the outside, every movement within the room could be seen clearly; even the trembling of an interrogee’s eyelashes had nowhere to hide.

At this moment, the position behind the mirror, the observation point Suter knew all too well, was the place where he had most often stood. On countless late nights, he had stood there, peering through this cold glass to scrutinize the micro-expressions of innumerable prisoners.

Now, the roles were reversed.

Suter paused for a moment before the mirror, lowered his eyes, and sat in the chair.

The interrogation was to be conducted by Chief Prosecutor Remans himself.

Support