I Transmigrated Into The Secret Husband Of The Zerg Marshal - Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Deeply Disturbing

What, what, what did he just say?

Half the goji water in my mouth choked into my windpipe, and the other half sprayed out. My coughing was thunderous.

I involuntarily gripped the thermos in my hand as if it were the last shield against an army of ten thousand, and it took me a good while to catch my breath after the fit of coughing.

Then, I saw him.

Standing before me was an extremely handsome “person.” Or rather, an insect whose appearance was infinitely close to that of a human.

From a distance, his dark military uniform was impeccably straight, without a single crease. The silver five-star Marshal insignia on his shoulder glittered coldly, hurting my eyes. His waist was lean, cinched by two military harnesses, which further emphasized his broad shoulders and tall, upright physique.

Up close, I saw a neck full of masculine charm and a sharply defined jawline—truly captivating.

Further up was a thin, straight-set mouth, a high-bridged nose, and a pair of… bottomless, gray-blue eyes, devoid of any emotion. They felt like a polar lake frozen for a thousand years; a single glance could chill a person to the core.

This face, in my original world, was definitely the kind that could put the entire entertainment industry out of business, breathtakingly handsome. But! The owner of this face was currently looking me up and down with the gaze of someone inspecting merchandise. The invisible pressure was a hundred times stronger than all the demanding clients I had faced in my previous life combined.

Is this Arnold Augustus? The Marshal? The one who is my confidential marriage partner on the agreement?

Wait a minute, by this appearance, isn’t Arnold Augustus a complete male? Why does the contract say Female Insect? Does a Female Insect look like this in this world?

My IQ 150 brain was a complete mess. My eyes were red, and the physiological tears from coughing were still streaming down my face, making me look utterly pathetic.

“Cough, cough… Uh,” I cleared my throat, trying to regain some of the professionalism of an excellent 21st-century employee, even when facing an alien being, “Your Excellency… Marshal… Great Insect?”

Arnold Augustus didn’t reply, just slightly raised an eyebrow.

“Regarding the… pre-employment preparation,” I rattled the thermos in my hand, trying to keep my voice from trembling, “I believe we need to clarify the job responsibilities first, the so-called JD (Job Description). Your phrase, ‘cleaned up,’ is rather ambiguous. Does it refer to a physical level of cleaning, or perhaps spiritual purification, or even…”

My voice trailed off, because the Great Insect Marshal was walking towards me.

One step, then another. The military boots clicked against the metal floor, making a dull, rhythmic sound, each one landing on my heart. The sweet scent—no, the aura of a strong being—on the Marshal grew stronger, enveloping me like an invisible net.

Finally, he stopped right in front of me, very close. I could even smell the same cold, sterile disinfectant scent on his uniform as in this room.

“Physical level, spiritual level,” Arnold finally spoke, his voice deeper than I expected, with a metallic-friction quality. Every word hammered into my eardrums, “And, the genetic level.”

“…Huh?” I was utterly bewildered. Genetic level? Washing my genes? What kind of dark technology is this? Are they going to turn me, a carbon-based life form, into a silicon-based one?

The Great Insect Marshal lost his patience. A flicker of complex emotion crossed his gray-blue eyes. Without further ado, he turned slightly and indicated the still-open doorway in the distance with a tilt of his chin.

“Go in.”

It was a command, brooking no argument.

I followed his gaze and realized that two “people” in white isolation suits, only their eyes visible, had appeared in the doorway at some point. They stood in silence, like two mute statues.

My internal alarm bells went off.

This setup didn’t look like fulfilling marital duties; it looked more like being led to an operating table to have my organs harvested.

“Wait!” I held up a hand toward the Great Insect Marshal, taking a hard step back until my back hit the cold metal desk. I had nowhere left to retreat. “The contract only said room and board; it didn’t mention human experimentation! This is illegal! I demand to see my lawyer! I want to file a labor dispute!”

Arnold looked as if he had heard the world’s greatest joke, his lips twitching into a barely perceptible upward curve. “Your lawyer?” he countered. “Here, I am the highest law.”

…Good heavens, he really lives up to the dominant CEO stereotype. That line is intense.

“Male Lord,” Arnold retracted the hint of a smile, his voice returning to a flat monotone, “I will say this one last time: Go in. Do not waste my time.”

The two words, “Male Lord,” were enunciated with particular clarity, as if to remind me of our contractual relationship.

Sigh… When you are under someone else’s roof, you must bow your head. Especially when the roof’s owner looks like he could punch a hole through the Earth!

I looked mournfully at the thermos in my hand, ultimately abandoning the brave idea of using it to smash the Marshal’s dog head. I was afraid my hand would break before his head did.

I drooped my head and trudged over. The two people in white coats “flanked” me, one on each side.

It was more of an escort, but I felt their hands were like iron clamps, capable of twisting me into a pretzel at any moment.

I was led into a room that looked far more advanced than the previous one. It was filled with various high-tech instruments I had never seen before. A circular platform in the center of the room pulsed with a soft blue light.

“Please lie down, Your Excellency, Male Insect,” one of the white coats said in a toneless voice.

I resigned myself to my fate. After all, I was the fish on the cutting board.

I climbed onto the CT-like scanning platform and lay down, arms and legs spread out.

Fine. Since I transmigrated, experiencing an alien technology full-body scan is a worthwhile experience. I comforted myself, hoping they would be gentle and not dismantle my parts.

Buzz, buzz, buzz—the machine started. A blue beam of light descended, slowly scanning from my forehead to my toes, pausing for a few seconds, then scanning back up from my toes to my forehead.

The whole process was painless, but the sensation of being seen inside and out made me deeply uncomfortable.

“Scan complete. Analyzing physical data…”

A few seconds later, a massive virtual screen unfurled before me, listing dense rows of data.

Name: Chen Jiuliu

Species: Male Insect (Subspecies: Human)

Spiritual Power Level: E- (Extremely Weak)

Physical Fitness Level: F (Near Crippled)

Gene Purity: B+ (Slight Impurities Present)

Health Status: Overall Score 48 (Unqualified, exhibiting seventeen sub-health issues including straightened cervical curvature, mild lumbar disc protrusion, severe dark circles, moderate fatty liver, chronic gastritis, etc.)

Overall Assessment: A rare waste product with poor constitution that requires immediate confinement and conditioning.

Me: “…”

Thanks a lot! Just call me rare; can you please drop the “waste product” part? And what do you mean by “Subspecies: Human”? I, a proud Homo sapiens with an IQ of 150, am a subspecies here?

The most infuriating part was the “Near Crippled” F-level Physical Fitness rating. I can at least carry a bottle of water up five flights of stairs in one go, okay?! I’ll pant like a dog, but I can do it!

I was internally fuming at my physical examination report when Arnold walked in, holding a tablet.

The white coat held one too.

He operated his tablet and said, “Master Arnold, this Excellency’s information has been uploaded to your personal terminal.” Then, my “Waste Product Report” was wirelessly beamed to the Great Insect Marshal.

Arnold’s gaze lingered on the virtual screen for a moment, finally settling back on me.

That look… was like observing an antique just retrieved from a dumpster, perhaps made of noble material, but filled with contempt and a hint of resignation.

“Physical Fitness F,” Arnold spoke slowly, articulating the rating that hurt my pride the most, “Federation cubs can reach D-level physical fitness at age five.”

I felt my face burning. Not from shame, but from anger!

“Where I come from, we don’t care about that,” I retorted stubbornly, “We compete with brains. I can write ‘Hello World’ in one minute. Can your five-year-old cubs do that?”

Arnold’s eyebrow twitched again, apparently finding my provocation novel.

“Medical Team,” Arnold didn’t address my comment, turning instead to the two white coats, “Starting today, create the highest level of conditioning plan for His Excellency Chen Jiuliu. Food, medication, and physical training—nothing must be lacking. I want to see his physical fitness reach at least E-level within one month.”

“Yes, Marshal,” the white coats replied in unison.

Hearing “physical training,” I immediately jolted up on the platform. “Wait!” I loudly protested, “I’m just here for a contract marriage, not to join a recruit training camp! My job is to act as your Male Lord, not your soldier!”

“A frail body cannot produce the highest quality offspring,” Arnold simply stated.

I was speechless.

Off… offspring?

The contract didn’t say anything about having children! Moreover, I’m a male, and the Great Insect Marshal is also a male. How are we supposed to have them? Has Zerg technology advanced to the point where same-sex couples can conceive?

The information was overwhelming; my CPU issued an overheating warning again.

Arnold saw my shock, and a clearly visible smile finally appeared in his gray-blue eyes.

“My Male Lord,” he walked up to me and leaned down slightly, speaking in a voice only the two of us could hear, “This is your first, and most important, obligation.”

His warm breath fanned my ear, raising goosebumps all over my body.

I opened my mouth but couldn’t utter a single word. Staring at Arnold’s up-close, incredibly handsome face, my mind was utterly blank.

I’m finished.

Not only did I transmigrate as a weakling, but I’ve also been “kept” by a dominant Marshal with overwhelming power.

The worst part is that this sugar daddy isn’t after my affection or my companionship.

He’s after my… womb?

I instinctively looked down at my flat abdomen.

A sense of unprecedented, absolute crisis instantly enveloped me.

How can a man give birth!