Transmigrated into a Redemption Novel as a Disciplinary Bug - Chapter 15

“Bowie! Bowie!”

“Bowie! Bowie!”

“Bowie will win! Bowie will win! Bowie will win!”

The entire arena was chanting the name of Zelan’s opponent.

Bowie was the undefeated champion of the gladiatorial arena. Every year, he was one of the most heavily bet-on fighters. Thanks to his spectacular performances in each match, his business as a hired enforcer in the black market had flourished, making him a truly popular and in-demand fighter.

As Zelan listened to the deafening roars ahead, he felt an unexpected sense of calm.

“I’ll leave you here.”

Carlos unlocked the chain around Zelan’s neck, leaving only a collar on the male insect’s throat.

The gate at the entrance of the passage slowly rose, and Carlos gave Zelan a gentle push on the back.

“The road ahead, you must walk alone.”

From the passage entrance, the entire gladiatorial arena was visible. Outside, the sun was bright, the sky was clear—so bright it was almost blinding. Yet, the path ahead led to a point of no return.

Zelan stood in place, waiting for the backstage area. He wanted to say something, but upon reflection, there wasn’t a single insect he could talk to.

When he looked beside him for Carlos, even his back was nowhere to be seen.

The overseer seemed to have more pressing matters and had already left.

The road ahead was his alone.

Zelan stepped into the gladiatorial arena, ready to face the impending battle.

–

[Host! Slow down, why are you in such a hurry?]

“Any slower, and it’ll be too late.”

As soon as Carlos sent Zelan to the passage entrance, he immediately switched to a full-on sprint, using every ounce of his strength to run outside.

[What will be too late? Don’t we just have to wait for the protagonist to finish the match? Where exactly are we going?]

Seeing Carlos running until he was drenched in sweat, the system grew anxious as well.

“We… huff… are going to the casino area inside the gladiatorial arena.”

Carlos leaned on his legs, panting heavily, while explaining to the system and accelerating into a sprint.

[The casino?]

Ever since following this host, the system felt like its mind was always lagging, unable to guess the host’s next move. It turned the idea over in its little head but still couldn’t figure it out, so it simply stopped thinking.

Carlos dashed toward the storage room he had scouted earlier, where he had prepared the items he needed.

He swiftly removed his overseer uniform and changed into the clothes he had prepared in advance.

Once everything was in place, Carlos looked completely different.

On his feet were a pair of leather shoes that, at first glance, seemed ordinary but, upon closer inspection, were the most eye-searingly tacky slip-ons. He wore what appeared to be a standard three-piece suit, but it couldn’t be examined too closely. The golden rose patterns embroidered inside were enough to make one want to gouge their eyes out.

He tucked his shirt into his belt and even deliberately unbuttoned a few buttons, giving off an air that was neither elegant nor carefree, but something awkwardly in between.

Carlos also took out a jar of hair pomade from the corner, slicked it onto his head, and a shiny, slicked-back hairstyle was freshly created.

He practically had “I’m a nouveau riche, a country bumpkin” written on his forehead.

But that wasn’t enough. Carlos took out a box of shape-shifting cosmetic clay and, with a few quick motions, began molding it onto his face.

It had to be said—this was the interstellar era, after all. Even tools for disguise were far more advanced.

Carlos’s technique was extremely proficient; he had used this kind of prop on Blue Star before—it was practically a household staple for running away and disguising oneself. However, the feel of it was hard to describe—it could only be admired from afar. Up close, it looked completely fake, and it was impossible to shape it so quickly.

In truth, there were more advanced bionic skin masks available. You could preset the desired appearance, put on the mask, and be done—convenient, fast, and with no operational difficulty whatsoever. There were no issues at all.

But currently, Carlos’s biggest problem was—lack of money.

Bionic masks were ridiculously expensive, and he only had his advance salary for one month. He could barely scrape together a few coins.

Poverty forced him to choose the more difficult option: shaping clay.

[Oh my god! Host, what are you doing? Why are you ruining your image, turning into… uh.]

The system stammered, hesitating for a long time without being able to describe what the host had actually turned into. It just felt completely out of sync with Carlos’s usual elegant and refined image, as if his demeanor had “swollen” overnight.

Carlos, the nouveau riche bumpkin, put on his rimmed glasses, completing the final step.

“Kayu Jin.” This was Carlos’s new identity—a sub-male from a remote star who had come to see the world.

He tucked the pre-made fake ID into his pocket and officially headed toward the nearby casino betting area.

[Host! Wait for me.] The iron ball system hurriedly followed.

The small casino inside the arena might be called “small,” but that was only relative to the arena itself. Inside, it was bustling with insects, a scene of extravagance and revelry.

“Hello, sir. How may I assist you?”

As soon as Carlos reached the entrance, a waiter approached to inquire. The waiter took one look at Carlos’s hard-to-describe appearance and immediately concluded that he must have gotten lost and wandered into the wrong place.

“This is the casino, right? I heard you can place bets here? I hope I didn’t come to the wrong place.”

“That’s right, sir. This is the place.”

“Then it’s perfect! Hahaha.” Carlos let out a hearty laugh, nearly causing the waiter to lose his composure.

“Sir, this way, please. Let me show you the way.”

The waiter assumed Carlos was visiting the casino for the first time and likely didn’t understand the betting rules, so he tried to guide Carlos to the chip exchange area.

Unexpectedly, Carlos waved his arm to interrupt him, striding in with his head held high, as if he couldn’t wait.

Carlos was indeed in a hurry.

[Host, so why are we here?]

The system spun around for a while but couldn’t figure out the reason for this visit.

“Obviously, to place bets and make money.”

Carlos responded to the system while exchanging his chips.

Most casinos offer free chips to newcomers and regular customers as a way to let players participate. The insect arena’s casino was no exception—he hadn’t guessed wrong.

Carlos took the exchanged chips and quickly walked toward the nearby railing.

A crowd of insects had already gathered by the railing, all eagerly looking outward.

Among those gathered here were wealthy nobles who spent money like water, desperate gamblers risking everything for a win, and “country bumpkins” like Carlos, who had come to see the world.

All the insects standing here shared one purpose: to place bets and witness the birth of the arena’s champion.

Carlos leaned against the railing, gazing down. He hadn’t arrived too late. The contestants were just entering the arena, but the betting insects around him were already buzzing with heated discussions.

“Today’s match is practically a no-brainer.”

“Isn’t it? Ha ha ha, Bowie kills without blinking. We’re definitely going to feast our eyes soon.”

Bowie strode into the arena amidst cheers. As a member of the hornet clan, his orange insect markings and tiger-striped wings were dazzlingly eye-catching. Most lethal were the venomous needles he could shoot from his body, capable of killing opponents within seconds.

Thus, he was always a reliable betting choice in the gambling arena.

On the other side of the fighting pit, Zelan also entered.

“2757? Never heard of this insect. Seems really boring—how did Sweet Home let such a useless insect slave in here? Are his wings just decorations?”

On the field, Zelan only displayed his five pairs of white wings. In the insect race, where strength reigns supreme, white wings were beautiful indeed, but Zelan’s wings drooped weakly on his back, clearly crippled—unable to fly or transform into blades.

He looked like a giant living target.

“Why don’t we bet on how many seconds it takes Bowie to kill that poor insect across the way? Ha ha ha!”

One insect gestured toward Zelan’s head, then his wings, his expression full of amusement.

“What’s there to bet about? In my opinion, better to bet whether the insect across the way lands head-first or gets poisoned first.”

“Then I guess he gets poisoned first. Probably only fools would bet on that 2757.”

A golden-haired insect dressed in lavish attire chimed in, leading the way by adding more bets on Bowie.

Here, once the match started, bets couldn’t be placed on specific contestants, but additional chips could be added for already-bet insects.

After the golden-haired insect spoke, the surrounding insects all smiled and nodded in agreement, showing his status was the highest among this group.

“I’m adding bets on 2757!”

Carlos’s voice was like a thunderbolt, exceptionally abrupt, exploding among the insect crowd.

Under the astonished gazes of all the insects, he added all the chips in his hand.

“Sir, are you sure you didn’t add bets incorrectly?” A staff member nearby couldn’t help but confirm with Carlos.

“2757, could there be a mistake?” Carlos said each word deliberately.

“Only someone whose brain is smeared with star beast dung would choose that poor insect. I advise you not to add bets—you can still stop your losses now.”

The earlier golden-haired female insect immediately laughed upon hearing this. Though his words seemed kindly meant as a reminder, he kept fiddling with the dazzling array of rings on his hand, never looking directly at the insect before him.

“Heh, I’ve warned you, country bumpkin. Don’t regret it later.”

“Is that so? We’ll only know after seeing the results.”

During the discussions, Bowie and 2757 had already begun their fight.

The transformed hornet was like a killing machine, his pair of wings aiding him in slaying enemy insects while flying.

Zelan now had no weapons, even his wings were in a crippled state, relying entirely on his agile physique to evade.

When attacks came, the white-haired female insect moved lightly, bending his waist to dodge, like a bow stretched to its limit—an extremely beautiful arc.

But undeniable was that the white-haired female insect was clearly at a disadvantage.

“What was I saying? Oh, country bumpkin, can those pockets of yours even afford to cover the bet?” The blond insect glanced at the situation below, his eyes practically rolling to the back of his head.

The surrounding insects joined in with laughter, seemingly mocking Carlos’s ignorance and foolishness.

Up to this point, including Carlos’s additional wager, the odds had reached an astonishing 1:101.

The hornet, supposedly competing with its opponent, now seemed more like it was toying with its adversary at ease, refusing to launch a serious attack.

The white-haired female insect was forced into a steady retreat by the hornet.

Seeing that the time was about right, Bowie revealed the navel on his abdomen, which had now contracted into a circular opening. There lay the hornet’s deadly venomous stinger—just one strike would be fatal.

With a forceful contraction of its abdomen, just as all the insects thought the match was about to end.

Bowie clutched his stomach in agony and plummeted from the air to the ground.

“Pfft—”

The sounds emanating from Bowie’s stomach and rear were amplified infinitely.

Right in the center of the arena, the hornet “spat out fragrance” from behind, spewing forth all sorts of unidentified substances.

Even Carlos, who had dodged the unidentified matter, stood frozen in place, stunned.

The entire arena was shocked into silence, so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

“How is this possible?!”

The insects on the gambling side were also stunned by the scene unfolding before them.

They had seen blood and brains splatter, but never something like this!

But why not? Anything is possible.

Carlos had spent nights watching recordings of Bowie’s previous matches, taking notes as he went. It was then that he noticed Bowie would always wipe his navel with a towel prepared by the “Sweet Home” before stepping into the arena.

So, early this morning, Carlos had coated several towels in Bowie’s waiting room with a massive dose of laxative.

Given the iron-hard resilience of a female insect after transformation, a towel alone wouldn’t allow the insect to absorb much of the laxative.

But what about when the hornet fired its venomous stinger?

The moment the skin contracted to release the stinger, the exposed gap in its abdomen was enough to absorb enough laxative to kill a cow.

The hornet’s deadliest weapon was, in a way, also its most vulnerable spot.

The arena had always been baptized in blood, but for the first time in all these years, it was now flooded with excrement.

A massacre eagerly anticipated by tens of thousands of insects had ended in the most absurd way possible.

Bowie in the arena had now become an insect reeking of feces, and even the medical team hesitated to approach and carry him away.

Carlos’s gaze fell upon the gruesome scene, his eyes cold and devoid of any warmth.

As punishment for Bowie’s past acts of insect slaughter, this was still considered light.

Before leaving, Carlos picked up the dice cup in his hand, shook it a few times seemingly at random, and placed it on the table.

A passing waiter watched Carlos’s retreating figure, utterly puzzled. When he lifted the cup, he found six dice neatly stacked on top of one another, the crimson “one” on the topmost die glaringly conspicuous.

Only, there was no longer an insect named “Cayu Jin” to be found in the casino.

Carlos slipped away smoothly, finally able to rest for a moment after changing back into the overseer insect’s uniform.

He looked at the naive and sweet system hovering in mid-air and sighed.

“System, have you ever considered the possibility that the protagonist shou might never meet the protagonist gong?”

[How could that be? According to the novel’s plot, the protagonist shou meets the gong at the auction. That’s when the story begins.]

“What if Zelan died before that?”

[This… this can’t be possible.]

Carlos rubbed the chips in his hand, remaining silent.

Staying in Sweet Home was essentially a one-way road to certain death for an insect.

Over the past few days, he had clearly sensed a pair of eyes monitoring both him and Zelan.

The watcher was actually quite professional and careful enough, but they still couldn’t escape Carlos’s notice. After all, back on Blue Star, due to his gambling-addicted father’s debts, he had long been treading the gray line, making evading tails and surveillance a routine affair.

Whether it was Zelan or him, as Zelan’s guardian insect, staying here meant certain death.

He would take this money and leave with Zelan.

Support