Transmigrated into a Redemption Novel as a Disciplinary Bug - Chapter 16

The competition had concluded smoothly—a close call, but it was over. Yet, this was only the beginning.

Carlos needed to take Zelan back and begin preparations for the next match.

However, the blond noble insect he had seen at the casino still lingered in his mind.

The identity Carlos was currently using was nothing more than that of an ordinary overseer insect—the kind described in just ten words in the novel.

He suspected this was why he could only learn the general plot from the system and look up basic knowledge, with no access to finer details.

Of course, it could also be that the system was simply unreliable.

There was one passage in the novel, one of the few about overseer insects.

After Zelan was successfully auctioned, the overseer insect led the buyer to inspect the goods.

[The overseer insect glanced briefly before lowering his head, not daring to look directly at this esteemed guest. In his downcast gaze, the authority ring on the other’s finger was dazzling, its sun-cross pattern unique to the royal family signifying the visitor’s supreme status.]

And the blond female insect he had just seen wore a bracelet engraved with the same sun-cross.

If a royal insect wanted to watch a gladiatorial match, they could easily choose the Imperial Star. Why would they come to such a remote planet?

Carlos searched his memory. He had already reviewed the list of attendees at the casino, and each name surfaced in his mind one by one.

Campbell—a royal surname, but there was no guest with the name “Guan Yi” among them.

In the strictly hierarchical insect society, it was unlikely that anyone would risk their life impersonating a royal insect. This “Campbell” seemed to have appeared out of thin air.

What connection could there be between the Imperial Star royalty and Zelan, who had fallen to such a state? The situation was becoming increasingly murky.

Carlos tapped the smart device on his wrist, lost in thought.

“System, can you retrieve information about the Imperial Star royal family now?”

[Of course, no problem!]

The system bombarded Carlos with a lengthy block of text. The more he read, the more familiar it seemed. While the information appeared extensive, it was all publicly available in smart device news—quantity over quality.

Beyond that, there was nothing useful.

“Can you pull up something I don’t already know? Something more obscure?”

[Host, your permissions are limited. I can’t help with that, but I can search for more information in the smart device! I’m definitely faster than that little idiot of a smart device!]

Great! That was as good as saying nothing. It had even learned to mock others while being no better itself.

Thanks to the system, Carlos had sighed more in the past few days than in his entire previous life.

[But speaking of which, I didn’t expect Host to be so knowledgeable about casinos. That’s really impressive!]

The system swayed in the air, its metallic sphere’s expression visibly awkward. To cover its guilt, it quickly changed the subject and started flattering.

Hearing this, Carlos lowered his head and smiled faintly, remaining silent.

Casinos—the place he despised most.

His father had stepped into a casino and descended into an endless abyss.

The memory of his father’s face had blurred over time. Calling that man “father” was Carlos upholding his last shred of decency. After all, a man who left behind astronomical gambling debts and abandoned his wife and child was hardly a good person.

Such a disgusting place.

Who could have imagined that, for money, he had also unearthed this skill of his. Should it be said, as expected of a gambler’s son?

Truly laughable.

Carlos looked at the fake account on his smart device, where a large sum of star coins had just been added, converted from the gambling winnings he had just secured.

He inexplicably wanted to chuckle a few more times, yet a sense of helplessness also rose within him. At this point, anything said would be meaningless.

“Alright, now’s not the time for idle talk. We still have serious matters to attend to.”

–

The waiting room of the arena was dilapidated and offered no services, a place where few insects ever lingered.

Popular contestants would choose comfortable hotels after matches. Today, given Bowie’s situation, he likely couldn’t enjoy anything anywhere.

After the match, the insect slaves had also returned to their cells, leaving hardly any insects around.

Thus, when Carlos hurried back to the waiting area, what he saw was this scene.

The white-haired female insect sat alone on the steps by the entrance, his silver-white long hair cascading down the stairs like a spilled galaxy.

He hugged his knees with both hands, carving out a small territory for himself in the corner. His exposed upper body displayed lean, full muscles, still showing the veins and blood vessels that had burst forth after exertion, with fair skin tinged with a faint pink hue.

It was also to conserve energy after the fight that Zelan had already retracted his five pairs of wings, allowing Carlos to witness this scene.

The female insect on the steps was clearly so large, yet he appeared quite docile… almost like a homeless little animal.

Carlos quickly shook off this terrifying thought in his mind, because even an injured female insect could knock out ten male insects like him with a single punch, hitting him as if it were just playing around.

The collar around the insect slaves’ necks restricted their movement areas. If they on their own stepped out of the arena, they would face only bodily explosion and heads bursting open.

Without a supervising insect, the insect slaves had no permissions whatsoever—no smart device, and they couldn’t even open the door of the waiting room. So Zelan couldn’t go anywhere, just sitting there foolishly, waiting.

Only upon seeing the female insect did Carlos suddenly recall this.

“Zelan.”

Carlos originally intended to wake Zelan directly by patting him, but the female insect, who had been clean in the morning, was now stained with blood again. The scars overlapped repeatedly, indistinguishable whether they were old or new wounds, truly unbearable to look at.

As the name fell lightly, the female insect awoke from his half-slumber.

Since Carlos had used the healing potion, the female insect’s stupor periods had become longer than before, but this was also a good sign, indicating that his body was striving to heal itself.

Zelan looked at the supervising insect who had arrived late before him, and the confusion in his heart grew larger. The pain and hatred hidden within even temporarily subsided.

The supervising insect’s light remark earlier, “Don’t be afraid,” seemed to have been validated today.

The opponent’s performance during the match had been too abnormal, almost as if he had seen a ghost. Zelan couldn’t believe it was just an accident; someone must have tampered with it.

But he couldn’t figure it out. Now he was in the mire, looking up was the dark night, looking down was blood and mud. He didn’t crave for any insect to lend a helping hand, nor did he expect any to wade into this muddy water.

He only wanted to know the truth.

“Was it you?” Was it you who did it?

As soon as Zelan asked this, regret began to stir in his heart.

Given their current relationship, he could already foresee the near future: either he would be tortured to death, or he would bite through the disciplinarian’s neck. There seemed to be no other possibilities.

Even uttering the name felt like having his brain squeezed by a door. It was too abrupt and bizarre. He could only interpret it as some peculiar fetish of the disciplinarian.

“What?”

Carlos was puzzled that the male insect would actually ask him. After all, Zelan had been like a mute pot filled with ice these past few days, completely ignoring everyone. Now that he finally spoke, Carlos wanted to tease him a bit.

“It’s…” If it’s me, what are you planning to do?

【Host, be cautious with your words, don’t break character!】

The words at the tip of his tongue circled back, and he immediately switched to: “Did your brain get smashed? Or is the usual discipline not enough for your head to digest? What stupid question are you asking?”

He reconnected the chain to the male insect’s neck, straightforwardly shutting down his inquiry.

Carlos, who was inherently rebellious, knew exactly when to retreat and when to charge. His precarious identity compatibility still needed to accumulate; otherwise, it wouldn’t be enough for his future antics.

After hearing this, Zelan indeed stopped asking further. His eyes, which had been staring straight at Carlos, lowered, appearing dull and gray under the shadows, reverting to his usual silent and reserved demeanor.

He looked like an injured puppy waiting at the door, pitiful and helpless, having received nothing but a splash of cold water from a passerby.

Damn it. He hadn’t done anything, yet why did he feel guilty? Carlos originally wanted to add a few more harsh words but suddenly held back.

“What are you still standing there dumbly?”

He gently tugged the chain, pulling the male insect into the waiting room.

“Move quickly. Do you want more whip lashes?”

“Come here.” Carlos pointed to the chair in the waiting room, expressionless, embodying the cold-hearted disciplinarian.

The system nodded approvingly in Carlos’s mind. If it had hands, it would have given the host a thumbs-up.

Zelan was already injured but gritted his teeth and dragged himself over.

What would a disciplinarian do to an insect slave after a match? Certainly not reward or encouragement, nor any healing or recovery. After all, insect slaves’ lives were as worthless as weeds. As long as they didn’t die and their sale wasn’t affected, anything was permissible. Insect slaves fighting with injuries better stimulated the audience and opponents’ violent desires.

What awaited him was only punishment, as disciplinarians were always dissatisfied with insect slaves’ performances.

He had no room for resistance now. Defying the disciplinarian at this moment would only worsen his injuries, akin to adding fuel to the fire, greatly reducing his chances of survival in subsequent matches.

Only living insects had the right to make choices; death meant nothing.

He obediently walked to the disciplinarian’s side, intending to kneel and accept the whip, but was abruptly pressed onto the chair by the disciplinarian. Then he watched the disciplinarian rummage through the nearby cabinet.

Zelan silently closed his eyes, awaiting the disciplinarian’s approach with whatever tool. He only hoped this torture would end soon, but after waiting for a while, the whip never fell.

“Does it hurt?”

The disciplinarian’s voice sounded beside his ear, accompanied by a hand gently resting on his back, as if caressing something fragile.

【Host, ooc! ooc! Character compliance reduced by 1%!!】At the same time, the system frantically sounded an alarm in Carlos’s mind.

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