Transmigrated into a Redemption Novel as a Disciplinary Bug - Chapter 6

As a theoretical expert but a novice in practice, Carlos didn’t immediately start. To cover up his lack of experience, he shifted his gaze to the tool wall in the room.

After swiping his card, the entire folding wall beside him slowly opened, revealing an array of disciplinary tools that couldn’t be counted even with both hands.

Though called tools, to Carlos, they were practically indistinguishable from the ten most brutal tortures of the Qing dynasty.

There was a bone-cleaver knife that could chop through bones as easily as cabbage, torture whips of varying lengths, steel needles meant for insertion in unknown places, and instruments that could make anyone blush. All sizes available, each one capable of pushing the limits of humans or insects.

He directly picked up the whip closest to him, stained with traces of blood and even some unidentified murky fluid.

Despite all his preparation, seeing this made Carlos’s mind go blank—what kind of restricted-level novel had he landed in?

Even though he had lived in gray areas during his youth and seen plenty of dirty deeds, this was his first time being in such a situation himself. It was only thanks to the thick skin he had developed over years that he didn’t immediately throw the whip away.

Carlos slowly rolled up the sleeves of his black shirt at the wrists, exposing them, then pulled out his pre-prepared equipment—a pair of leather gloves.

The black half-gloves gradually covered Carlos’s slender fingers, distinct and bony, like black silk draped over jade.

Once everything was ready, Carlos suppressed the slight nervousness in his heart, stroking the whip as he stepped closer to the female insect.

But the female insect still hung its head low, not even giving him a glance.

Perhaps it was fearless, perhaps numb, or perhaps aware that resistance would be futile.

“Look up at me.”

Seeing that the insect still showed no reaction, Carlos used the tip of the whip to lift its chin, forcing it to look up.

“Want to know what we’re going to do today?”

Carlos lightly traced the insect’s face with the whip, asking in a playful tone.

The insect reluctantly spared Carlos a sentence. “No need for nonsense.”

Carlos: “You should know, the gentlemen prefer beautiful and exquisite things. Of course, except for the wings on the backs of female insects.”

Male insects naturally lack wings, so even if female insects’ wings are attractive, male insects find them repulsive. For them, beautiful wings can exist, but only as specimens on display shelves, not fluttering around showing off.

Because of this, auction houses routinely sever the wings of female slaves at the root. Those deemed unsightly are discarded like trash, while attractive ones are given as complimentary gifts to buyers.

“And your insect wings, won’t be an exception either.”

Zelan ignored Carlos, turning his head away from the whip to face Carlos with the half of his face that was bruised and battered.

It seemed to silently say: Go ahead, it won’t work.

“Don’t act like this. The two fools who came here before were my predecessors. I know them! They only use brute force and clumsy, low-level methods that are ineffective and unrewarding.”

After speaking, Carlos moved his hand toward the insect’s wing sac. The moment he touched it, he felt the creature’s body tense up abruptly, clearly shifting into a defensive posture.

Though scarred and battered, the wing sac beneath his fingertips still pulsed with vitality, a testament to its owner’s indomitable will. Even this simple skin-to-skin contact made his palm feel uncomfortably warm, so he switched to using a small knife, carefully positioning it to avoid further direct contact with the insect’s skin.

The insect’s body was tall and powerfully built, making it somewhat awkward for Carlos to extend his arm and maneuver the knife.

The blade was sharp and cold. As it pressed against the wing sac, the insect’s body visibly shuddered for a moment.

“Let the wings extend from here, then sever them at the root? How crude.”

Carlos spoke slowly, deliberately, trying to match his tone to that of a disciplinarian, leaning into a sinister and domineering persona.

“Don’t compare me to those previous fools. My methods are far more refined.”

“How about turning them into beautiful ornaments instead?”

Carlos produced a vial of potion given by the system. Inside the translucent bottle, a purplish-black liquid sloshed slightly with his movements, emanating an ominous aura.

It was only upon seeing this potion that Zelan’s expression finally changed.

Zelan recognized this drug. A few drops were enough to forcibly extend an insect’s wings, leaving them exposed and utterly vulnerable.

Increasing the dosage would completely soften the wings, stripping them of any offensive capability and turning them into mere decorative appendages on the back, meant only for the admiration of male insects.

This potion wasn’t particularly rare among the nobility. It was commonly used by masters when keeping insect slaves, effectively robbing them of their freedom and ability to fly or fight. For a military insect, it was more vicious than a deadly poEthan.

Yet, he was already bound by chains, immobilized, a piece of meat at the mercy of others.

Before proceeding, Carlos habitually placed one hand on the insect’s back while holding the potion with the other, but his movements hesitated.

The potion would only cripple the insect’s wings, not take its life—he knew that all too well. Yet, when it came time to actually act, Carlos found it hard to steel his heart.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be over soon.”

Resolved to see it through, Carlos dripped a few drops directly onto the insect’s wing sac.

Upon contact with the insect’s skin, the potion sizzled like meat on a grill. Those few small drops might as well have been scalding hot oil.

Even under such torment, the insect gritted its teeth without making a sound. Carlos couldn’t help but respect its sheer fortitude.

A continuous, stinging pain radiated from the wing sac. Despite having endured days of torture, Zelan was experiencing this peculiar tingling sensation in that area for the first time.

As the potion took effect, Zelan’s back began to tremble uncontrollably.

A small, white protrusion emerged from the insect’s wing sac.

No… this can’t go on. Zelan mustered every ounce of strength to try and control his wing sac, but the wings on his back felt as if they had been severed from his will, completely disobedient. He could only kneel helplessly on the spot.

Until the pure white wings gradually unfurled entirely.

Witnessing the scene before him, Carlos nearly forgot to breathe.

He had imagined that the female insect’s wings must be beautiful—after all, he had seen plenty in the animal and insect worlds. The mating displays of insect species surely required flamboyant displays, but the female insect’s wings still completely surpassed his expectations.

Five pairs of insect wings unfurled behind the female insect. They were not the membranous texture Carlos had imagined, which he thought might feel sharp or cutting, but were instead solid feather wings—the kind that shed feathers when flapped.

The wings spread out to three or four meters in length. Their pristine, snow-white insect wings stood incongruously against the dim room, resembling a tormented angel, adding a touch of divinity.

A five-winged angel descending upon the mortal world. This was a scene Carlos dared only dream of.

In the original book, the protagonist, as a five-finger plume moth among the moth tribe, captivated the main male lead with his wings at first sight. Carlos had thought the male lead was utterly vulgar! Unbearably shallow! Shamelessly obsessed with appearances! Wasn’t it just a moth tribe? Just a particularly striking large fluttering moth? Was it really worth that?

Yet now, it turned out he himself was the one obsessed with appearances.

With initial momentum waning and resolve weakening, he steeled himself and began applying the remaining doses of the potion.

Carlos continued his actions without pause, but inwardly he was cursing. What absurd setting! What ridiculous mission! Torturing a perfectly fine insect like this—was there some sickness involved? Just destroy it all!

【Host, dear host! Please calm down o(╥﹏╥)o. The identity compatibility rate has now risen to 59%. We still need to push a bit harder.】

Seriously… this system deducts points by tens but only adds them one by one?

Carlos nearly threw the potion vial in his hand to the ground in frustration.

“Perhaps this way—tell me your name, and I’ll let you go.” Carlos forced himself to utter the perverse lines, striving to maintain his character.

Zelan remained silent, head bowed low.

His snow-white wings gradually dimmed, accompanied by bone-deep pain. Zelan clearly felt his wings losing their vitality.

His insect wings were being crippled.

Zelan gasped weakly, his frost-like eyes flickering with rare turmoil.

He still had things he must do. He couldn’t lose his wings.

Zelan’s heart had long grown numb. He understood well that disciplinary insects were ruthless, cruel scum—he didn’t believe a single word from the disciplinary insect’s mouth.

But if there was even a sliver of hope, he had to try. Zelan struggled, uttering each word deliberately: “Zelan.”

“Zelan, is it?” Though filled with reluctance, Carlos chose to continue. “Unfortunately, we must proceed.”

Increasing the dosage, the stinging pain from both wings forced Zelan to bite his lips hard until blood trickled from his mouth.

Fearing Zelan might bite his tongue and worsen his injuries, Carlos, lacking any suitable tool, forcibly pried open Zelan’s lips and inserted the whip horizontally.

“Bite on this.”

The whip wasn’t particularly thick, but placed in the insect’s mouth, it served as a makeshift gag, providing a point of resistance for Zelan to bite when the pain became unbearable.

The female insect’s saliva soaked the black disciplinary whip, mingling with sweat that poured out like an opened floodgate, dripping onto the floor until he could no longer hold on.

The five pairs of insect wings drooped limp behind Zelan, becoming mere ornaments on the female insect’s back.

[Ding dong! Congratulations, host, on completing the first phase of the mission—crippling the protagonist’s insect wings. Identity compatibility has risen to 65%. Truly worthy of celebration! We hope you continue to strive, host! We’ve already taken the first successful step!]

Carlos let out a long sigh of relief.

Now, it was time to proceed according to his plan.

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