Transmigrated into a Redemption Novel as a Disciplinary Bug - Chapter 7

Carlos crouched down and gently poked Zelan’s cheek.

The female insect’s eyes were tightly shut, his face as pale as paper, yet glistening with cold sweat from the earlier pain.

Seeing that Zelan showed no reaction, Carlos grew bolder. He extended his hand and casually stroked the female insect’s five pairs of wings. The fluffy, feathery wings felt soft and pliable to the touch, much like the cat Carlos kept.

It was a large orange tabby he had rescued from a cat dealer—beautiful, but never allowing anyone to pet it.

Carlos loved fluffy things. If he tried petting his cat like this at home, he would have been scratched long ago. Now, however, he could take advantage of the insect’s vulnerable state and freely stroke its wings. The sensation of the feathery wings against his palm was even more satisfying.

The female insect lay there quietly, unconscious, its body snow-white yet dull and lifeless. No matter what Carlos did, there was no reaction—only the faint trembling of its eyelashes indicated that it was still alive.

Carlos had deliberately held back earlier, not administering the full dosage of the drug. The difference between 100% and 90% was that while both would cause irreversible damage to the insect’s wings, the reduced 10% was enough to prevent the nerves in the wings from being completely severed. As long as timely treatment was provided, there was still a chance for recovery.

It was worth the effort he had put in last night, spending hours poring over materials to finally find this method.

Now, he had to strike while the iron was hot, racing against time to take the female insect to the treatment room.

Carlos immediately began untying the female insect. As soon as the restraints were loosened, the insect’s body slumped heavily onto him, so heavy that he nearly lost his breath and almost fainted.

The female insect was covered in wounds, with little healthy flesh left, but its frame was still substantial. Coupled with its absurdly large five pairs of wings, it was anything but light.

Faced with this “heavy responsibility,” Carlos straightened the female insect and began mustering his strength.

“One, two, three… up!”

Carlos attempted to lift the female insect in a princess carry, but the five pairs of wings were like heavyweight guests, blocking his view and filling his mouth with feathers. A few sharp quills even nearly poked into his eyes.

So much for being an insect! Carlos felt as though he wasn’t carrying an insect at all, but a snow-white goose—deadly when awake, and even in unconsciousness, using its feathers to exact revenge.

Helpless, Carlos changed his approach, carrying the female insect on his back. Although this made it slightly easier to exert force, he began sweating after just a few steps.

The physical constitution of male insects was even more pathetic than he had imagined. Sighing, Carlos resolved to start exercising seriously.

The female insect remained unconscious, its head resting weakly on Carlos’s shoulder. With each laborious step Carlos took, the insect’s head drew closer to him.

With each breath, the female insect’s hair occasionally brushed against Carlos’s ear. Though its breathing was faint, it felt like a gentle breeze blowing into his ear, making it burn and itch.

Carlos kept his hands firmly under the female insect’s thighs, afraid it might slip off his back. The skin under his palms was soft yet resilient, a texture born of years of training—enough to imagine the explosive power the female insect possessed in battle.

As he walked, Carlos began to feel his hands growing hot, wishing he could carry the insect like a sack of rice and reach the treatment room in an instant.

But the reality was, despite all the frantic effort, they hadn’t even made it halfway.

Carlos shifted the female insect higher on his back to pick up the pace, but he suddenly felt a faint itch on his waist—as if the legs hanging around him were moving.

He cautiously glanced at the insect slumped over his shoulder. It was still deeply unconscious, no different from before.

He let out a long sigh of relief. It must have been his imagination. There was no way it could wake up so quickly. It wasn’t some kind of Super Saiyan.

Meanwhile, as Carlos stumbled and swayed, Zelan’s consciousness gradually began to return.

A warm sensation brushed against Zelan’s face, along with the occasional sweep of hair and the faint scent of lemon at the tip of his nose, making him realize he was leaning against someone’s neck.

The overseer was carrying him on his back.

When he was first hoisted up, Zelan’s consciousness had still been drifting, lost in a deep darkness, completely unaware of what was happening.

Now, even as he barely regained awareness, his eyelids felt heavy, and his body remained utterly immobile.

In the auction house, what good could come from an overseer carrying an insect slave on his back?

During his captivity, Zelan had seen and experienced enough.

When an overseer moved a female insect without reason, it meant one of two things: either the slave had lost its value and was to be disposed of like trash, or some new form of torment awaited him, promising even more painful discipline.

But this current posture…

He couldn’t make sense of it, nor did he want to understand why he was being carried on the overseer’s back.

Zelan tried to move his legs, hoping to regain control of his body, but not an ounce of strength remained. His legs swung limply like a pendulum before turning back into soft, unresponsive noodles, completely beyond his control.

In that slight sway, Zelan felt something brush against his leg—likely the overseer’s waist, but the hard texture suggested something else entirely, as if something was coiled around it.

It was probably the overseer’s disciplinary whip, carried at all times. Perhaps the overseer had thought of some new trick and wanted to test it out on a resilient female insect like him. Zelan thought indifferently.

Faced with the prospect of another round of torment, Zelan remained unperturbed. He was long accustomed to pain, so he simply closed his eyes to conserve his strength.

Zelan’s thoughts lasted only a moment, but for Carlos, who was carrying him, the situation was far from comfortable.

The female insect’s legs swayed back and forth, brushing against something that was definitely not a whip. It was his tail hook!

The tail hook resembled a little demon’s tail—slender and long, covered in metallic, glossy black scales, with a teardrop-shaped hook at the end. At first glance, it looked fierce and intimidating, but after a while, one grew accustomed to it, even finding it somewhat cute.

But no matter how accustomed he was, Carlos had only grown this tail hook a few days ago. He and his tail were still strangers; sometimes, when he woke up groggy in the morning, he’d find himself staring blankly at it. So, when he picked up the female insect earlier, he hadn’t even considered this detail.

The physiology of a male insect was even more absurd than he’d imagined! He knew tails were supposed to be sensitive, but he hadn’t expected them to be this sensitive!

As he walked, the female insect’s legs occasionally brushed against his tail hook. The touch was light, but the tingling sensation traveled all the way from the tail to his heart, making Carlos’s skin crawl.

Carlos glanced back several times, and the insect on his back remained completely unconscious. He had to suppress the urge multiple times to restrain his instinctive impulse.

After all, he couldn’t just flip the female insect off his back on the spot and shout, “Could you stop moving around? You’re touching my tail hook!”

The tingling sensation at the base of his spine made his heels go weak, making every step a struggle.

【Wait, host, what are you doing right now?】

“As you can see, I’m carrying him to the treatment room.”

【Treatment room? What’s the point of going there? The mission doesn’t require this.】

“You want me to complete the mission, but the original protagonist has to be alive for that to happen. The protagonist is unconscious, and whether he’ll wake up is another matter.” Carlos lied without batting an eye, his face not even flushing.

The system circled around Carlos, confirming that the female insect was indeed unconscious and in critical condition, and immediately believed his nonsense.

【But host, why didn’t you use the automatic cart nearby? Why carry him yourself?】

Carlos thought to himself: Why didn’t you mention the cart earlier!

Just like the ubiquitous trash cans, there was an automatic transport cart at regular intervals, designed for the convenient transfer of insect slaves anytime, anywhere.

As Carlos walked, his attention was entirely focused on his waist, completely oblivious to the several carts he had passed by.

Only after the system reminded him did he notice the cart right beside him. With a press of a button, the cart effortlessly detached and began moving in the direction he guided it, requiring no effort at all.

System: Even though I can’t see through it, the host must have his reasons for doing this.

Only after pushing the female insect into the treatment room did Carlos have a moment to wipe the sweat from his forehead.

The treatment room for insect slaves differed slightly from the staff medical office.

The room was equipped with several standard hospital beds, but a row of chains was also installed along the wall. Except for severely incapacitated insect slaves, most were shackled there for treatment. A cost-saving measure that also prevented them from struggling or escaping.

At first glance, it even resembled the layout of a row of men’s restrooms, looking oddly out of place.

Carlos examined Zelan’s wings. The heavy set of five large wings could likely collapse a bed. Considering his current role as a strict disciplinarian, he decided to shackle Zelan to the floor.

The female insect leaned against the wall, half-curled up, making it impossible to tell whether he was in pain or simply shivering from the cold ceramic floor.

Carlos paused for a moment, then grabbed the cotton blanket from the hospital bed and placed it under the female insect.

【Warning, warning! Identity conformity has dropped by 3%. Host! What kind of disciplinarian fears that an insect slave might be cold and even provides a blanket?】

“Who said I was giving it to him?”

Carlos seized the opportunity, plopping down on the blanket and nudging the female insect aside for show.

“Can’t a disciplinarian look out for himself? I find the floor too cold.”

System: …You’re something else.

Carlos rummaged through his pants pocket, pulling out another vial of medicine. It was a potent restorative he had asked Ethan to prepare for him before starting work that morning.

Using it would be painful, but the effects were remarkably fast. Now, while the situation was still fresh, he applied the medicine immediately. While it wouldn’t cure the injury outright, it would buy enough time for the insect wings to begin healing.

In the original story, the protagonist’s insect wings were not beyond saving from the start. Military Zerg possess powerful regenerative abilities, and the wing sacs of female Zerg continuously attempt self-repair, striving to reestablish neural connections with the wings.

But in the auction house, with only day after day of discipline and torment, how could there be any restorative medicine or time for healing?

Carlos suddenly wondered: How did the protagonist in the original story endure this?

Every day, he tried to sense the presence of his wings. Just as he managed to recover a little, a new round of torture would interrupt the healing process, forcing him to watch helplessly as his wings completely “died.”

Hope would emerge, only for his pride to be crushed underfoot again and again, until despair consumed him and he became a broken insect.

A belated salvation seemed utterly laughable.

Carlos, without wearing gloves, began pouring the restorative agent into his palm. The fluorescent green liquid shimmered eerily in his hand before he smeared it all over the female Zerg’s wings.

The system exclaimed in shock: 【Host, what are you doing?】

“Can’t you tell? I want to dye this thing green.”

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