When a Useless Guide Transmigrated into the Zerg Race - Chapter 4

“I beg you, please save Ylair!”

The first thing Winslow learned to do with a terminal was to open the StarNet and research exactly what kind of world he had landed in. He wondered why the “people” here had wings, antennae, and even eerie patterns on their necks. A flicker of confusion passed through Winslow’s indifferent eyes.

Finally, after browsing through a series of articles such as A Brief History of the Zerg, The Unavoidable Tales of Males and Females, and The War History of the Federal Empire, he understood. This world was indeed not the one he was familiar with, which was composed of Sentinels and Guides.

This world, also known as the Interstellar, was inhabited by a race called the Zerg. The Zerg were composed of females, males, and sub-females.

Females possessed powerful combat strength and physical fitness. Their exteriors were indestructible, capable of resisting artillery fire with their bare bodies. The wings on their backs gave them rapid leaping abilities. The “insect patterns” distributed on their necks and lower abdomens were energy networks and served as signs to distinguish males from females. Military Females were the even more powerful combatants among them.

Sub-females lacked strong combat power and mental combing abilities, but they were responsible for maintaining social operations, engineering, and technology. Most scientists were sub-females.

Males were the rarest and most precious class of the Zerg. They lacked hardened bodies and wings, nor did they have energy-storing patterns. However, they possessed a unique and indispensable ability: they could perform a “combing” of a female’s mental sea to prevent them from falling into a frenzy. Their pheromones were inherently and powerfully seductive to females. The higher the rank of the male, the stronger the attraction, and they could even use these pheromones to help soothe a female’s mental riot.

“No wonder I was mistaken for a male,” Winslow thought. Compared to the tall military females, he was practically as small as an action figure. His height of 1.8 meters was already prominent among Guides, but in a Zerg world where two-meter heights were the norm, he appeared somewhat petite.

Furthermore, Winslow touched his smooth neck. There were no patterns there. The skin under his fingertips was delicate and warm; by no means did he look like someone who could withstand artillery fire.

But he was ultimately not a male Zerg. He had no pheromones. Even if a Guide appeared to share many similarities with a male, as a Guide, he had been unable to soothe even a Sentinel’s mental landscape. This transmigration, other than changing his location, did not seem to make much of a difference for him. Winslow lowered his eyelids, thinking idly.

Eventually, he walked out of the rest area Chris had arranged for him. Since arriving in this world—or more accurately, since stepping down from the tribunal—he had not eaten. He was getting hungry.

That was when he witnessed the scene before him: a frenzied military female bound in chains, and Chris, who had previously been a gentle, occasionally blushing gentleman, now had bloodshot eyes filled with grief and helplessness.

“It looks very similar to a Sentinel’s frenzy,” Winslow thought pensively.

When Chris saw Winslow not far away, a massive surge of hope flashed in his sorrowful eyes. He took a staggering step forward but hesitated and stopped. Finally, a look of determination crossed his face. Having made up his mind, he strode forward and knelt before Winslow.

Winslow, who was just about to ask for food, paused. His gaze slowly shifted downward. “What is he doing?”

“Lord Winslow, I beg you, please save Ylair. His mental sea has collapsed. If he does not receive a mental combing soon, he will die here on the border.” Chris’s voice choked up. His usually resolute face was full of panic and loss. He had seen too many military females die in agony because they did not receive timely mental combing. He thought he was used to it, but when facing his close brother-in-arms falling into a mental collapse, he could not remain indifferent.

Ylair’s condition had clearly reached its limit. He would not survive long enough to be sent back to the Capital Planet. The male before him was the only one on this border planet who could save Ylair; Chris had no choice. Even if the male before him demanded all his property, or demanded he strip away his status as a military female to become a “female slave” who could be beaten and scolded at will, he would do it as long as he could save Ylair.

Winslow’s gaze moved from the kneeling Chris to the military female not far away, who was roaring in pain and struggling incessantly. He was somewhat hesitant.

“Get up first,” Winslow said, his voice devoid of emotion. He reached out to pull up the trembling Chris. He remembered that since arriving in this world, Chris had picked him up and provided him with conveniences. He still needed to ask Chris for food later.

But he could not even soothe a Sentinel. A military female would likely be no different.

Chris did not rise with Winslow’s hand. He remained kneeling, his back stiff but shaking uncontrollably. His eyes were bloodshot, and his blanched lips were pressed tight, as if he would stay there forever if Winslow did not agree. “Whatever you want, as long as I have it, I will give it to you. Please, save him.”

Winslow had no interest in Chris’s property. He sighed almost imperceptibly, his voice calm. “My abilities are limited. I cannot guarantee a successful combing, but I will try.”

Although he did not know if the result would be the same as his failures with Sentinels, he was unwilling to owe anyone a favor. Hearing this, surprise and hope erupted in Chris’s bloodshot eyes. Lord Winslow had agreed; Ylair had a chance.

“It is alright, My Lord. Even if you can comb just a little, Ylair can hold on until he is sent back to the Capital.” His voice still trembled with a sob, but it was noticeably lighter. As long as he reached the Capital, there was hope.

Winslow did not tell him that he did not know how to do it at all. He closed his eyes briefly. At this point, he could only do an emergency search on StarNet to learn the Zerg method of mental combing.

The mental combing took place in a room that looked like a confinement cell. Ylair was firmly locked into a chair in the center with chains made of interstellar meteorite iron. He continued to struggle and roar.

“My Lord, please act within your capacity. Do not let Colonel Ylair’s frenzied mental sea injure you. We will stay right outside the door and will rush in immediately if there is an accident.”

The military female responsible for transporting Ylair looked at Winslow with a hesitant expression. A female frenzied to this degree would usually have been declared a lost cause, unless a male was unwilling to give up on him.

The soldier said no more. He bowed solemnly to Winslow and backed out of the confinement room.

Winslow looked down at the bound Ylair. The soldier had short, fiery red hair that was wild and vibrant, now soaked with sweat and sticking to his temples. His eyes were crimson, and his beautiful lips were bitten until fine beads of blood appeared. Every struggle caused the chains to collide with a heavy clash, making one’s eardrums tighten. He was like a fierce beast trapped in a cage, roaring and whimpering in pain.

Winslow’s fingertips felt a bit cold. He clenched his palms, recalling the Zerg combing information he had just seen and the Guide combing knowledge in his memory. The two were very similar. The only difference was that the Zerg only used spiritual power and pheromones, while Guides needed the assistance of a mental entity.

Pheromones were out of the question; as a Guide, he did not have them. As for the mental entity, Winslow thought of his white snake. Females did not have mental entities, and usually, a mental entity needed to contact another mental entity to work, so that was also ruled out. All Winslow could use was his spiritual power.

His spiritual power? The scene of his coming-of-age ceremony, where he was judged and exiled for being unable to control his spiritual power, was vivid in his mind. Regardless, he would try one more time.

Winslow sighed softly. He sat on a chair not far from Ylair, took one last deep look at the roaring, wretched soldier, and closed his eyes to begin sensing the spiritual power in his mental domain.

Before long, tiny specks of light, invisible to the naked eye, began to emerge around Winslow. The light specks grew denser and thicker, eventually forming a very faint silver-white halo. Within that halo, a small, snow-white snake revealed itself. Its entire body was covered in scales that looked like frost and snow. Only its vertical pupils were a vivid crimson, like jade dipped in blood. It circled affectionately in front of its master, then coiled its body and raised its head slightly, mimicking its master’s noble and indifferent demeanor.

Then, as if scenting something delicious, it turned into a beam of starlight and followed the silver-white halo, sinking into the soldier’s body.

This time, Winslow perceived his spiritual power with an ease he had never felt before. It felt miraculous. His consciousness followed the spiritual power and merged into the soldier’s mental sea with ease. There were no barriers. It was as smooth as smoke drifting through a screen.

Winslow saw the scene inside Ylair’s mental sea: ruins were everywhere, the gloomy sky seemed ready to collapse, and a wicked wind blew dust across the ground. No wonder Ylair had lost consciousness and could only roar like a wild beast; one could not find a single intact spot in his entire mental sea.

Winslow had never practiced mental combing before, and facing such a severe situation, he was at a loss. While recalling his knowledge, he pondered where to start. At that moment, the little snake that had entered with his consciousness acted as if it had seen a delicacy. With a whoosh, it lunged forward. The black mist lingering in the mental sea rushed toward the little snake like crazy.

“Wait!” Winslow wanted to stop it. How could it eat just anything? Although the little snake always liked to eat random “snacks,” this kind of mist should not be eaten recklessly. Before he could stop it, a portion of the black mist had already entered the snake’s body.

Suddenly, Winslow felt the polluting mist transform into waves of energy within his mental entity. This energy seemed to make his own spiritual power even more abundant. He lowered his hand and allowed the snake to continue feeding. He watched as the oppressive sky gradually cleared and the mist on the ruins was sucked away. The heaviness in the mental sea completely vanished.

Then, the little snake stopped feeding, flipped over happily in the air as if full, and rested.

The snake was full, but the mental sea was not yet successfully combed. Winslow frowned as he scanned the mental sea, which was still filled with ruins. He tried to command the snake to keep working, but with a “poof,” the snake disappeared.

“How could it just quit halfway?” Winslow thought. With no other choice, he manipulated his still-unpracticed spiritual power to continue repair. He controlled his spiritual power to pull the weeds from the ground and fix the ruins. After working for a long time, he looked at the refreshed mental sea which now resembled a vibrant small townand showed a satisfied expression.

Winslow withdrew his spiritual power. Checking the time, half an hour had passed. He stood up slowly. The military female before him had stopped his frenzy and had fallen into a heavy sleep. After confirming that the soldier was indeed asleep, Winslow turned and walked out of the confinement room.