The long bridge’s end loomed ahead, and the massive palace gates slowly slid open, spilling a cascade of golden light. Gu Qing and Milton stepped inside, immediately becoming the center of every gaze.
Gu Qing wore a meticulously tailored pure white suit, the lines elegant and noble, radiating a gentle, almost innocent warmth under the lights. Beside him, Milton donned a jet-black military dress uniform, the epaulets and metallic embroidery gleaming coldly in the shifting light, projecting an aura of composure and authority. Together, the pair presented a striking contrast of black and white. Il and Philip followed closely, alertly scanning their surroundings.
The palace hall soared hundreds of meters, its golden filigree and floating gems refracting light like a flowing star river. On the central transparent stage, a dozen female dancers moved gracefully to ancient court music, their bone wings flashing a dangerously beautiful glint with every beat.
Conversations rose and fell around them, glasses clinked with crystalline clarity. At the tables, some whispered quietly, others laughed heartily, discussing everything from battlefield feats to noble gossip. Sleek mechanical insects weaved elegantly between the tables, delicate robotic arms carrying translucent crystal glasses filled with starlight wine. The liquid shimmered with faint iridescence, giving off a subtle fragrance like liquid rainbow.
At that moment, the Bug Emperor Solendal rose slowly from his throne. Instantly, the hall fell silent, and everyone stood solemnly.
“Today, we not only celebrate the triumph of the Ares War but also the arrival of a millennium-defying miracle for our empire!” the Emperor’s voice reverberated like a gong. His gaze swept over Gu Qing, full of both authority and joy. “Gu Qing, your promotion to S-class male is the blessing of the Bug God. Today, I rejoice alongside all ministers and nobles!”
“To the empire’s newly minted duke, to the prosperity of our kind, cheers!” The Emperor raised his glass first, and the hall followed suit.
As Gu Qing’s fingers brushed the rim of his glass, his spiritual senses immediately detected something unusual. Hidden within the wine’s aroma was a subtle herbal component with hallucinogenic properties. In the Bug hierarchy, it might be considered a sophisticated flavoring, but to Gu Qing, the pharmacological structure was unmistakable—it was a truth serum designed to numb the nerves and compel subconscious confession.
A wry smile flickered in his eyes. The “favor” of the royal court, as always, came with strings attached.
Unseen by others, he subtly twisted the glass, and as he sipped elegantly, a pulse of invisible psychic energy neutralized the serum’s effects. The rich bouquet of wine blended seamlessly with the celebration around him. Seated beside Milton, he lightly clinked glasses with him, eyes meeting and forming a world apart from the surrounding noise.
Prince Velsorn and Prince Seryx sat on either side, their smiles polite but calculating, frequently glancing at Gu Qing. Adrian, sitting not far off, tapped his fingers rhythmically on the table, a faint, restrained smirk curling his lips, betraying both annoyance and malice.
Once the toasts concluded, the Emperor placed down his crystal glass, his gaze deep and probing as he spoke, “Gu Qing, your abilities are astonishing. I’m certain the military has been profoundly impressed. Many wonder—how exactly did you ascend to S-class male?”
The question bore the weight of a seismic test, the Emperor’s eyes gleaming with a sense of victory, waiting for the drug to extract secrets from this young man.
Gu Qing slightly lowered his gaze, a subtle blush appearing on his cheeks under the influence of the “wine.” He appeared somewhat dazed, his voice soft and endearingly shy:
“Actually… I don’t fully understand why I became S-class.”
He spoke with unguarded honesty, seemingly influenced by the serum: “Perhaps it’s because of my long tenure as a spiritual coordinator in the military. Constantly purifying soldiers’ mental seas day after day, my psychic strength has grown almost without my noticing.”
His eyes, dreamy yet full of devotion, lingered on Milton as if offering his very soul: “I owe it all to my consort. It was he who gave me the opportunity to hold this position and taught me, hand in hand, how to wield my psychic power. Without him, I might still be a low-tier male idly passing my days.”
The “heartfelt words,” paired with the slight tipsiness, were flawless in their deception.
Milton’s knuckles on his lap had already whitened from sheer restraint. His ice-like gaze flickered over the wine, shadowed with deep, simmering anger. Though he knew the concoction could not harm Gu Qing, the royal family’s treachery still stoked a fierce mix of protectiveness and fury within him.
Yet, when he met Gu Qing’s “dreamy” eyes, that surging anger dissolved instantly. He read the sly humor behind the haze—his mate was playing the game of power to perfection.
Suppressing his wrath, Milton covered Gu Qing’s slightly unsteady hand with his own, his gaze tender yet concerned, voice low and steady: “My lord… you’re drunk.”
Inside Gu Qing’s spiritual sea, the little heavenly guide chuckled, almost to the point of breaking: “Qingqing! Your acting is on another level—paired with Mimi’s cooperation, the Emperor will have his heart bleed, hearing only your declaration to Mimi!”
The Emperor observed Gu Qing’s seemingly drugged, candid display, glancing at Milton with a cold edge.
He remained still for a moment before cutting sharply to another probing question: “Gu Qing, since your feelings for General Milton run so deep, you must understand—being the empire’s only S-class male, you bear the responsibility of propagating the finest bloodlines. Do you know that the population growth of our kind is declining, and males are becoming increasingly scarce?”
He leaned slightly forward, his tone icy: “If every male followed your example, choosing their mates freely, many females might live in loneliness. Don’t you think such devotion is… selfish?”
The statement dropped the hall’s air to a near-freezing stillness. Milton’s gaze hardened protectively, his suppressed killing intent spilling forth, making nearby nobles instinctively hold their breath.
The Emperor’s voice grew even colder: “S-class males should set the standard for our kind. If they abandon the main stars for love, risking death on battlefields, who will bear the loss? Males are treasures of our species.”
Inside Gu Qing’s mind, the little guide muttered angrily: “Qingqing! The old fox is pushing you into the spotlight! The entire hall is watching, waiting for you to fall—so devious!”
Gu Qing lowered his head slightly, placing his gaze on Milton’s hand and lightly covering it with his own, his voice soft and intimate: “Emperor, you are correct… males are indeed treasures, and every one deserves care. But the value of a treasure shouldn’t be measured only by reproduction or a safe life. We also yearn to find meaning in our existence.”
He leaned subtly toward Milton, the tone tinged with affectionate dependency: “My desire for one male and one female is not selfish. I simply hope that every relationship can be genuine and protective. Every male should find a mate willing to guard and cherish them, not merely… a vessel for bloodlines. Rather than presiding over an empty harem, I would rather have one who can fight beside me, sharing the rest of our lives together.”
A ripple spread through the hall. This was not only a subtle resistance to royal authority but a gentle challenge to millennia of societal norms.
Milton’s once frost-like expression melted completely at the word “one.” His magnificent violet eyes overflowed with intense, unspoken affection. Despite hundreds of sharp eyes watching, the golden hall seemed to vanish around him—only Gu Qing remained.
No matter what Gu Qing wished to do, Milton would transform into a sword, cutting through all chains, unflinching until his last breath. Should a storm descend, he would be the unbreakable shield guarding his mate.
The royals exchanged glances at the main table, the Emperor’s brows furrowing as he weighed Gu Qing’s words. Under the truth serum, the declaration sounded naïve, yet undeniably sincere. The energy between the two blended silently, the unrestrained love and resolve casting a subtle warmth over the icy hall, piercing even the Emperor’s eyes.
After a pause, the Emperor let out a sharp, mocking laugh, slicing the air like a blade before his tone pivoted, probing another angle: “Gu Qing, you seem to have a close association with the mercenary ‘Landai’? Sharing even information about the Celestial Palace ruins?”
Gu Qing’s expression remained natural, his voice soft, tinged with the delayed candor of the serum: “I’ve met him a few times. Landai is knowledgeable, and I’ve learned much from him. He only mentioned that one time, so it must have been significant to him.”
“And his whereabouts thereafter… do you know?” the Emperor asked, eyes narrowing for hidden meaning.
“I only heard he was heading toward the eastern wastelands. Exact coordinates are unknown to me,” Gu Qing replied lightly, casting the bait.
The Emperor gave an ambiguous chuckle, then announced: “Tonight’s dance has been specially prepared for the duke. You and the general shall open the ball.”
Stepping into the dance floor, Gu Qing held Milton’s hand, his body swaying slightly under the “drug’s” influence. He whispered softly at Milton’s ear, voice silky: “Consort… I feel a little dizzy. Could you take the lead in this dance?”
A collective intake of breath arose around them—in the rigid hierarchy of their kind, a male willingly ceding control to a female was unprecedented.
Their eyes met, and psychic resonance sparked between them. Within his soul, Gu Qing murmured playfully, tinged with dependency: “Consort, protect me well. Don’t let these little pests harm your fragile lord.”
“I’ve got you,” Milton responded, his psychic awareness sweeping the hall like a tsunami. In his vision, the dancers no longer moved gracefully—they became a web of deadly traps, threads of psychic danger twisting invisibly through the air.
As the music surged, Milton spun with precision, guiding Gu Qing through the rhythm.
The dancers leaped and twirled, their bone wings cutting through the air like blades. In Milton’s perception, every flick of a wing was a potential blockade for Gu Qing. A stealthy psychic dart struck the back of Gu Qing’s head, but Milton remained composed, tightening his embrace at the right moment to rotate them in a perfect arc. The dart grazed his hair without impact, causing a ripple of imperceptible mental disruption.
The tempo quickened; a dancer’s wing nearly sliced Gu Qing’s neck. Milton’s agile frame bent and twisted with astonishing grace, sliding Gu Qing backward, the curved motion avoiding the blade’s tip. Simultaneously, he spread his left hand, psychic energy slicing the darts midair.
Every subtle movement was choreographed to protect Gu Qing, the unseen struggle invisible to the crowd. Gu Qing, in Milton’s arms, glided, spun, and bent with elation, his handsome face radiant with unrestrained joy. To him, the spinning blades and snapping psychic threads were merely the fireworks framing the ball.
Each glance shared with Milton deepened his smile. He saw the general’s almost obsessive protective vigilance, and his spirits soared. During a rapid spin, he teasingly traced a fingertip along Milton’s neck—a playful reward, a flirtation.
As the music neared its end, a violent psychic pulse erupted from a hidden corner. Milton furrowed his brow, guiding Gu Qing sideways, their feet skimming the edge of danger.
“That was close…” the little guide exclaimed, “they’ve turned a deadly technique into a ballet—truly devious!”
Gu Qing, nestled in Milton’s embrace, eyes gleaming with pure excitement, cooed softly in the spiritual space: “Consort, you’re amazing. Is this the legendary hero-saving-the-beauty?”
When the music ended, the nobles held their breath. Gu Qing’s pristine white suit remained untouched; he leaned back on Milton’s shoulder, cheeks flushed with exhilaration, smiling with gentle cheerfulness—a stark contrast to the pallor of the exhausted dancers. He looked at the scowling Emperor, his smile brighter than ever, innocent as a child.
Looking up at Milton, he whispered softly: “With you here, everything feels perfect.”
Milton’s lips curved, and amid the thunderous applause, the two bowed in unison. Nobles swarmed forward to offer praise. Milton remained slightly uneasy, while Gu Qing, now composed, responded with poise to each compliment.
At that moment, a finely dressed blond noble approached with a glass in hand, smiling smoothly: “Congratulations, Duke Gu Qing. That dance was truly eye-opening for the empire’s nobility.”
A serving robot offered two glasses of starlight wine, glowing like the evening sky.
As Gu Qing touched the rim, his senses detected the subtle irregularities hidden within. Smiling without a hint of concern, he twirled his finger around the rim, then lifted the glass gracefully to drink, chatting as if nothing were amiss.
Milton noticed the brief pause at Gu Qing’s fingertips, frowning slightly, ready to intervene—but Gu Qing had already replaced the empty glass on the tray.
Meeting Milton’s worried gaze, Gu Qing winked subtly, the glint of mastery hidden within, then turned to continue polite conversation with the unsuspecting noble, maintaining full control over this surging undercurrent of palace intrigue.