You are dead.

The aged warrior made the comment in passing. She was having a heated conversation with the Princess who had joined her on the ledge. Their topic was bouncing around me, the city, and the slaves. She wasn’t kidding about me being dead, though. By the rules of the duel, I had indeed suffered a catastrophic injury: a scratch around my thorax. It doesn’t sound much, but the wound was dealt with such ease that had my opponent put more strength behind his mandibles he would have mortally injured me —no one can survive being sliced in half, after all.

I am special.

I was just glad the familiarity of the scratch didn’t bring my past trauma to light. As for the result of the duel: I didn’t know what to make of it. My opinion was biased toward the slaves, but a worker can’t fight a soldier anyways. Yes, I had killed one, but those circumstances were different, and it had involved more luck than ability.

Did you drop your other mandible on the ground? The aged warrior scented, the odor came crisp and piercing, striking like an alarm.

No? I made a confused reply and was yelled at for stalling.

Stop dawdling. You are not a pampered princess. That earned her a cry of unfairness from the princess sitting beside her, which she should have just kept inside because it had no effect on her rowdy master. Show me the spirit with which you killed the termite soldier! Give me that anger and vitality. I’m not asking you for the impossible —a worker can’t kill a soldier— but, if you can’t even get serious for yourself, I can’t take you seriously either. Then we’ll have a problem.

How do you know about the termite?

Are you that foolish?

She knew thanks to the I.C, of course! I made a mental to not let her or anyone else make that kind of connection with me. If she could freely siphon knowledge from the princess then I hadn’t any hope of blocking my mind from her. My worry was as real as a pair of mandible hanging a hairsbreadth from my neck —outrageously serious.

Are you alright, brother? You look a little winded there. My opponent tapped my back. There was a buzz about him and it was irritating, to say the least. You are not wounded, right? He said tracing the souvenir he had left me. His touch tickled. I could almost hear his worry from the scent. It was weak, courtesy of his missing antennae, but accurate than even the scents laid out by the princess. He was suddenly considerate. I wondered what he was thinking. And I was starting to like him —until he said something that irked me like a grain of sand in the eye.

You should rest. Let me worry about guarding the Princess. A soldier is a much better choice anyway.

Take my place? His words did more than just irk me. They lit a fire under my bottom, boiling my fluids to produce bubbly anger. Eat the result of my hard work? I stood up asking for another match and this time showed the soldier his place. Become a guard my blasted bottom!

I was angry, of course, though only hyperventilating, not out of the mind crazy that I was against the termite soldier. That was something else. This anger was more subdued; just a lot of steam. Needless to say, I didn’t somehow overturn the situation and pulled a win over my opponent. All that happened was me taking another beating and him earning respect in the princess’s eyes.

Do you see it? I’m good, aren’t I? The soldier flexed his mandibles to the princess, who had reached out to me in kind to help disinfect the second scratch he had gored me. It was oddly infuriating. This one was on top of my head and deep. A little mishap and I would have lost a part of my brain… and died.

Why don’t you dump this worker and let me take care of you? He continued, despite being ignored by the princess. He can’t even take care of himself. How will he take care of you?

That surprised me. That’s enough! I discharged a hefty dose of pheromones into the air for dominance. The blow wasn’t strong enough, for the soldier only pulled back his antennae instead of going crazy, but it did make him pensive. You should stand back. I told the princess, eyes staring at the soldier who could not have been more ignorant of the spark he had lit.

I’d been wondering what I had done to deserve such reprehension. They had forced me into a duel against a soldier, who though wounded, was doing better than most soldiers. He was taller, stronger, and definitely sharper than me. And they wanted me to preserve my dignity against him? It was a sick situation.

I got up and pushed his head back. He was getting uncomfortably close to the princess. Get back and get ready.

Oh! The soldier finally got his mental gears twirling, shown excellently by his whirling antennae. He rubbed his head where I had pushed him and sharpened his stature. You aren’t done yet? He asked.

And in the heat of the moment, I ended up agreeing for another match. I wondered what the princess thought when she sensed this exchange of scents. She might as well have spoken her mind because her wavering antennae told she wasn’t too happy. The audience was surely happy though, and unconventionally verbal about their thoughts. Most called me stupid. A few were interested in seeing the outcome. And surprising of all was the lot of them that were supportive of me for some reason.

Will you both get going already? I’m not getting any younger!

With the aged warrior's blessings we tussled for the third time: One in anger and the other in utmost concentration. I was the latter until the bout ended and we switched the emotional states.

The soldier bore countless scars over his body, like red veins struggling to pop out from under his skeleton. We took positions facing each other. He stopped taunting me. Much of it was related to his inability to hold a conversation over distance. Apparently, it takes a good pair of antennae for a long-range scent transmission, which I sadly couldn’t do, and neither could he.

My opponent had practiced hard to turn his lone antenna into a very good and precise receiver, but it was also where his fault lied. He had to keep vibrating his antenna to produce that effect, causing the buzz and a sensory overload of information, resulting in a momentary lag in his movement.

I wished to take advantage of that lag.

It was a surprisingly good examination of the situation, but that didn’t help me. I didn’t know how to convert this information into a successful attack. I couldn’t spray poison and he had been crushing me at close range. A notification appeared out of the blue, halting me for a second. And I almost lost my momentum to it.

You keep looking at others with such concentration and they’re going to label you a pervert, pervert.

You have acquired Skill: Examine.

[Examine][Tier-1][Lv-1/10][Active]

[Looking close enough at something can reveal the most amazing of things. It’s a matter of understanding and focus.]

[Effect: Increases your focus and understanding of foreign principles and objects.]

[Reward: Your wisdom increases by .1 points at every skill up.]

I shook the static from my sight and charged straight at him. But I had already missed the timing.

I confronted him head-on, and he took note of me when I was close enough to slice him a new mark. He circled around my back and pinched my head, holding me as effortlessly as a caretaker holds a pupa. He released the victory scent, while the aged warrior commented again:

You are dead. And that’s enough from you. You don’t have the spirit to get better. I can’t help you.

The soldier let go and turned to face the two on the ledge. See? He can’t protect you. Even the mighty chariot admits it.

Do you want to get your antenna plucked?

I heard their cheerful banter —and it hurt. I wasn’t jealous of him. He was a soldier and I was a worker. There was a clear distinction between the two castes.

So, Said the little hungry voice inside me. Are you giving up? The workers don’t want you near and now you are not good enough to even be a slave. Wanna lie down in the pit and get buried under the dirt?

My heart pounded, sight tinted red. I rushed at the soldier; no plan in mind, only a craving for recognition.

She’s going to leave you. The voice grew louder, controlling.

I went for his abdomen.

It was a cowardly attack, but I couldn’t control myself any longer. A warning scent rose from the slaves around us. And somehow the soldier noticed. Instantly, he pulled his abdomen out of my sight, and the next thing I knew a stinger was growing larger in front of me. I was stabbed in the chest. The realization halted my steps, but there was no pain and the soldier was now facing me, mandibles open and head lifted in a display of warning. He hadn’t poisoned me out of courtesy of the duel.

I was pacified and heaving; still, I charged straight at him. It was anger and the feeling of loss. Such negative emotions don’t work well together. They distorted my perception, draining me of common sense. I wanted to express all I was without thinking about the consequences. The soldier looked about ready to chop me a new hole, but he didn’t.

This time he held my lame leg and dragged me around. I lost that one. I got up infuriated over my failure and he surprisingly attacked first, slammed into me with all his weight and force, sending me swinging into a tumble. Once more! I stabilized myself and went back, anger forgotten, sight back to normal and a plea lopping again and again in my mind: Just once; let me hit him once.

A notification lit up my sight again, asking rather than telling, whether I would like to perform a charge?

I agreed without thinking.