Chương 4: The Emissary

The disappointment I felt upon discovering that every single evolution option still left me as a caterpillar was difficult to put into words. I had mistakenly allowed myself to imagine something grander. Instead, the System had presented me with three different varieties of caterpillar. At that point, I was beginning to suspect that the System possessed a rather cruel sense of humor.

Whether it was deliberately tormenting me or simply had an exceptionally low opinion of my potential remained unclear, but I found it increasingly difficult to believe that this outcome was mere coincidence. However, sulking had never solved any of my problems, and I had not spent years ruling an empire by allowing disappointment to cloud my judgment. If these were the options available to me, then I would make use of them, whether I liked them or not.

For all I knew, one of these evolutions might possess abilities powerful enough to justify remaining a caterpillar a little longer. I would have to evaluate each option objectively before passing judgment upon the System's latest attempt to test my patience. [Adamant Caterpillar] A rare species usually found in rocky highlands, the Adamant Caterpillar is known for its dark, metallic-looking exoskeleton. It is so incredibly resilient that claws, fangs, sharp beaks, and even steel tools struggle to pierce it.

[Spinecrown Caterpillar] A highly feared and reclusive species recognized by the rows of barbed spines covering its body. Found primarily in dense forests and swamplands, it carries potent venom within these spines. Even large monsters can die within seconds of exposure, while humanoid creatures often succumb even faster.

[Silkbinder Caterpillar] Among the rarest caterpillar species known, what makes this creature remarkable is the extraordinary strength of its threads, which are said to surpass steel in durability while remaining incredibly light and flexible. The more I read all of the descriptions, the more I realized that at least one of these species was not unfamiliar to me. The Silkbinder Caterpillar in particular was something I knew rather well.

During my previous life, I had maintained a small collection of them within the palace grounds. They were beautiful creatures, producing some of the finest silk in the world, silk so durable and valuable that entire industries had been built around harvesting it. Nobles paid fortunes for garments woven from Silkbinder thread, and many kingdoms attempted to establish breeding programs of their own. Which was precisely why I had absolutely no intention of becoming one.

The moment I imagined myself as a Silkbinder Caterpillar, I would become valuable to everyone else. The last thing I needed was for some wandering human, elf, dwarf, or whatever other humanoid species inhabited this world to stumble across me and conclude that I would make an excellent source of luxury textiles. The odds of such an encounter were probably low, but it was still a terrifying possibility. Becoming somebody else's silk-producing livestock sounded like a thoroughly miserable fate.

Now, there was no doubt in my mind that the ability to produce silk was useful. It could be woven into traps, used to suspend myself from branches, among many other possible uses. Even so, it was hardly an ability unique to the Silkbinder Caterpillar; they merely happened to be one of a few species that excelled at it.

There was every possibility that a future Evolution or Trait would grant me the capacity to produce silk of my own; perhaps not to the degree that the Silkbinders could manage, but certainly to a standard more than sufficient for any practical application. It would be profoundly shortsighted to shackle my future to this particular evolution over an ability I could very well acquire elsewhere, especially when doing so meant sacrificing opportunities far better suited to someone of my caliber.

That left me with two other options to consider. The Adamant Caterpillar had its merits, since a durable body was nothing to scoff at. The problem was that the evolution seemed one-dimensional. While becoming more difficult to kill had its appeal, I just wasn't too excited about this particular evolution option. The Spinecrown Caterpillar, on the other hand, seemed much more interesting.

The barbed spines sounded like an excellent defensive weapon, while the description strongly suggested that the evolution would further enhance my already potent toxins. More importantly, I suspected evolution paths functioned much like Classes had in my previous life. One decision could influence future opportunities, such as how a person with the warrior class would eventually find it easier to become a swordmaster in the future instead of an archmage.

If that assumption remained true, then selecting the Spinecrown Caterpillar would likely unlock future evolutions centered around poison, venom, or other similar biological weaponry. And that was a future I found far more appealing than becoming an armored brick or an expensive spool of thread. With any luck, one of those future evolutions would finally grant me the ability to actively deliver my toxins rather than relying upon enemies to make the mistake of making contact with me.

Frankly, while my current strategy had been surprisingly effective, repeatedly throwing myself into predators' mouths was hardly a strategy worthy of an empress. I was just about to select my evolution when another notification abruptly appeared before me, causing me to pause. [Warning: Evolution is a process that can take a few hours to several days or weeks depending on your species, level, and how many times you evolved before. Are you sure you would like to evolve here?] I had been moments away from initiating the process without a second thought, yet being trapped in the middle of an evolution while exposed on a tree branch was far from ideal. Considering my recent experiences, I had no doubt that the forest was filled with creatures that would happily seize the opportunity to devour a defenseless caterpillar. The forest floor was out of the question. A tree remained the most sensible option, though even that required careful consideration.

Birds were still a concern, and while my vibrant coloration appeared effective at discouraging them, I was not arrogant enough to assume every creature in the forest would respect nature's warning signs. With that in mind, I abandoned any thoughts of evolving for now and climbed down in search of a safer location. After rejecting several trees that offered poor concealment or left me too exposed, I eventually discovered a small hollow hidden in the trunk of a different tree.

The entrance was too narrow for most animals to enter, but just enough to accommodate my body. I climbed this new tree, and by the time I reached the hollow, I found myself rather pleased with the location. The cavity provided excellent cover and it was secluded enough that even if some predator happened to pass nearby, there was a good chance it would never notice me at all. Soon, I settled into the center of the hollow. Then, with no further reason to delay, I selected my evolution.

[Evolution Sequence Initiated] The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. For whatever reason, I assumed evolution would be a passive affair. I had expected to enter some dreamlike slumber and emerge from it transformed. Instead, I found myself suspended within a vast black void. There was no ground beneath me, no sky above me, and no sense of distance by which to judge the scale of my surroundings.

The place felt immeasurably vast, and more unsettling was the profound sense of insignificance it inspired. The forest had certainly made me feel small, but here I felt even smaller and more… insignificant. As far as I could remember, even during my previous life, I had never encountered anything remotely similar to this void. Acting on instinct more than reason, I attempted to greet something, anything, in the void by attempting a "Hello?" But instead of words, my mandibles merely twitched uselessly.

The effort accomplished absolutely nothing beyond reminding me that I remained trapped inside of this undignified form. I could only hope this bizarre realm was not where I was expected to spend the entirety of my evolution. Before I could continue contemplating my misfortune, a sudden rush of wind swept through the darkness. The sensation startled me, and I tensed as a familiar shape descended from above. A blue bird landed before me.

At first glance, it appeared identical to the creature I had encountered previously in the forest. But something about it felt different now. There was a peculiar awareness in its gaze, an intelligence that had not been nearly as obvious during our first meeting.

"Empress, how has your new life been treating you?" The bird asked. For perhaps the first time since my rebirth, I found myself genuinely speechless. Part of that stemmed from the obvious issue that I lacked the anatomy required for speech. The greater problem, however, was that a bird had just addressed me by my title. Although I was somewhat flattered that this bird seemed to know who I was, a sense of weariness constantly gnawed at the back of my mind.

I did not know what this creature's intentions were, and that meant it was dangerous.

"Try to speak again, Empress. This place does not follow the same rules as the material world." I disliked taking instructions from mysterious birds, particularly those that appeared unreasonably comfortable addressing me as though we were acquaintances. Regardless, I did as it suggested for now. The moment I formed the intention to speak, somehow, my voice returned. Not the pitiful silence of my caterpillar body, but my true voice, the voice that had once commanded generals, and kings alike.

Defying any form of logic, it echoed across the void with all the authority I remembered. The sensation was so unexpected that for a brief moment I nearly forgot my irritation, almost.

"Creature, I know not who or what you truly are, but if you intend to address me as Empress, then you should also know that the manner in which you have spoken to me would have seen you marched to the gallows during my reign." The bird looked at me for several moments before letting out what I could have sworn was a snort.

"Given your current position, I believe I've already extended you a considerable courtesy, Empress." Who did this Creature think he was to speak to me with such arrogance? Granted, I was fully aware of the hypocrisy involved in making such an observation. After all, I had spent much of my previous life being accused of precisely the same flaw.

"Are you here merely to mock me?" I asked.

"No, I am here to deliver a message on behalf of my masters. Once I have done so, I shall leave you be."

"And who exactly are these masters of yours?"

"I cannot say, Empress."

"Why not?"

"I cannot say, Empress." I genuinely considered whether strangling the creature would be possible if I still possessed hands. The bird somehow managed to answer every question while providing absolutely no useful information whatsoever. It was a remarkable talent, one that would have earned it a prestigious position among certain diplomats I had known during my reign. Despite my irritation, however, I forced myself to remain composed, as much as I could be anyway.

"Then what can you tell me?" The bird tilted its head slightly.

"I can tell you that your current form was the result of your own choice, Empress. It was not a punishment, nor was it an act of cruelty."

"My choice? And who are you to know what choices I made?"

"I cannot say, Empress."

"Of course you cannot." The bird ignored my remark entirely. Its gaze drifted toward the endless darkness surrounding us, as though it were observing something far beyond my perception. Then, it turned back toward me.

"Your final wish before your death was to live again so that you might one day rule the entire world. The gods heard that wish, Empress, and should you succeed in this life, they may very well grant it." That was it, this bird had to be some sort of divine emissary, which admittedly explained its impossible appearance and irritating habit of knowing far more than it was willing to share. It also meant the creature could have spared me a great deal of wasted time by revealing that fact immediately.

But regardless, it was good to know who and what exactly I was dealing with.

"From the way you phrased that, it sounds as though the gods expect something from me in return."

"Indeed, they granted your wish because they believe you may be the key to saving this world from certain doom." I could not help but feel an intense urge to laugh upon hearing that. Of all the people the gods could have chosen, they had selected me, and the irony was… magnificent. Across every nation I had ever ruled over or negotiated with, a great many individuals had devoted their entire lives to worship.

There were priests who spent decades in prayer, paladins who swore sacred oaths, and the countless commoners who prayed every day and night. And yet somehow the gods had arrived at the conclusion that I was their best option.

"The gods must be truly desperate if they have come to me of all people seeking assistance."

"That they are. Know this, Empress, this new life of yours is more important than you can imagine. Do not waste the second chance you have been given."

"You need not remind me of that, Creature. In my previous life, I seldom squandered the opportunities placed before me, and I certainly do not intend to begin now simply because I happen to possess more legs than before." If birds were capable of smirking, I would have sworn the creature did exactly that. Its expression remained frustratingly unreadable, yet I detected the faintest trace of satisfaction beneath its otherwise measured tone.

"Ah, and one more thing, Empress. The gods have seen fit to bestow upon you one final gift, one that shall continue to accompany you after each subsequent evolution."

"How generous of them," I said sarcastically.

"Considering their remarkable talent for communicating through riddles and half-truths, I confess my expectations are rather modest. Tell me, what reward could they possibly offer that I would care to receive? Perhaps another opportunity to become an even more distinguished variety of caterpillar?"

"I can show you brief glimpses of the events surrounding your death." Any trace of sarcasm quickly left me. In its place came a deep curiosity, mingled with an even deeper bitterness.

"Why only glimpses? And why not show me the cause of my death directly?"

"I can only give you the information that I am permitted to give. Should you wish to learn more, then you must continue evolving."

"Do the gods derive amusement from this?" I asked coldly.

"Do they delight in dangling fragments of truth before me like scraps before a starving beggar?"

"Do you wish to see the truth or not, Empress?" Its response irritated me far more than any elaborate rebuttal could have, and for a long while, I remained silent. Whatever resentment I harbored toward these meddlesome gods did not diminish the simple truth that they possessed information I desperately wanted. Pride was a wonderful companion, but it became a liability when it prevented one from seizing valuable knowledge.

"Very well, show me." The bird inclined its head. Suddenly, the darkness around us dissolved into countless fractured images that rushed through my mind like shards of broken glass. They appeared and vanished almost as quickly as I perceived them, each lasting no more than a second before shifting to the next. Just as the creature had promised, they were only fleeting glimpses, but one image eclipsed all the others. I saw myself, though this version of me looked half alive at best.

My skin had become unnaturally pale, robbed of every trace of healthy color, while deep shadows pooled beneath sunken eyes. My frail body trembled uncontrollably beneath layers of blankets as I curled upon my bedchamber floor. The sight was pitiful. It was the image of someone already standing at death's doorstep. I could barely reconcile that broken figure with the woman I remembered being. Yet beneath my revulsion lingered more pressing questions. Was mere disease truly what reduced me to such a miserable state?

Or was it possible that someone or something else was responsible for my sickness?