Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 105. Something Happened?

Inside Opalcrest Manor

Within the grand banquet hall of Opalcrest Manor, the atmosphere was charged with indignation and restrained fury.

Ornate chandeliers glittered above rows of long, polished tables, where nobles, diplomats, and military officers of the nation had gathered.

Plates of untouched delicacies lay forgotten. The wine was flowing, but the taste of it soured on their tongues.

A diplomat abruptly slammed his goblet onto the table, the sound ringing like a shot across the room.

"This is outrageous!" he bellowed, his face flushed with rage. "What kind of man is Lucian Lancaster to utter such brazen declarations? How can he speak so shamelessly—threatening an entire nation while favoring those treacherous Everharts?"

Murmurs of agreement swelled, a wave of angry whispers rippling across the hall.

From a corner table, a cold voice cut through the noise.

"You do know who you’re speaking of, don’t you?" A duke leaned back in his chair, his tone laced with disdain. "That man isn’t bound by reason or decorum. Lucian Lancaster has always been a force of will. And the Everharts... they played a dangerous game when they married off their daughter."

A lady of noble rank—Marchioness Valette—raised a delicate hand, her pale fingers obscured behind a painted table fan. Her eyes gleamed with calculation.

"Indeed," she murmured. "Cunning doesn’t even begin to describe them. Amelia Everhart had always followed the Lancaster heir like a shadow since childhood. Clearly, they were grooming her for this very outcome. It wasn’t just politics—it was prophecy."

The hall erupted in agreement. Voices overlapped, each noble trying to outdo the other in their accusations.

"Snakes, all of them!"

"They planned this from the start—tying themselves to power through blood."

"And now they’ve manipulated Lucian’s hand—disgraceful!"

Just then, the grand doors at the far end of the hall creaked open with a resounding groan.

A heavy silence fell.

Heinau entered.

Clad in the black-and-crimson regalia of Opalcrest’s military elite, his figure exuded authority. His expression was stoic, but beneath that stone façade simmered a volatile intensity. The murmuring died down immediately.

"Silence," he commanded, extending one arm. The command was not shouted, but it struck like a thunderclap.

He walked to the head of the hall, taking his place before the assembled leaders of Opalcrest.

He let a few moments of silence stretch before speaking again.

"I understand your anger," he said evenly. "But do not let it cloud your judgment. Kane Everhart... is not a cunning man. He is not a deceiver. If anything, he is too compassionate—too soft to rule."

The gathered crowd watched him, rapt.

"And that," Heinau continued, "is precisely why we must take Everhart."

He stepped forward, resting both hands on the table before him. His eyes swept across the room.

"We, the people of Mythria, are the weakest among the four continents of Cronica. Do you know why? It is not because we lack talent or resources. No. It is because we are divided. Fragmented. And one of the greatest obstacles to our unity has always been House Everhart."

He spat the name like venom.

"They cling to outdated ideals. They preach peace in a world forged through conquest. They turn away power, turn away alliances, and hide behind their crumbling philosophies of compassion. But now..." Heinau’s voice lowered, becoming serpentine. "Now, the tide of power is shifting."

The room stirred. Heads nodded in grim agreement. Wine goblets were lifted, but not yet toasted.

A duke near the center of the hall smirked darkly. "Looks like the plan is finally coming to fruition."

Heinau turned to him and nodded. "Yes, Duke Jaino. Decades of quiet maneuvering, of patience, are bearing fruit. It is only a matter of days now."

He raised a hand, forming a claw with his fingers, as if grasping an invisible throat.

"The beauty of it is... we will force the Everharts into an impossible choice. Their daughter. Their son. Or their people. Which will they choose to protect?"

He paused. "Whatever the answer, they will be broken."

Gasps and excited murmurs fluttered across the room.

A diplomat raised his glass with a gleam of madness in his eyes. "And that—that is why we hold this banquet tonight! To celebrate what is to come!"

The room erupted in cheers.

Dozens of goblets clinked together. Wine spilled over the rims, staining silken gloves and lacquered wood.

"To the reign of Opalcrest!"

"To the fall of Everhart!"

"To salvation!"

The cries blended together in a storm of anticipation and hunger. It was not merely conquest they awaited—but vindication. A rewriting of the balance of power on Cronica.

And at the center of it all, Heinau stood still, his smirk widening.

Waiting.

...

Outside the Everhart Manor

The crisp morning breeze rustled through the thick canopy of trees lining the path to Everhart Manor.

A group of six young nobles walked along the cobbled trail, their voices mingling with the wind as they approached the towering estate.

The group consisted of Art, Zyon, Celeste, Evelyn, Freya, and Lilith—each with their own brand of energy and mischief.

They had come with a shared purpose: to check on Amelia Everhart, who had recently taken leave from the academy and returned to her family estate ahead of the rising political tensions.

As they neared the wrought iron gates of the manor, Art scoffed dramatically, pushing his hands into his pockets.

"Cassius is seriously being a jerk these days," he muttered, kicking a loose pebble. "We live in the same dorm, and not even once has he dropped by. You’d think he was a ghost. I swear he’s gotten so damn lazy."

Zyon, walking beside him, shook his head in quiet disagreement. "It’s not laziness," he said with a more somber tone. "He’s... isolating himself. That’s not sloth—that’s pain. Anyone can see it. He’s always been distant, but now? It’s like he’s fading."

Freya’s eyes quivered at the thought. Her steps slowed. "Is he... alright?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

She didn’t expect an answer.

Lilith, never one to miss an opportunity, grinned mischievously and leaned close, nudging Freya with a playful elbow. "Oh? Why so worried about that playboy? Don’t tell me he finally managed to steal your heart?"

Freya’s cheeks flared red. She swatted Lilith away, flustered. "W-Will you stop with that already? Not every time, Lilith."

But Lilith wasn’t one to retreat so easily. Giggling, she clung to Freya’s arm like a koala. "Aha~ So you’re not denying it this time?"

Celeste, who had been quiet for a while, sighed deeply. Her usual mischievous sparkle had dulled.

"You guys are seriously the most immature group I’ve ever known," she said flatly, folding her arms. "Can you think beyond romance for five seconds?"

Lilith shot her a sideways glance. "Whoa. Salty much? What crawled up your dress today?"

Zyon cast Celeste a knowing look, then turned to the others. "We’re on the brink of war, and you’re arguing about boys. Don’t you think it’s a little tone-deaf?"

Celeste nodded solemnly. "This isn’t the time to be playing games. People are dying... or will be, soon enough. And meanwhile, the so-called playboy of our group—"

She pointed her finger straight at Art.

"—still thinks the world revolves around his face."

Rather than take offense, Art puffed his chest out with pride, running a hand through his hair in a dramatic flourish.

"Well, you’re not entirely wrong," he said with a grin. "But let’s be honest, compared to me, Cassius is still a rookie. The guy’s got a brooding face and a noble name, sure—but charm? Charisma? Please, he needs training."

The group collectively groaned, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world eased from their shoulders. Still, none of them could deny the unease that had been creeping in.

It was Evelyn—the quiet one—who voiced it first.

"...Don’t you feel it?" she murmured, glancing around. "The air... it’s heavy."

The group paused, their laughter fading into silence as they finally took in their surroundings.

She was right.

The once-vibrant estate grounds now felt strangely still. Too still.

The Everhart guards, typically relaxed and courteous, stood with their backs straight and expressions cold.

Their eyes were sharp, watchful, unblinking. Even the birds seemed to have taken flight, and the wind carried no song.

The towering Everhart Manor loomed in the distance, bathed in morning light, yet cloaked in a shadow of unease.

Art’s usual jovial expression faltered. "Okay... I’m gonna say it. This doesn’t feel right."

Celeste nodded, her tone blunt. "No shit, Princess. Something’s happened."

As they reached the main steps of the manor, Freya hesitated before knocking firmly on the carved wooden door.

A beat passed.

Then another.

Suddenly, the door swung open.

A woman emerged, her long white hair cascading behind her in a silken rush. Her emerald green eyes were wide, frantic.

She looked as if she had been running—her breaths were hitched, and her chest heaved with urgency. She hadn’t even bothered to check who was outside.

"Amelia!" she shouted instinctively, eyes scanning the group with barely contained desperation.

The group froze, alarmed.

It was Amelia’s mother—Lady Liana Everhart.

Her usually composed demeanor had completely unraveled, revealing a woman gripped by something more than fear.

Something had happened.

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