Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 106. Interrogation

Inside the Everhart Manor

The grand living room of Everhart Manor—usually a place of elegant warmth—was now steeped in somber quiet.

Heavy curtains dimmed the sunlight, casting the room in a soft golden hue, while the crackling fireplace offered little comfort.

The sofas, arranged in a circular formation, now served as a somber council for worried hearts.

Liana Everhart, the mistress of the house and mother to Amelia, sat at the center of it all, surrounded by the girls.

Her elegant posture had withered, replaced by tension in her shoulders and a distant, haunted look in her eyes.

The weight of a mother’s dread pressed down on her every breath, and it was all she could do to keep herself composed.

The others tried their best to comfort her.

Freya sat beside her, gently rubbing her back in slow, calming motions. "She’s strong," she said softly. "If anyone could survive something like this, it’s Amelia. But... if she hasn’t come back yet, it’s likely she’s trapped. Or worse, captured somewhere in the black market."

Liana gave a faint nod, her fingers clutching a handkerchief with white-knuckled desperation. "I think so too," she murmured. "We had people search the entire southern black market, but no trace of her turned up. Not a single one."

Evelyn, who had been silent for most of the conversation, leaned forward slightly. Her tone was even, analytical. "That might mean she wasn’t captured," she proposed, "but either escaped... or—"

"...the people sent to find her were compromised," Celeste finished grimly.

A cold hush fell over the room.

The very idea sent a chill down their spines.

If someone within the Everhart’s hired forces had been bribed or infiltrated, then Amelia’s disappearance might not have been just a random misfortune—it could have been orchestrated.

Everyone inhaled sharply, except for Art and Zyon, who remained silent and deep in thought.

Their brows were furrowed, expressions hard, as if trying to piece together fragments of a puzzle too complex for idle speculation.

Without warning, Art stood up.

His usually carefree face was drawn tight, serious in a way that made everyone look up at once.

"I’m not going to sit here and theorize anymore," he declared. "Me and Zyon are heading to the southern black market. We’ll search again—properly this time. You girls stay here. There’s a good chance this is a setup. Splitting the group could be what they want."

Lilith, typically the most playful of the group, stood as well. Her usual impish grin had faded, replaced by a guarded focus.

"You’re probably right," she said. "If this is an attempt to isolate us, then someone needs to remain and protect the manor. We don’t know who their real target is. I’ll stay with the others. You two go, but be careful."

Art and Zyon nodded in agreement.

Then Zyon turned toward Liana. His voice was calm, but there was steel in it, burning conviction.

"Don’t worry, Aunt Liana," he said with surprising sincerity. "Amelia’s our friend. We won’t let anything happen to her. I promise you that."

Something in his voice—perhaps the blend of sincerity and strength—made Liana’s breath catch. For a moment, her composure cracked, and her eyes welled with tears. But she blinked them back and nodded.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion. "She’s lucky to have friends like you."

Without another word, the two boys turned and headed for the door, stepping out into the uncertainty that awaited them beyond the estate’s walls.

The grand double doors shut behind them with a muted thud.

Now, with only the girls remaining inside the room, a silence settled once more.

Freya was the first to speak, her voice low and cautious. "I don’t like this. Something about all of this feels... wrong. Too clean. Too calculated."

Celeste stood up, her posture tense. "We shouldn’t be out here in the open like this. If someone’s watching the manor, this room is too exposed."

"I agree," Freya said quickly. "Let’s move somewhere more secure. Maybe Amelia’s study or one of the side parlors."

Lilith gave them both a curt nod. "I’ll keep watch. I don’t care who it is—they’re not getting past me." fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Her usual lightheartedness had vanished entirely. She adjusted her gloves, her gaze sharpening as she moved to stand guard near the entrance, eyes scanning every flicker of movement through the windows.

Celeste and Freya helped Liana to her feet, while Evelyn quietly gathered a few documents from the table—namely, the strange letter signed by ’V’ and a few reports from the failed investigation team.

"Let’s go," Celeste said. "We need to piece everything together. If this was planned from the start, then whoever took Amelia won’t stop at just her."

The girls left the room in hushed haste, their hearts burdened but determined.

The letter had offered a single clue, a name with no face—V—and a lead that pointed toward the darkest corners of the city: the black market.

And so, the hunt for Amelia Everhart truly began.

...

In Region-1 of the Everhart estate, nestled right at the heart of nobility and wealth, two boys walked leisurely down the central boulevard.

Their postures were composed, backs straight, expressions relaxed—just another pair of young elites enjoying the day.

But beneath that façade, their eyes were sharp. Every motion, every flicker of unease, every misplaced glance—they took it all in.

Their stroll wasn’t leisurely. It was calculated.

Shops lined both sides of the wide street, each adorned with polished crystal signs, vibrant silken banners fluttering in the breeze.

Trinkets imbued with faint enchantments sparkled beneath display cases. Merchants offered fragrant teas, rare spices, and high-grade monster cores to passing nobles with honeyed voices and shallow smiles.

The air was fresh, almost too fresh. The kind that’s been filtered through layers of magic, scented artificially to mask the sweat and rot beneath the glitz.

Laughter echoed faintly, but the tone was clipped. Surface-deep. Decorative.

Art’s gaze moved from the grinning merchant to a boy selling candied fruit at a corner. The kid moved carefully. Not nervous, just... rehearsed. Mechanical. His steps were quiet. Too quiet.

Zyon, beside him, turned his attention toward a second-floor window where an elderly woman sat knitting. But her needles had long stopped moving. Her eyes weren’t on the thread. They were on them.

Everything registered.

"The air here’s wrong," Art muttered, just loud enough for Zyon to hear. "Like everyone’s wearing a mask. And those bratty nobles? Don’t tell me they aren’t hiding something. Should we... interrogate?"

Zyon didn’t even turn his head. "Not yet. Just observe. I don’t want to waste time, but... it feels like they’re waiting for something. Like we walked in right before a curtain rises."

Art’s lips curved into something between a smirk and a snarl, his voice low and edged. "Then maybe we pull the curtain down early. Let’s not give them time to set the stage. You know how dangerous it gets when rats are allowed to plan."

Zyon sighed. There was a flash of annoyance in his eyes. "You don’t get it. We can’t just go around randomly beating people."

Art gave a mock-offended gasp. "Who said anything about beating them? My guy, interrogation doesn’t have to involve broken bones and blood. Damn, does your family only think with their fists?"

Zyon faltered. "I mean... sometimes."

Art laughed, loud and carefree, drawing glances from a few nearby passersby. "Your family’s a bunch of sadists, I swear."

Zyon smirked faintly, but didn’t argue. "We’re efficient. Direct. You should try it sometime."

Art waved him off. "Too boring. Besides, right now, we’re looking for someone who might’ve seen Amelia. Odds are she wore a hood or cloak. Low profile. Blended in with the crowd."

Zyon nodded, serious again. "Which means whoever did see her won’t know it. But maybe someone noticed something strange—a girl asking questions she shouldn’t, poking around places she didn’t belong."

"And those people," Art said, his voice dropping, "are the ones we need."

Then he stopped.

Just ahead, near a stall that sold enchanted fabrics and rare dyes, stood a noble.

Tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored jacket with too many buttons and a crest Art didn’t recognize. He was young—maybe nineteen—but sweat rolled down his temple.

His jaw clenched every few seconds, and his gaze darted around like he was trapped.

Prey.

Art’s grin turned vicious.

Zyon recognized that look and immediately stepped in front of him. "Art. Don’t."

Too late.

Art broke off from their path and casually strolled up to the noble, hands in his coat pockets, whistling a tune that sounded just a little too off-key.

The noble noticed him and flinched. Not visibly, but enough.

"Hey there," Art said, voice smooth as silk. "You look like someone who’s seen a ghost."

The noble blinked, clearly startled. "I-I beg your pardon?"

"Don’t worry. You’re not in trouble. Just curious." Art tilted his head, studying him. "A girl came through here about a week ago. Probably hooded. Might’ve been asking questions about certain... off-limit places."

"I—I don’t know anything about that," the noble said too quickly, stepping back and bumping into a roll of fabric behind him.

Zyon caught up, face impassive. "Didn’t say you did."

Art took a step forward. "But your reaction’s louder than any answer. Want to try again?"

"I said I don’t—"

"Look," Zyon cut in, voice cold, "we’re not here to play games. We’re looking for someone important. She might’ve passed through here. All we need is the truth. No one’s going to hurt you."

Art leaned in slightly. "Unless you lie again."

The noble’s face paled.

Then he broke.

"She—she came here," he whispered. "About a week ago. She was wearing a full robe, I had picked a little because she looked gorgeous."

"Where did she go?" Zyon asked.

The noble nodded. "I don’t know. I didn’t follow her somewhere deep, I’m not a stalker."

"You are lying again, aren’t you?" Art asked. His voice turned increasingly malevolent.

"Ok! Ok!" the noble hissed. "I did follow her. She visited an old abandoned corner of the street right next to the frozen lamp."

Zyon’s voice darkened. "And you didn’t think to tell anyone?"

The noble looked miserable. "She was a stranger. I didn’t know who she was. I just... I didn’t want to get involved."

Art’s smile disappeared. "You’re involved now."

Without another word, the two turned and walked away, leaving the noble trembling.

As they re-entered the flow of the crowd, Zyon muttered, "Frozen lamp? Shouldn’t be that hard to find."

Art’s hands twitched at his sides, knuckles cracking. "You are absolutely right about that. I even have a sneaky suspicion who forze the lamp."

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