Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 92. War (1)

My eyes fluttered open to the sight of the all-too-familiar ceiling of the dorm room.

For a second, I just stared—expressionless—at the ceiling above me with the memories flashing before my eyes.

"I guess some memories... you just can’t forget them."

That wasn’t a dream. It didn’t feel like one. Weren’t dreams supposed to be twisted fantasies, fragments of imagination scrambled into nonsense?

Not your life. Not your goddamn past projected like some cursed documentary.

What I saw—no, what I remembered—was real.

Crystal clear.

That man... my ’father’—he’d sold me off like cheap furniture to a bunch of local gangsters.

For what? Not for debt. Not out of desperation. Not even out of greed. But because of a doubt. Just a stupid, baseless doubt.

He thought I wasn’t his real son.

That his wife had cheated on him.

No evidence. No test. No confrontation. Just a gut feeling.

That was enough, apparently.

Honestly, if someone’s that insecure, that paranoid... then yeah, maybe it wouldn’t be too surprising if their partner really did cheat.

I wouldn’t blame her. A man like that? Weak. Petty. Cowardly.

Still, in a twisted way, I owe him everything.

Because of him... because of that single moment of betrayal... I became this.

Whether what I became is good or bad depends on who’s judging.

To me, it just is.

I sighed, sat up, and ran a hand through my hair, still slightly damp with sweat.

My body always felt heavier after those kinds of dreams. Or memories. Or whatever the hell you called them.

But before I could wallow any longer, a soft knock echoed at the door.

One second later, it creaked open—barely.

A crouched figure slipped through the gap like some cartoon burglar.

I stared at him.

He stared at me.

Art.

Trying to sneak in like some kind of stealth expert, crouched low, steps silent, eyes scanning the room like a spy.

My lips curled into a smile.

He froze mid-step. "...Shit."

I moved toward him slowly.

He flinched, like he expected a punch to the face.

But all I did was push him gently out of the room by the collar of his shirt and shut the door behind him. "I’m awake. Now wait outside."

He grinned sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head. "Hehe. Got it."

I shook my head, chuckling. After that miserable memory, this idiot’s antics were almost therapeutic.

I headed into the bathroom, took a quick shower, and changed into the school. Clean. Crisp.

By the time I stepped out, Art was already waiting at the dorm gate, half-asleep while leaning against the fence post. When he saw me, he perked up and waved.

We walked together, heading toward the classroom with our usual unspoken rhythm.

The air was crisp, sun bright but not blinding. Students passed by, chatting, laughing, some still recovering from their defeats during the combat exams.

Our classroom was already buzzing when we arrived. Seats filled, energy high.

Today was the final batch of student battles. The tail end of the combat evaluation.

None of it concerned me. I’d already done mine.

Still, we sat through the entire thing.

Match after match dragged on. Some were decent. Some were just laughable. A few were surprisingly brutal.

But none of them really mattered.

Not to me.

It wasn’t arrogance. It was just... clear. Most of the students here lacked something.

Not talent necessarily. But drive. Fire. The kind of desperation you only get when life tries to crush you and you bite back harder.

By the time the last match ended, Celia clapped once and dismissed the class.

"That’ll be all for today. Use your free time wisely. Or don’t. Up to you."

Bless her bluntness.

I didn’t waste a second. While most students milled about or left for the cafeteria, I made a beeline toward the private training wing.

Inside the reinforced chamber, I went through my usual routine.

Three hours of relentless climbing—vertical, inverted, angled. My hands bled halfway through, palms torn from the coarse grips and my own stubbornness. But I didn’t stop.

Pain was familiar.

Predictable.

Welcoming, even.

After the climb, I did a few hundred push-ups, some balance training, mana sense meditation—though that one still annoyed the hell out of me with how slow my progress was.

By the time I was done, the sun had dipped below the horizon. My uniform shirt was soaked through, and my breathing was ragged.

I didn’t feel satisfaction. Not exactly.

Just quiet.

And that was good enough.

I left the training chamber, slipped through the empty halls of the academy, and walked back to the dorm as the first stars began to appear.

The world outside was calm again.

But in my chest, beneath skin and bone and whatever else made me—

—the fire still burned.

...

The days passed in a blur. freёnovelkiss-com

Classes continued. Training intensified. But beneath it all, there was a growing weight pressing down on everyone.

Like a quiet storm building over the horizon—visible, undeniable, and utterly inevitable.

Before I knew it, war was upon us.

Technically, not our war. Not on our continent either. The battlefield was far away—across the vast oceans and mana-streams, nestled within the fractured lands of the Mythria Continent.

But we were still being sent there.

Our little group—The whole class Year-1 Platinum A. Witnesses. Supposedly just for "experience."

Right.

Celia had informed us just a day ago.

"Tomorrow," she’d said, casually, as if we were being sent on a school field trip, "you’ll all be teleported to Mythria. More precisely, to the Everhart Valley."

Amelia’s hometown.

She wasn’t even here today.

Apparently, she’d already departed early—left in the night without telling anyone besides Celia. No goodbyes. No farewell words. Nothing.

Just vanished.

Because of course she would.

After all, it’s time for Leon to take his girl.

That’s how it played out in the game. Somewhere during the war arc, a political crisis breaks out in the Everhart Domain—Amelia’s home territory ends up losing some critical battle or political favor, and in the aftermath, her marriage is arranged to stabilize the region.

’Truthfully I forgot how exactly it went.’

Leon gets chosen.

Their sudden marriage is the only way to activate a special artifact that ensures the valley’s survival—some legacy bullshit only passed to the bloodline of ’the chosen’ and the eldest Everhart daughter.

It’s all very noble. Very sacrificial. Very convenient.

And yes, it shifts the trajectory of the whole world. From ruin to survival—at least temporarily.

Back in the classroom, tension hung in the air like a thick mist. Oppressive. Cold. Suffocating.

Students murmured among themselves in hushed voices. Some shivered. Others sat with hunched shoulders, gazes distant and unfocused.

It was like sitting in a graveyard before the first shovel of dirt was even moved.

I sat quietly, arms folded, eyes forward. Silent. Watching.

Art and Zyon approached me a moment later.

Art spoke first, his tone casual but tight. "Man... the atmosphere’s beyond tense. Did everyone forget they can just leave if they want to?"

Zyon sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. "They can’t, and they know it. Most of them have families back home. If they back out now, the repercussions won’t stop with them."

I nodded. "Yeah. Even if they don’t lift a sword, just being there’s a statement."

But I didn’t say the rest.

That it was all bullshit.

That this "experience mission" was anything but a harmless observation.

Because it wasn’t just Opalcrest’s army we’d be dealing with.

It was the Rift.

A spatial scar that would open during the battle, spewing out monsters, beasts, and worse—things that couldn’t be reasoned with or talked down. A cursed tide that devoured everything in its path, indiscriminate and hungry.

That wasn’t in the official reports, of course. But I knew.

I remembered.

And a shitload of these people—these students—would die.

No amount of neutrality on paper would stop the chaos once it began.

Still, I wore my mask. Stoic. Calm. Unbothered.

Even as dread settled into the bones of everyone around me.

Then, without fanfare, the classroom door creaked open.

Celia entered, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

Everyone stiffened.

Her sharp gaze swept across the room, scanning each student. Measuring. Weighing. Judging.

"I hope you’re all ready," she said, her voice calm but absolute. "No one can back out now."

No one moved.

A few students clenched their jaws, hands trembling beneath the desks.

But no one stood.

No one ran.

"Good," she said simply.

Then she raised a single hand.

With a snap of her fingers, space itself tore open at the front of the room—a swirling, azure vortex crackling with runes and light. A spatial portal that shimmered like liquid glass, rippling and humming with immense mana.

Behind the shimmering curtain, the faint silhouette of mountainous terrain could be seen.

Celia smiled.

Not cruelly. Not warmly.

Just knowingly.

"Let’s have a picnic," she said.

I muttered under my breath, "Yeah... one with a bloodbath."

No one heard me. Not that it mattered.

One by one, the students began to rise.

They filed into a line with robotic steps, like prisoners marching toward something they couldn’t stop.

Art gave me a look. Fully excited.

Zyon said nothing, but I noticed the faint twitch in his right hand.

Me?

I just followed.

Because what else was there to do?

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