Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 93. Society

The world on the other side of the portal... was breathtaking.

No, seriously. Even I had to admit that.

Rivers snaked and braided through the land like threads spun from silver silk, their surfaces shimmering under the high sun.

Some merged, some forked, all of them gliding with a serene grace that made it look choreographed.

Forests sprawled out beyond, thick and lush, their canopies dense enough to block out the sun, yet still glowing with an eerie, vibrant life.

You could hear the chirps, howls, and rustling—a chorus of wildness that gave the place rhythm.

And us? We were at the top of a mountain.

A proper, literal mountaintop.

The stone platform we arrived on was wide and well-maintained, ancient runes etched along its edges glowing faintly from residual mana.

The wind here was sharp and clean, carrying with it the scent of pine, cold soil, and magic.

The view from up here? Exquisite.

The entire Everhart Valley unfolded below us like a painting—rolling fields, thick woods, winding rivers, distant lakes glinting like shards of mirror.

It was the kind of scenery that people back on Earth would’ve sold kidneys to vacation in.

I wasn’t the type to care about traveling.

Fancy locations, hidden getaways, exotic hikes—it was never my thing. But even I could acknowledge it: this place was unreal.

Put a couple of travel agents here and they’d milk tourists dry.

VIP luxury packages. Guided mana-beast safaris. Ten-course meals made from Everhart-exclusive herbs.

One by one, the other students came through the portal behind me.

Most of them stood frozen for a moment—blinking, wide-eyed, jaws slightly parted. Even the snobby nobles who acted like they were above everyone couldn’t hide it.

They might’ve grown up in manors, but none of them had ever stood atop a world like this.

Celia, ever the showrunner, clapped her hands and beamed. "Students!" she called out, voice brisk and clear.

"You’re free to explore! You may visit the forests, roam the valley, spend time in the town—or if you’re brave, visit the Everhart Manor itself."

Then her tone dropped just a notch. "But, if you cause any harm or trouble... not only will your credits be deducted, but your next evaluation will reflect it."

Of course, she didn’t mention that the academy wanted students to slip up.

That was the real test—not how well you fought or studied, but how you acted when no one was breathing down your neck. When your choices were your own.

The students scattered like flies on sugar. Groups formed.

Some started planning routes through the forest, others talked about visiting the markets or tasting local food.

A few overly eager ones whispered about trying to glimpse Amelia’s family manor.

Celia? She vanished as quickly as she came.

Probably zipped off to the Everhart estate or some high-level war council meeting.

The so-called war was still being "mediated" for now.

Yeah, right.

Opalcrest had backstabbed the Everharts more times than I could count, but for some reason, negotiations kept happening.

Over and over again.

Political stupidity on loop. Some people just never learned. And from what I remembered of the game’s storyline, the conflict was just waiting to erupt again.

This valley was a powder keg dressed in flowers.

Sighing, I preemptively dodged left before Art could latch onto me with one of his ridiculous plans to "explore as a team" or whatever excuse he’d come up with to drag me along.

In a blur, I disappeared from the crowd, leaving behind confused shouts and a very annoyed Art calling my name.

I launched myself downhill, skidding over loose dirt, weaving through jagged outcroppings of rock, letting the wind whip at my coat.

The chill stung, but it was clean and invigorating—like it belonged to a world that still remembered how to be wild.

It didn’t take long to descend.

The mountain’s base met a cobbled path that led directly into the town nestled between the hills and forests of the valley.

The scent changed here—less crisp air, more earthy dampness, woodsmoke, and the warm aroma of food being cooked somewhere nearby.

The town of Everhart.

It was... alive.

Stone-bricked buildings with arched roofs and wooden lattices were arranged in winding rows, each one adorned with glowing glyph-lanterns.

Carts rattled along stone streets, merchants calling out offers in practiced tones, and townsfolk—dressed in layered cloaks and robes embroidered with small warding sigils—walked by with purpose.

Some nodded politely at me. Others gave a curious glance and moved on.

Children played on the edges of the square, casting small puffs of magic from their fingertips like it was nothing.

There was no fear here. No panic. Despite the war hanging overhead, the town moved with quiet dignity—like they had accepted that chaos might come but refused to bow to it.

It was the sort of place that looked untouched... but not unscarred.

And as I moved through the crowd, I couldn’t help but glance north, toward the far edge of the town.

Toward the white manor, just barely visible behind the trees—its spires piercing the sky like blades.

The home of Amelia Everhart.

The place where things would start to unravel. Again.

...

But that wasn’t going to be my problem.

Cassius Lancaster had no role in the upcoming war arc. He was never mentioned during this timeline in the original game. Not even once.

Except, of course, when Amelia married Leon.

’Ah yes, that scene.’

All that melodramatic nonsense—"I already have a fiancé. I can’t betray him. The Lancasters took me in like their own."

What a load of self-righteous bullshit.

And yet, despite all her declarations of loyalty, she still went ahead and did it. No hesitation. No warning.

She got married to the protagonist.

Well... "married."

You see, to activate the Everharts’ artefact—their last hope to stop the enemy’s advance—it required two individuals with a strong enough affinity for ice mana.

A rare trait, but conveniently, two people fit the bill.

Amelia.

And, ta-da... Leon. The golden boy.

The catch? Transferring one’s mana into another’s body was an incredibly intimate act in this world.

Intimate enough that it served, culturally, as the process of marriage. Binding souls, spirits, and mana into one.

That’s right. To the world, they became husband and wife.

And yet, somehow, they decided to keep that little detail from me.

From Cassius Lancaster, her supposed fiancé. Because, you know, "it was necessary." Because my family wouldn’t like it. They weren’t really famous for their ’Good’ deeds.

Still, the perfect excuse.

Cassius never found out. Not in the game at least. He remained in the dark, even while his "beloved" was off having her magical honeymoon with another man.

’Talk about bad luck.’

Even though I thought that, I found myself chuckling quietly.

There was no bitterness in it anymore. I wasn’t the same guy who’d let himself be used like that.

As I walked through the cobbled streets of the Everharts’ town, I let my mind drift. It felt oddly serene, detached.

The people bustled past me, talking, laughing, existing. And me? I was just passing through.

A lone figure in a crowd.

The fresh mountain air carried a chilly bite, but I welcomed it.

Shops lined the sides of the street, vendors calling out, hawking everything from mana-imbued pastries to glimmering trinkets.

I kept moving, not really looking for anything in particular.

Solitude was my element.

Even when I was surrounded by noise, I knew how to disappear. The trick was simple: ignore everyone.

Don’t respond. Don’t make eye contact. Don’t exist in their world. And it worked. Most of the time.

Well, except for the occasional glance from a curious girl or two. Sneaky looks thrown my way, quickly turned when I caught them.

I let them be.

But then my eyes fell on someone who didn’t belong to this scene. A boy. Seven or eight years old at most.

Slouched against the damp stone wall of a shadowed alleyway, hidden just enough to be ignored, just visible enough to be seen—if one bothered to look.

His skin was pale, lips cracked. His legs were too thin for his frame, and one of them had a wound that had clearly been ignored for far too long.

His clothes? Rags held together by sheer stubbornness.

But it was his eyes that really hit me.

Wide, hollow, staring into something far beyond this world. The kind of stare that only came from knowing too much pain for someone his age.

And yet... there was something still there. A flicker. He hadn’t let go completely.

I didn’t move immediately. Just watched.

A part of me—some still-functioning human impulse—wanted to help him. Maybe drag him to a clinic.

Get him fed, patched up. But deep down, I knew something: If he survived this—this very moment—it would harden him in ways that no charity ever could.

Sometimes, pain was a better teacher than kindness.

A cruel truth, but this world wasn’t exactly kind, was it? No world was.

’Still... a little push wouldn’t hurt.’

That was when he appeared.

A man. Middle-aged. Fatso.

Wearing the unmistakable outfit of a low-tier merchant: too many rings, sweat-stained silks, and a face that made your skin crawl.

He waddled over to the boy, at first glancing around like a man checking a list.

My instincts twitched.

He knelt, too close, hands too eager. His breath heavy. The boy flinched but didn’t speak.

Just endured. He’d probably been approached like this before.

The merchant’s hand moved.

To places it shouldn’t have.

And that was the final straw.

People saw it. I know they did. Their eyes flickered over, then back down. A mother pulled her child away.

A vendor narrowed his eyes, then looked away like it wasn’t his business.

Of course. That’s society.

That’s humans.

’Each one of them is shit.’

Complicit. Cowards.

I exhaled a slow breath. My blood had already started to simmer. The burn had crept into my limbs.

And then—

I blurred.

My foot cracked against the merchant’s hand before his fingers could touch the child again. The fat man howled in pain, falling backward, clutching his wrist.

He never even saw me coming.

I stood over him, calm. My expression was unreadable, but my aura wasn’t.

Predatory.

The boy looked up at me, dazed, unsure whether he should be afraid or grateful.

I didn’t speak to him. My gaze remained locked on the man groaning beneath me.

"I’ll be borrowing him," I muttered.

And like that, we vanished from the street—into the trees, into the silence, far from watching eyes.

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