Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 95. Orchestrated (2)

Night cloaked the valley in chilled silence, shrouding rooftops with dew and stillness.

Somewhere near the heart of Everhart territory, in an ordinary-looking house nestled between two quiet inns, the ordinary ceased.

Five figures sat in a semicircle within a well-kept drawing room. The fire crackled, casting orange flickers across the floorboards.

Curtains were drawn. The air smelled faintly of spiced tea, porcelain clinks breaking the otherwise flawless quiet.

Each of them wore a mask—elaborate, sharp, and molded in the shape of the Hearty Bull from the Mythria continent.

A symbol of aggression and tenacity. A reminder of what they were planning to unleash.

Three women. Two men. All seated like nobles. All deadly.

The woman in the black mask leaned slightly forward. Her voice was smooth, deliberate. "Any word from the higher-ups?"

The man with the blue mask, the oldest among them, tapped his cup lightly before answering, "Nothing yet. Negotiations are still ongoing, but we should receive instructions soon. The final push is near."

A spark danced in the eyes of the man in the green mask. He chuckled, his fingers twitching along the hilt of his dagger. "I’m getting excited just thinking about it. The moment we get our command, the whole valley starts tightening like a noose. I want to see them run. I want to see the terror in their eyes. The mighty Everharts reduced to cattle."

"Tch," the woman in the red mask exhaled, annoyed. "Be careful what you wish for. We’re not just poking the Everharts anymore. The Lancasters are in this now. We better hope they stay focused on protecting the girl."

"They won’t," the yellow-masked woman said with quiet certainty. "The world knows how much they care about their boy, Cassius. And now that his precious fiancée is about to do something unthinkable just to protect her people... they’ll show their fangs soon enough."

The green-masked man laughed again. A cruel, delighted sound. "Honestly? I wouldn’t be surprised if Lucian erased the Everharts himself. Friends or not, if it’s a choice between them and his son, he won’t hesitate."

The group chuckled lightly. They sipped their tea again, poised, composed, as if they weren’t discussing genocide in between cups of jasmine and bergamot.

The woman in black, who seemed to carry the air of leadership, nodded once. "Just a few more days. Then the orders come. The Everharts fall. And when they do... we’ll be given full authority to erase them completely."

She lifted her cup to her lips—

Then froze.

A sound.

Soft, wet, guttural.

Like someone drinking. Slurping water. Gurgling.

All five stilled at once.

Masks turned slowly, bodies tense like wound traps. Their senses flared.

Someone was inside the house.

There had been no knock. No shift in the wind. No creaking floorboards. Yet the presence was undeniable.

Their hands moved in trained silence. Daggers unsheathed. Blades drawn. Feet slid quietly into attack positions.

Eyes swept the room like wolves hunting shadows.

Then someone noticed it.

A figure standing calmly in the doorframe. Casual. At ease.

A young man.

Amethyst hair slightly tousled, like he’d walked through a thunderstorm and didn’t care. Sharp eyes gleamed beneath the dim lighting.

He stood there, holding a water skin in one hand, pouring its contents slowly into his mouth, then onto his face.

He let the droplets trail down his cheek, running across the line of his jaw before wiping them off with the back of his hand.

His other hand?

Was holding a severed head.

Eyes wide. Mouth agape in a final scream. It was unmistakably the merchant—bloated, crooked-toothed, and now very much dead.

The group stared, stunned in perfect silence, as the stranger’s smile spread wider.

He tossed the water skin aside. The head dropped with a dull thud, rolling a little until it bumped the edge of a rug.

"Nice to meet you all," he said, voice low and amused. "You must be the infamous Bull Council. I’ve heard so much about you."

The woman in black stood up immediately, blade in hand. "Who are you?"

The stranger cocked his head, mock-offended. "You know, for a bunch of conspirators, you really need to work on your intel."

He stepped forward.

The air changed. Not heavy—not yet. But charged. Like a storm waiting to burst.

"I expected more from people trying to start a war," he said, glancing at each of them. "But here you are... sipping tea and giggling over the destruction of entire bloodlines. Kinda disappointing."

The man in blue narrowed his eyes. "That head... that was our liaison."

"Oh? This one?" The stranger kicked it gently. "Yeah. He told me everything. Took some time, but you’d be surprised how chatty he got after the third lightning incision."

The woman in red raised her blade. "You’re bluffing."

"You sure?" he said, reaching into his coat and tossing a blood-soaked parchment onto the floor.

They all recognized the mark. The merchant’s sigil, his authentication stamp. Everything he knew. Leaked.

The man in green snarled. "Who the hell are you?"

The stranger finally stepped fully into the light, shadows parting like curtains.

And they saw the golden rose embroidered over his chest.

And the eyes.

Those unmistakable, glowing, amethyst eyes.

He grinned wider.

"I’m Cassius Lancaster," he said. "You’re plotting against my fiancée. You tried to use a child as bait. And you’ve involved my family in a very personal matter."

He cracked his knuckles.

"So I thought... why wait?"

...

They didn’t wait even a second.

The moment Cassius stood there, calmly wiping water from his mouth, they attacked. All at once. But it was the woman in the red mask who leapt first, sword slicing through the air with precision aimed for his neck.

He stepped sideways. Smooth. Effortless. As if she were moving in slow motion.

His hand snapped forward, seizing the back of her neck mid-air like grabbing a squirming animal.

Before she could react, before her legs could even land, another blur came from his right.

Green mask. Male. Broad. Fast.

A dagger glinted in his hand—aimed for Cassius’s kidney, intending to plunge deep and sever nerves with surgical cruelty.

Cassius didn’t flinch.

He hurled the red-mask woman like a sack of meat, her back crashing into the green-mask man with a sickening crunch. They both slammed into the wall, gasping as wind was knocked from their lungs.

The floor cracked beneath them.

Two more entered the fray. Black mask and yellow mask, both women. Dual blades in each hand. Their stances synchronized.

A fluid, low crouch.

They swept in, aiming at his legs—trying to carve his hamstrings, cripple his movement, and turn the fight into a blood-soaked chessboard.

Cassius leapt up just in time, their blades singing through empty air.

Then, from the corner of his eye—

A dagger, thrown with vicious precision.

It spun toward him like a silver blur.

Cassius’s hand snapped out mid-air, catching it with two fingers. freēnovelkiss.com

He twirled it once in his palm.

Then he threw it back without hesitation.

The blade pierced the blue mask man straight through his shoulder with a brutal thunk.

The man staggered back, arm instantly useless. Blood poured in a violent gush. He grabbed his shoulder, knuckles white, but to his credit—not a single scream. Not even a wince.

Cassius tilted his head, amused. "Hm."

The others glanced at their comrade’s wound. Anger replaced caution. Fury burned in their eyes now. They roared in unison and lunged forward.

Weapons drawn. Killing intent bleeding from their bodies.

Cassius sighed.

Tired.

Annoyed.

"Enough of this."

In the next breath, Amethyst lightning exploded from his frame.

The room was flooded with violet brilliance, crackling, devouring everything in its path. It screamed like banshees, like wrath itself had been condensed into electric hatred.

Searing arcs of lightning danced across their bodies, charring flesh instantly.

Swords fell from burnt hands.

Their skin bubbled, melted, cracked—raw flesh exposed, bleeding and smoking.

The screams that followed weren’t human. They were the kind of sounds that made birds fall silent. That turned blood cold.

They collapsed, writhing on the ground.

Convulsing.

Tears, snot, and blood ran from every orifice.

Cassius just strolled forward, hands in his pockets. Lightning still dancing across his body like a predator that refused to sleep.

He knelt beside the blue mask man—still conscious, still upright despite the blood, the wound, the agony.

Cassius grabbed him by the collar and shoved a finger into the stab wound, twisting.

The man’s body spasmed. His nerves lit up like a funeral pyre.

Still... no scream.

Just a grunt. A hiss of breath.

Cassius’s eyebrow twitched.

That irritated him.

"...You’re still pretending to be strong?" he muttered.

He grabbed the man’s arm.

Amethyst lightning surged, and in one burning burst, half the man’s body ignited.

Flesh turned black. Muscle peeled away. His legs kicked wildly as a howl finally ripped out of him—a sound that cracked and broke as pain overwhelmed everything else.

Cassius finally smiled. "Now that’s more like it."

He let the man drop, head bouncing off the floor. Then he crouched again, grabbing his hair and smashing his face into the ground.

Once.

Twice.

Blood pooled around his temple.

Cassius leaned close to his ear. Voice like velvet wrapped around glass shards.

"That’s how you behave when you lose. No false pride. No smug silence."

The man coughed blood, wheezing. "Y-you Lancasters... y-you’re just vicious monsters..."

Cassius tilted his head. "Aww, is that what you think?"

He stood upright, letting the electricity fizzle across his arms again. The other four groaned and gasped behind him, clutching their scorched limbs.

He kicked the green mask man in the ribs. "Don’t die yet."

Then, another blast of condensed lightning erupted from his fingertips.

Controlled. Surgical. Burning.

He sent it across their limbs, not enough to kill, but enough to peel flesh from bone, make nerves scream and memories shatter.

Each one of them screamed now. All pride gone. They were animals caught in a trap.

That’s when they started talking.

Babbling.

Red mask sobbed out details about the chain of command—about operatives embedded in Everhart city.

Black mask stuttered the names of nobles linked to the Opalcrest conspiracy. Hidden caches. Financial records.

Even the yellow mask woman—barely conscious—muttered about how it was never just the Everharts. That Cassius especiallly his parents were always part of the plan. That the Lancasters were meant to be dealt with later.

Cassius rolled his eyes.

"You could’ve said this thirty minutes ago."

He looked at their pathetic, crawling bodies.

"I wasted too much time here."

And then he raised his palm.

No chant. No flourish.

Just pure will.

Amethyst lightning rained down one final time. Exploding across their joints and limbs, severing tendons, charring muscle, cauterizing veins.

They howled, begged, screamed.

Cassius left them breathing.

Barely.

Their bodies were broken, but their mouths still worked. They still hadn’t spilled all the beans.

Good.

He needed them to talk more later.

...

Without looking back, he stepped out of the ruined house, lightning trailing behind him like a royal cloak of flame.

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