Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 178. Tether

Art groaned, rolling his shoulders back and letting his head lean toward the sky. The soft golden hue of dawn was just beginning to bleed into the edge of the forest.

He exhaled through his nose, muttering, "You know what... we can’t even blame them entirely."

Zyon raised a brow, arms crossed, his eyes not leaving the quiet crowd of traumatized students.

Art continued, "That crash out was real. Genuine. We couldn’t have predicted what happened, not even close. That monster... whatever the hell it was... came out of nowhere. It’s normal—human—to break like that."

Zyon scoffed. "Maybe. But when you act like a coward, you lose the right to act like a judge. They’re all so ready to point fingers at Freya, but not one of them had the spine to take charge themselves."

Art glanced sideways at him, his eyes a touch colder than before. "You think I don’t know that? But you’re missing the point. Freya didn’t have to take charge either. No one forced her."

Zyon narrowed his gaze slightly.

Art met it, unwavering. "She took command because she wanted to prove something to herself. You know it. I know it."

Zyon grunted, arms still crossed, voice tight. "Yeah... she wanted to move past it. The trauma from the entrance exam. The guilt. She thought if she could guide them safely this time, maybe she’d silence those voices in her head."

He looked back at the others.

"But now they’re louder than ever."

Art shoved his hands into his coat pockets. "Exactly. And that’s the cruel thing about being a leader, isn’t it?"

Zyon didn’t respond.

Art pressed on. "You can’t pick and choose which consequences you get. If you want the power, the recognition, the respect—then you also have to swallow the blame, the backlash, the failure. You become the punching bag for everyone else’s broken spirits. That’s just how it works."

His voice lost its usual teasing tone, becoming unusually steady. Grounded.

"If you can’t take that... then don’t lead. It’s as simple as that. No one’s forcing anyone to step forward."

Zyon was silent for a moment, studying his friend’s profile. The cocky edge in Art’s tone was gone. He looked... older, somehow. Sharper.

After a beat, Zyon cracked a small smirk. "Since when did you start talking like an actual prince?"

Art raised a brow. "Huh?"

Zyon chuckled. "That was... surprisingly insightful. Damn near profound. You’re full of surprises today."

Art rolled his eyes with a dramatic groan. "I’m the Crown Prince of Alaris, Zyon. I’ve been bred for this shit since I was five. You think they only taught me how to swing swords and charm nobles? I had tutors drilling political theory, military leadership, even emotional regulation into my skull for years."

Zyon nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, fair enough. Meanwhile, I’m the son of an interrogator. Yet I can’t interrogate to save my life."

Art snorted. "That’s probably a blessing."

Zyon looked vaguely offended. "Why?"

"Because the way you talk," Art said, raising a brow, "you’d probably waterboard someone just to ask them what they ate for breakfast."

Zyon shrugged, deadpan. "I mean... if they lie about the eggs, what else are they lying about?"

Art made a face. "You need therapy."

"Yeah but you need it more."

They both laughed, briefly breaking the tension.

But it didn’t last.

Art’s laughter faded as his gaze drifted toward the ruins of the camp. The flattened tents. The congealed pools of blood now blackened with time. The hollowed eyes of the corpses that had been too broken to even bury.

"...Hey, Zyon?"

Zyon’s brow lifted. "Hm?"

Art swallowed hard. "The monster... it’s not dead, is it?"

Zyon didn’t answer at first.

Art kept talking. "I mean, think about it. This level of destruction? I didn’t see a single burn mark or broken limb on any of the bodies. Not even an arrow. They didn’t wound the thing. They didn’t even scratch it."

Zyon exhaled, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the treeline.

"You’re saying that thing... it’s still out there."

Art nodded grimly. "Not just out there. Here."

A breeze blew through the trees, cold and sudden.

Zyon’s fingers instinctively twitched. "Shit."

Art muttered, "We need to search the area. It’s already morning. We’ll get better visibility soon."

Zyon gave him a skeptical side-eye. "Better visibility? How does that help against a monster that can move through shadows?"

Art shrugged. "I don’t know, man. Light makes people feel safer."

Zyon tilted his head, arching a brow. "That’s awfully optimistic for someone who just gave a monologue on how leaders are walking punching bags."

Art stuck his tongue out, childishly. "I contain multitudes."

Zyon snorted.

Then he paused.

"...You know, most of these monsters we’ve seen—they’re dark types, right? Shadow-aligned, black and purple, with weird auras?"

Art gave him a suspicious look. "Where are you going with this?"

Zyon smirked. "I’m just saying. You assuming the monster is hiding better because it’s dark outside? That’s a little racist. Monster-racist."

Art looked offended. "Okay, first of all, I’m not monster-racist. Some of my best friends are monsters."

Zyon stared at him blankly. "You mean Lilith?"

Art coughed into his fist. "No comment."

They both chuckled, albeit tiredly.

Art turned serious again. "Let’s sweep the area. Quietly. If that thing’s still around..."

Zyon nodded.

"We find it," he said, slowly, "before it finds us."

...

While the camp remained a fractured mosaic of broken spirits and scattered bodies, Leon found himself quietly occupied—tending to Amelia.

It wasn’t something anyone had asked of him. Not even her. At first, he didn’t feel any obligation. After all, they had their own grief to shoulder. But then he saw her.

The way she had stood frozen under the shade of that gnarled old tree. Her posture stiff, unmoving—like a statue carved out of sorrow. There was no fury in her eyes. No tears. Just... nothing.

And that scared him more than if she had sobbed or screamed.

Ever since the mana merger, something had shifted between them. A silent tether formed, invisible but present—like an unseen thread wrapped around his chest, pulling whenever she drifted too far. He didn’t fully understand it. But he didn’t want to lose it.

So here he was, seated beside her beneath the tree’s shade. There were no tents anymore. Everyone had claimed whatever corner they could find, hoping to catch their breath before the next storm arrived.

Leon reached into his inventory, pulling out a small pouch of preserved fruits and forest berries. He extended them toward her, hand steady. "Here. You must be hungry. You need to keep up your strength. We don’t know when the monsters might strike again."

Amelia’s gaze lifted from the dirt for just a moment. Her eyes landed on the offering. Then on him. And then back to the fruits. She hesitated—just a flicker—but finally took them. Her fingers brushed his as she accepted them, the touch faintly cold.

"...Thanks," she muttered, chewing on a berry slowly.

Leon offered a small smile. "No problem. If you need anything—anything at all—you can rely on me. Just call out, and I’ll come. Okay?"

He began to stand, ready to leave her to the silence she seemed to crave. But then—

"Wait."

The word came soft. Barely a whisper.

Leon turned around, eyebrows raised gently. "Yeah?"

Amelia’s eyes didn’t meet his. Her head dipped lower, casting shadows across her features. Her voice trembled as she asked, "Leon... can you tell me something? Be honest, please."

He nodded slowly. "Of course."

"...What do you think happened to my family? To my father?"

A silence followed. Dense. Suffocating.

Leon’s breath caught in his chest. Part of him wanted to lie. To soften the blow. To offer her a sliver of hope to cling to. But the other part—the part that respected her strength—knew she deserved the truth, as cruel as it might be.

So he sat down again.

And exhaled slowly.

"Let me be frank, Amelia," he began, choosing his words with care. "Not just me, even you must already know... deep down. Your father is likely gone. I don’t want to give you false hope. I won’t insult you with that. Denying it won’t help."

Her shoulders trembled slightly. She still didn’t look at him. But the truth seemed to splinter something inside her.

Leon’s chest tightened.

"I’m sorry," he added, softer now.

Amelia nodded—barely. Her hands clutched the fruit pouch in her lap, but she wasn’t eating anymore. Her head remained lowered, but he could see the tears beginning to fall.

Leon hesitated only a moment longer before scooting closer. He reached out gently and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. She didn’t resist. She didn’t react.

"I won’t say something stupid like ’don’t cry’ or ’be strong,’" Leon said. "I know how painful it is. Losing family... it doesn’t get easier. Not quickly, anyway."

He paused. Then added, "But you’re not alone."

She shifted slightly, her body trembling under the weight of his words.

"You still have people. Me. Freya. Lilith. Celeste. And most importantly... Rufus. Your brother. He’s still at the academy, remember? He’ll be waiting. You need to stay alive—not just for yourself, but for him too."

At that, Amelia slowly lifted her head. Her tear-streaked eyes finally met his. Wide, vulnerable, and glassy.

"...Rufus," she whispered, almost as if she’d forgotten.

Leon nodded. "Yeah. Rufus. So live, Amelia. Live for him. Even if it hurts. Especially because it hurts."

A trembling breath escaped her lips. Her fingers tightened around the pouch, knuckles whitening. But she nodded.

One small nod.

That was all.

Leon offered her a smile—not forced, not exaggerated. Just enough to let her know he meant it. Then he gently released her, giving her space again.

"I’ll be nearby," he said, rising to his feet. "If you need someone, don’t hesitate."

She didn’t answer. But as he turned to leave, he heard it—so faint he almost missed it.

"...Thank you."

He looked back over his shoulder.

Amelia sat still beneath the tree. Her tears had stopped. She looked like a person slowly remembering how to breathe again.

Leon turned away, eyes narrowing slightly.

Something deep inside him stirred. That tether—the one that had formed during their mana merger—was still there.

And in this moment, he didn’t mind it one bit.

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