Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!

Back at the base, the group finally arrived just as the sun bled its last light across the barren horizon. The place they loosely called their base wasn't anything grand—merely a cluster of makeshift houses huddled together in the middle of desolation.

Yet despite the location, the houses themselves were surprisingly comfortable, each one fully furnished with a king-sized bed, a bathroom, a closet, and all the bare necessities one might expect in a noble's lodge.

All of that comfort, of course, was thanks to Art.

It was his decision, his creation. Where there should have been a harsh, unforgiving land, he had used his ability to forge the houses, softening the bleak reality of the Deathland.

Without him, they would have been reduced to sleeping on dirt, with freezing nights gnawing their bones. With him, they had roofs over their heads, warmth to stave off the bitter cold, and even a semblance of normalcy.

But the land outside those walls remained merciless. The Deathland was nothing but a forgotten scar of the Yuelte nation, lying deep within the Northern Continent.

Nothing grew here. Nothing natural lived here, save for the monstrous aberrations and overgrown insects they had fought earlier. It was a graveyard disguised as land. The houses were only a fragile island of warmth in a sea of sand.

And of course, even comfort had its cost.

Mia and Verena.

The group had no issue with Mia's gloom. Her brother's loss had shattered her, leaving her in perpetual sorrow. Her quiet melancholy was at least understandable—no one could blame her for grieving.

But Verena? Her arrogance, her incessant need to posture and sneer at the others, had wormed its way under everyone's skin. Her cocky attitude was becoming poison within the group, and everyone knew it, though no one felt the need to confront her directly yet.

That evening, while Mia and Verena remained apart in their houses, the others gathered together. They had lit a bonfire in the heart of their little camp, arranging themselves in a circle as the orange flames licked at the dried vegetation they had scavenged.

The crackle of fire brought a faint illusion of normalcy, a reminder of nights back home, though the bleak emptiness around them made the contrast all the sharper.

They were roasting their previous kill over the flames—if it could even be called food. Most of it was just oversized insects, grotesque but edible if burned enough to mask the stench.

None of them enjoyed it, but their inventories had been emptied in a week. Survival demanded compromise, and tonight compromise looked like charred, half-crispened bug meat.

Lilith was the first to break the silence.

"How long do I need to wait before I can eat?" she groaned, holding her stick over the fire with visible impatience. "This is taking wayyyyy too long for my comfort." Her voice dripped with dramatics, as if she were personally being tortured by time itself.

Art immediately shot her an irritated glare. "Seriously? How impatient are you? You can't wait a single damn minute before you open your mouth and say some bullshit?"

Lilith blinked at him, scandalized. "Huh? Fuck you! What bullshit did I say? I just asked how long it would take for the meat to cook! How in the seven hells is that bullshit? It's a genuine question, you ass! And don't act like everyone else isn't wondering the same thing."

"Tsk." Clicking his tongue, Art turned his attention back to his own skewer, deliberately ignoring her. His silence wasn't meant to end the fight—it was meant to fuel it.

He wanted her fuming, wanted that indignant look on her face. And judging by how Lilith's shoulders tensed, how her grip tightened on the stick, he was succeeding.

Before the argument could spiral, the unofficial rescue team Zyon and Freya stepped in.

Zyon leaned toward Art, nudging his side with a quiet sigh. "Hey. Enough. You're always trying to get a rise out of her. Just let it go for once."

Art leaned slightly, muttering under his breath with a smirk, "She deserves it. And besides, watching her over-exaggerated reactions? Honestly, it pleases my soul."

The look Zyon gave him was so sharp, so filled with genuine disapproval, it was almost enough to pierce through Art's smugness. For a moment, Art froze under that gaze. His smirk faltered, replaced by the faintest flicker of embarrassment.

He coughed, forcing out a quick defense. "Zyon… it's just a joke. A joke, alright? Don't take it to heart, my friend."

But Zyon's stare didn't waver. It lingered like a weight pressing down on Art until the so-called joker began shrinking into himself, curling inward as if trying to escape the judgment. It was a rare moment, seeing Art's antics actually crumble under someone else's sincerity.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the fire, Freya had placed a calming hand on Lilith's arm.

"Lilith," she said softly, her voice smooth like cool water. "You're wasting your anger. Art has always been a fool who gets his joy from stirring people. Don't give him that satisfaction. Save your anger for something that actually matters."

Lilith gritted her teeth, glaring at Art's profile across the flames. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to sit there while he acts like an ass every five minutes."

Freya smiled faintly, squeezing her arm. "And yet here you are, letting him decide how you feel. Don't hand him that victory. Keep your anger for yourself—it's worth more in your hands than wasted on him."

"Damn," Art muttered under his breath, the words slipping out before he could even stop them. "You really are harsh with your words, Freya. I didn't expect that from you… truly."

Freya froze, cheeks flushing a shade of embarrassed pink. Her eyes darted away, as if the firelight was suddenly too harsh for her to meet. "No, I… I didn't mean it like that. It's just that—"

Lilith cut her off, her voice sharp, venomous, like she had been waiting for an excuse to twist the knife. "He deserves it. Don't waste your guilt on him. He doesn't have feelings to begin with."

"He definitely has more than you," Evelyn said. Her tone was level, but it struck with precision, enough to make Lilith falter.

Lilith turned, blinking in momentary disbelief. "What… do you mean by that?" Her words quivered ever so slightly, betraying the crack in her confidence.

Evelyn didn't back down. She held her ground. "Exactly what I said. He has more emotions than the rest of you. And more than anything…" her voice shook, almost against her will, "…he is what he is. He doesn't pretend, he doesn't mold himself into what others want. He is true to himself. Even if he isn't with us anymore… that is something I respect deeply."

Her admission was naked, raw, and it lingered like a thorn in everyone's chest.

Celeste was the one who broke the silence, her lips curling upward into a mocking sneer. "Since when did you two get so close? Close enough to share such sacred bonds?" She leaned forward with a smirk that reeked of cruelty.

"Don't tell me your so-called love for Cassius has already shifted to Art?" She let out a dramatic sigh, tilting her head mockingly. "Hahhh. How shameful. You truly are the worst. At the very least, you could have waited a year before changing your partner—"

Slap!

The crack of Evelyn's hand striking Celeste's cheek echoed against the night air, sharp as a whip. Celeste staggered sideways, her face burning red where the handprint had bloomed.

Gasps erupted, but Celeste… Celeste only laughed. Her face contorted, ugly and sneering, but her composure didn't break. "What?" she taunted, her voice low and venomous. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"

Evelyn's hand shot up again, trembling with fury, ready to deliver another blow. But Art moved faster, stepping between them. His glare swept across both women, cold enough to silence them mid-motion.

"Enough," he spat, the disgust in his tone cutting. "Can you all stop with these pathetic fights? My food is cooking. I don't care about your petty insults, your childish rivalries. Save it for your own houses, there you can beat the shit out of each other or kill each other for all I care. Right now, you're wasting my time."

His words dripped with a genuine, deep-seated hatred. Everyone present felt it.

Celeste, however, couldn't help herself. She straightened despite the redness on her cheek, and with a scoff she stared directly at him. "Ohhh, of course. The boyfriend leaps to defend his girl."

She tilted her head mockingly, her eyes glinting with malice. "Tell me, Art… are you secretly pleased with Cassius's death? Because now Evelyn can finally stop thinking about him and focus on you instead."

She drew in a fake gasp, clutching her hand to her lips with exaggerated drama. "Wait—now that I think about it, you are awfully cheerful for someone who lost his so-called dear friend—"

SLAP!

The impact was nothing like Evelyn's earlier strike. Art's hand collided with Celeste's face with brutal force, the sound deafening against the crackle of the bonfire.

She was flung backward, skidding across the dirt for several meters before finally crumpling into a heap. Blood dotted the ground where her mouth had struck, and a couple of broken teeth gleamed faintly in the firelight.

Gasps turned into shouts this time.

"Celeste!!!"

"Art!!! What the hell!!!"

The camp was in chaos, everyone shouting at once—everyone except Leon, who sat in stunned silence, and Evelyn, who hadn't moved a muscle. Her face was unreadable, her emotions buried deep.

Zyon's gaze, however, burned straight into Art. His eyes demanded an answer, demanded justification.

But Art didn't flinch. He didn't apologize. He didn't even look ashamed. He rolled his shoulders with a casual shrug, his expression completely void of remorse.

"I didn't hit her hard enough," he said flatly. His tone was colder than the night wind. Then, after a pause, he turned his head, glaring at the crumpled figure of Celeste in the dirt. His next words slithered like a curse into everyone's ears.

"Next time… I'll make sure her face stays disfigured for life."