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

"I believe you all already have a hunch as to why you are gathered here," Wannre began, her voice carrying across palace halls, calm but commanding.

"Perhaps through scraps of rumour, or perhaps through your own intellect. Either way, I will make one thing clear before I proceed."

She paused deliberately. The silence weighed heavy.

Her veil shifted slightly as her gaze swept across the chamber, lingering on the rows of fifty officials seated in their carved coral thrones.

Their heads remained bowed, their eyes pinned to the gleaming floor, but their stiff postures betrayed their temperament.

Her words came slow, deliberate, and cold.

"I will not take 'no' for an answer. Nor will I respect your opinion or reasoning. But—"

Her voice lowered just enough to feel intimate, dangerous, "—I am not so cruel as to call myself a tyrant. I will grant you the option to explain your reasoning. If I deem your words worthy, I may… incorporate them into my plans."

The weight of her statement crashed down over the chamber.

Subtle tremors passed through the rows of officials. They did not dare look up, but their fingers twitched against the stone of their armrests, their tails curled slightly tighter beneath them.

She had always been ruthless, yes, but never blunt. Wannre was not known to spit iron into the room like this.

Her history was one of quiet dominance—she did as she wished, yet cloaked her intentions with courtesy, with the illusion of diplomacy.

This time, there was no veil.

Her words left no opening. No crack for protest to slip through. It was not a request, not even an order. It was a declaration, already set in stone.

And yet… though they all knew resistance was futile, the pride of noble blood ran deep. Too deep.

The arrogance of lineage, inherited like a curse, always corroded reason. Some among them would not resist the urge to challenge her, if only to preserve their own sense of importance.

Fools, perhaps. But dangerous fools nonetheless.

For the moment, however, silence reigned. Fifty officials sat rigid, their eyes still fixed on the floor, unwilling to be the first voice raised against their Empress.

Wannre acknowledged their silence with the faintest incline of her head, then continued.

"As you all already know," her tone grew smoother, silkier, "three months ago, Prince Luris and his brother Muirs rescued a human from drowning in the depths of the Silver Sea. It was during the chaos of the Abomination of the Sky, when we were forced to awaken the Red Sea, our deity."

At this, several officials exhaled softly, a sound that rippled across the chamber. Others gave faint hums of acknowledgment, voices hushed in reverence.

Wannre pressed on.

"This human, Arawn, possessed a peculiarity. He could breathe underwater. He was unaffected by the crushing weight of the deep. Even now, as he stands among us, he remains untouched by the laws of the sea."

That drew reaction. Murmurs, low and tense, stirred through the chamber. Webbed fingers tapped against coral armrests. A sharp tail flicked against stone.

And Wannre smiled beneath her veil.

The disorder pleased her. The chaos was her stage, and she relished it.

"After being rescued," she continued, "this human did not remain idle. He joined with the yellow-tailed merfolk, aided their survival, and even forged bonds with one of their revolutionary leaders—Denus. A feat not easily dismissed. Beyond that, he has proven himself not only a capable fighter but also sharp of tongue and mind."

Again she paused, letting the tension rise like a tide. The officials shifted restlessly, waiting, dreading, calculating.

Wannre's next words fell like a decree carved into the seabed itself.

"All in all, he is an asset I deem worthy of joining our ranks. I cannot grant him citizenship, for he is no merfolk. Thus, the only way to bind him to us is through our governance."

Several officials straightened slightly, the faintest flickers of protest curling at their lips. Wannre's veil tilted ever so slightly in their direction, and her voice cut across them before a single word could form.

"But be warned. He is not to be considered your equal. He will not sit among you as another voice in the crowd. He will stand above you. Directly beneath me in rank."

Her tone sharpened, cold and absolute.

"In other words… he will be your senior."

The chamber froze.

And that was the final nail in the coffin.

The proud, volatile blood coursing through the veins of the nobles could no longer be contained. It combusted all at once, like oil catching fire.

The silence shattered.

A particular noble with a blue tail rose abruptly from his seat, his chair scraping harshly against the coral floor.

His sudden movement drew every gaze in the chamber, though none dared to follow his example. He was reckless enough to speak, reckless enough to challenge.

His voice cut through the tension, loud and ringing, trembling not with fear but with outrage.

"Empress," he began, his tone steeped in pain and resentment, "we acknowledge that you have a keen interest in this boy. We see that you deem him worthy of joining us. And we—"

He swept his hand toward the council, as though pulling their silence into his defense "—we all respect that decision. But…" His jaw clenched, his eyes flared with pride.

"You should not make such a rash judgment as to elevate him… a land dweller… above us. Giving him a position just beneath you is no small matter. It makes him someone not merely among us, but above us. Above the noble blood of the merfolk."

His words struck the chamber like a thrown spear.

It was not only his pride speaking. It was the pride of his bloodline, the pride of his species. A land dweller given authority over merfolk—it was an insult to their very heritage.

His voice carried the weight of that indignation, raw and unpolished, and for a fleeting second, it resonated with the silent anger boiling in the veins of many who sat frozen in their seats.

But he had said too much.

"Hmm."

Wannre's response was soft, almost amused. She didn't raise her voice, didn't lash out. She simply hummed.

And then her lips curved beneath her veil.

"So," she said, each syllable slow, deliberate, "you think I, Wannre, make rash judgments?"

Her voice held no anger, only a dangerous calm, as if she were examining him like one might a misbehaving child. "You do have guts… Official Gange."

The way she spoke his name was a blade pressed to his throat.

"I'm impressed," her tone shifted, mock admiration dripping from every word, "yet… disappointed, all the same."

At once, the blood drained from Gange's face. The color fled from his skin, leaving it pale and clammy, the arrogance stripped bare.

His chiseled features, carved to perfection like every noble of his rank, crumpled into something hideous.

Regret.

The realization crashed upon him too late.

He replayed his own words in his mind, line by line, and the enormity of his mistake gnawed through him like acid.

What had been pride, a defiant flame burning hot in his chest, now collapsed into a sickening weight pressing down on his lungs.

He knew. The Red Sea above, he knew what kind of mistake he had made.

He had unintentionally questioned her.

Questioned Wannre.

And there were few sins greater than that.