Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 47. Rank!

Heath flinched.

Something about Leon’s voice—light, casual, almost friendly—made his skin crawl. Like they were chatting over lunch, not bound and gagged in the middle of a forest after barely surviving an attack.

He tried to speak, but the wad of leaves stuffed into his mouth turned his words into muffled grunts. Frustrated, he twisted violently, his bindings straining but not budging.

Leon chuckled. "I guess you want to talk, huh?"

With an absent hum, he stepped forward. His fingers moved with unsettling care as he reached for Heath’s gag and peeled away the leaves.

The moment they were out, Heath coughed harshly, retching reflexively as his throat burned from the pressure. His chest rose and fell in deep, panicked breaths.

Then, with narrowed eyes, he turned his gaze toward Leon, hate burning bright behind them.

"What the hell is this, Leon?" he spat. "Why the hell have you tied us up like animals?"

Leon tilted his head, brow furrowed in mock thought. "I thought it’d be obvious. Hm... I guess you’re not as smart as you like to think."

The dismissiveness in his voice made Heath’s veins throb. He grit his teeth and barked, "Stop talking in riddles, damn you! Just tell me why I’m confined like this!"

Leon sighed and lifted one finger to his ear, pretending to wince from the volume. "Ah, too loud. Way too loud, Heath. I’m right here, you don’t need to scream."

Heath was about to hurl another curse, but something stopped him cold.

Something moved behind Leon.

It was quick—just a shift in the corner of his vision—but it was there. A dark silhouette, silent, swift, creeping through the misty forest underbrush.

Heath’s breath hitched.

Leon raised an eyebrow at his sudden silence. "What’s wrong?" he asked, voice full of teasing concern. "Lost your spirit already?"

When Heath didn’t answer, Leon leaned in closer and gave him a few light smacks across the face—mocking, not meant to injure, but enough to sting and shake him.

"Hey," Leon cooed. "Don’t fall asleep on me now."

The sharp pain jolted Heath’s senses back into focus, and in that moment, a plan began to form.

He’d distract Leon.

If the thing behind him was dangerous—and it looked dangerous—it might attack Leon first. And when it did, Heath would make his move. He’d run. He’d escape. He’d survive.

The thought filled him with a bitter sort of hope.

He forced his face into a scowl, snarling like a cornered dog. "You bastard... You’re doing this for points, aren’t you? Gonna kill us while we’re helpless?"

Leon raised an eyebrow, amused.

Heath kept going, pushing his voice louder, more venomous. "All that ’I want to grow stronger’ crap—you never believed any of it. It was all a lie, wasn’t it? You’re just a coward like the rest, hiding behind fake smiles and cheap tricks."

Leon let out a long, exaggerated gasp. "Ouch. Now that’s not very nice, Heath. You’re hurting my feelings."

He smirked, brushing invisible dust off his uniform.

"But I do love the irony. The rotten apple calling the healthy one rotten. Classic."

Heath blinked. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" freewebnσvel.cѳm

Without warning, Leon grabbed a fistful of Heath’s hair and yanked his head back, bringing their faces just inches apart. The cheerful mask slipped for a second.

What stared back wasn’t anger—it was something colder. Sharper. A predator playing with its prey.

"Oh, come on," Leon murmured. "Don’t tell me you don’t get it. That’s funny. That’s really funny."

Heath’s lips trembled, but he tried to hold his glare. "What... what do you mean?"

Leon’s eyes glinted.

He leaned in even closer, until Heath could smell the faint sweetness of the fruit still clinging to his breath. "What do I mean?" he echoed. "That’s the real question, huh?"

But Heath didn’t flinch this time. His eyes hardened. "How... how did you know?"

Leon’s smile widened, and he rocked back on his heels, giving a small, almost polite clap.

"Finally," he said softly. "You admit it."

Then, casually, he looked up at the branches swaying overhead.

"How did I know... how did I know..." he repeated, musing to himself. "Hmm. Well, you guys told me."

Heath’s eyes widened, a mixture of disbelief and panic crawling up his spine like a swarm of spiders. They told him? When? How?

No words came. Only a faint rasp escaped his dry lips as he tried to comprehend what Leon meant. There hadn’t been a moment where anyone confessed, no blurted words, no careless slips. So how...?

But before he could process anything further, he saw it.

Behind Leon—emerging from the mist—were shadows.

Several feline-like shapes crept forward with measured precision. Their bodies were low, fur the color of green, with eyes that gleamed gold in the half-light.

They were Feline Stalkers—a dangerous breed of pack-hunting beasts known for their silence and agility. And now, they had their sights set on Leon.

Heath’s breath caught in his throat.

His lips parted in a faint, wicked grin. They were going to get him. The Feline Stalkers were just meters away now, their paws silent on the cold forest floor, ready to pounce on the lone boy standing between them and easy prey.

But just as the creatures leapt—

Shhhk!

In the blink of an eye, jagged shards of ice erupted into the air around Leon. They appeared without warning, no chant, no gestures, just pure, precise materialization.

Spears of frozen mana pierced through the Feline Stalkers from every direction—skewering them mid-air, from their backs, sides, even through their skulls.

They didn’t even have time to shirek.

The clearing was filled with a sickening crunch, followed by spurts of blood painting the snow-crusted ground. Bodies hit the earth with dull thuds. Lifeless. Still.

A soft chime echoed faintly in the clearing:

« +40 points »

Leon let out a satisfied hum, brushing imaginary dust off his shoulder. Then, almost playfully, he turned to Heath and lightly tapped him on the shoulder.

"Did you get it now?"

Heath’s expression slowly twisted from confusion to horror. Everything clicked. All at once.

The fog that disoriented them...

The eerily lifelike snowmen...

The sudden shift in weather... the biting cold...

Even the monstrous snow golem.

It had all been him.

Leon hadn’t just manipulated the battlefield—he was the battlefield.

The realization hit Heath like a sledgehammer, and he began trembling. His mouth dried up. His lips quivered as he croaked out the words.

"You... you’re... rank: ★★★★."

Leon’s smile widened—proud, but almost condescending, like a teacher pleased that his slowest student had finally caught up.

He ruffled Heath’s hair mockingly. "Aww, aren’t you a clever one now."

Heath’s head drooped, shame and fear mixing in his chest like poison. His voice, fragile as glass, broke the silence again. "Since when...?" he asked. "Since when did you know about us?"

Leon placed a thoughtful hand on his chin, his expression exaggerated as if digging deep into memory. "Hmm... oh yeah. Pretty much the moment I met you guys."

Heath’s brows drew together. "What? That early? But how?"

Leon gave a light shrug, his voice suddenly deadpan. "Just a sneaky little suspicion. Nothing too serious at first."

He continued, his tone casual, almost like storytelling around a campfire.

"It was how you all acted around monsters. Scared, skittish, trying to avoid confrontation at every turn. But when one got close—bam! You moved like trained killers."

Leon leaned back and spread his hands. "So I thought—how can people be terrified of monsters yet have combat instincts sharp enough to land lethal blows the moment they’re threatened?"

He grinned wider. "That’s when I realized—you’re not scared of combat. You’re scared of monsters."

He let the words hang for a second.

"You’ve fought before. But not beasts. Humans."

Heath’s breath hitched, a tremor running down his spine. But he still managed to force a question through his dry lips. "But... that’s just a theory. A guess. You could’ve been wrong."

Leon’s eyes flicked to him with amusement, and he raised a finger. "Yes. I could have been wrong. That’s why I created the fog."

He waved a hand in the air as if tracing an invisible picture. "Confusion. Disorientation. Paranoia. All perfect ingredients to see how people really behave when the pressure’s on."

Then he laughed—a low, genuine sound. "Turns out, you guys didn’t even need pushing. You just... spilled your guts out. I didn’t even have to eavesdrop. You told me."

He gestured to the others tied up nearby—Xin, Vanessa, Elia—still unconscious.

"I watched how you treated each other. The betrayals. The selfishness. It was like reading a book written in crayon. You wanted to use me the moment I joined your group, just like the others you’ve led to their deaths."

He leaned in again, his smile turning razor-sharp.

"So, one way or another, I was going to find out the truth. And guess what? You made it easy."

Heath’s face turned pale, his earlier bravado dissolved into bitter silence.

Leon stood tall once again, brushing a speck of blood off his uniform. His voice remained soft—almost gentle—but the weight behind it felt heavy, undeniable.

"I’m not like you," he said. "I don’t kill because I like it. I don’t enjoy the suffering."

Then he leaned in close and whispered:

"But I won’t let people like you keep killing others."