Transmigrated as the Cuck.... WTF!!!-Chapter 58. Freya’s Dilemma

Cassius’s eyes dulled, the shimmer of consciousness fading from them like a dying ember. His breath grew shallow, ragged, then slowed into stillness.

And then, he collapsed.

The backlash of his relentless overuse of abilities had finally claimed him.

He was unconscious.

Freya, who had been leaning against his chest, suddenly felt the shift in his body—

the tension vanishing, the strength gone.

She blinked rapidly and pulled herself up, hands trembling, knees barely able to support her as she sat upright.

Her entire body shook, not from cold, but from the emotional weight pressing down on her.

Her mind was chaos—complete, fractured, tortured chaos.

Flashes of the Basilisk came crashing back to her in relentless waves.

Its monstrous head high above the clouds, casting a colossal shadow over the mountain.

Its cold, golden slit eyes—eyes that had locked with hers, if only for a moment.

But that moment had felt like an eternity.

That one, singular gaze had stripped her bare—of pride, of bravery, of any illusion of strength.

It had seen her.

And she had shattered.

Her breath caught in her throat as tears spilled freely from her eyes, trailing down her cheeks before dripping onto the coarse, sand-like ground.

Every drop felt like a confession.

She hated herself in that moment.

Hated the person she was. The decisions she made. The leader she pretended to be.

Because the truth was unbearable.

She was the one who had formed the team.

She was the one who had spoken so confidently, who had rallied them together with wide eyes and hopeful words.

She had initiated the campaign, declared that they would brave the Monster Zone and claim points.

She had even trusted an unreliable, half-burnt map without confirming its legitimacy.

And now...

Now the price of her recklessness was painted in blood, in screams, in the echoing silence of absence.

She had heard them.

The dying wails of her teammates, their terror-soaked voices ringing out across the mountainside—

Snuffed out one by one, devoured, crushed, broken.

She had heard them when Cassius ran.

When he scooped her into his arms and fled with inhuman speed.

She had seen the streaks of red across the battlefield they left behind.

She had felt the fear, the guilt—twisting and curling inside her like a venomous serpent.

And, for a fleeting, cowardly second, she wanted to blame him.

Cassius.

She wanted to point her finger, to scream that it was his fault.

That if he hadn’t carried her away, maybe she could’ve helped.

That if he hadn’t interfered, maybe she could’ve stayed.

That if she had never met him—maybe she would never have taken the risk in the first place.

Maybe she would have played it safe.

Maybe none of this would have happened.

"Yeah... it’s his fault... not mine. Definitely not mine..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But the words tasted like ash in her mouth.

They died in her throat, smothered by a truth she couldn’t deny—no matter how much she wanted to.

Because if she really believed that line of thinking, then...

Wasn’t it her fault they even existed as a group to begin with?

Wasn’t it her who invited each of them?

Who offered the dream of admittance in Rose Academy by being together?

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms until blood welled.

The painful sting grounded her.

No. The blame wasn’t Cassius’s.

It was hers.

All of it.

Even if Cassius hadn’t been there, even if she had never met him—

they still would have died.

Maybe not by the Skyshadow Basilisk.

But the Queen Cobra would have annihilated them without hesitation. That monster alone had been too much.

Because she knew, she would have still started the campaign.

They were unprepared, untrained, arrogant in their ignorance.

And Cassius...

Cassius had intervened. He had fought head-on.

While she had frozen.

While she had hesitated.

He was the only reason they had gotten even that far.

And now—he was unconscious, lying broken and exhausted, after saving her life.

Her chest ached. Her throat tightened.

She had no right to push the blame onto anyone—not him, not her teammates, not the monsters.

Because the bitter truth remained.

It was her incompetence.

Her naive optimism.

Her lack of decisiveness.

She was weak.

She was stupid.

And because of that—

They had died.

She curled up beside Cassius, burying her face into his shoulder, her fingers clutching the fabric of his torn uniform.

Tears flowed without restraint.

And for the first time since the campaign began, Freya allowed herself to break.

...

The heated air blew past Freya’s skin like the breath of a slumbering giant—scorching, dry, relentless.

It clung to her, soaked her clothes with sweat, and made every inhale feel like swallowing embers. But her mind wasn’t in the state to register discomfort.

She stood frozen in place, the sting of tears burning behind her eyes. Her shoulders trembled as she let her head hang low, trying to grieve in silence. But then—

Her gaze shifted downward.

And her breath caught in her throat.

Cassius.

Her tear-streaked face paled at the sight of him.

Blood seeped from every orifice—his eyes, his nose, his ears, and the corner of his mouth.

The vivid red painted disturbing trails across his pale skin, and for a moment, he looked less like a person and more like a collapsed corpse.

"No—No, no, no...!" Freya’s hands flew to her necklace, fingers fumbling against the chain.

She grasped the tiny embedded crystal at its base—a minor spatial storage artifact—and tapped it twice.

A soft red shimmer pulsed from the gem before a crimson glass vial appeared in her hand.

Without hesitation, she dropped to her knees, gently lifting Cassius’s head into her lap. The back of his skull was warm—too warm—but still alive.

She uncorked the vial with a trembling hand and pressed the rim to his parted lips, angling it just enough to let the liquid flow.

The bitter potion trickled into his mouth, and for a tense moment, she feared he might choke. But his throat twitched with a slow, automatic swallow.

The effects were near-instantaneous.

The bleeding slowed, then stopped completely. The gashes and tears across his face faded to angry red lines.

But his eyes remained shut.

His breathing shallow.

He was stable... but still far from okay.

Freya sighed in quiet relief, brushing a few strands of sweat-damp hair from his forehead before carefully lowering his head onto the dusty ground.

Then, with effort, she rose to her feet.

She needed to move. Fast.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings.

The land was desolate. The ground beneath her was cracked and brittle, parched soil the color of faded clay.

Not a single tree or shrub in sight—only a few scattered strands of withered, brown grass clinging stubbornly to life.

Jagged boulders of all shapes and sizes littered the terrain like discarded relics, their dark forms casting long shadows under the unforgiving light.

It wasn’t just hot.

It was oppressive.

A hellish heat, emanating from the eastern direction where a molten crimson glow pulsed steadily.

She turned her gaze that way and spotted the source—a massive lava pond roughly six hundred meters away. It bubbled ominously, sending waves of shimmering distortion into the air.

That explained the unbearable temperature. The closer they were, the worse it would get.

Her gaze flicked back to Cassius. He lay unconscious, unmoving, vulnerable.

This place wasn’t safe.

He needed shelter. A shaded spot. A cave. Anything better than lying in the open, baking under this cursed sun.

She clenched her jaw, frustration and guilt churning in her stomach.

She hadn’t been able to save her team. Their fates had been sealed the moment she made the wrong choices. But this—this one life—she could protect.

She would protect it.

Turning in a slow circle, she surveyed the rest of the landscape. They had entered this strange terrain from the west, and it was likely crawling with danger—or worse, still within the Basilisk’s hunting range. She ruled that direction out immediately.

That left south and north.

The southern stretch looked similar—same broken land, same scattered stones, but something about it made her stomach twist. It felt... off.

She didn’t know why. Maybe it was instinct. Maybe it was desperation. But she turned north.

That was the direction she would gamble on.

Freya crouched beside Cassius once again, preparing herself for what she was about to do.

She wasn’t particularly strong—certainly not enough to carry a grown man with ease. But there was no other choice.

Gritting her teeth, she looped his arms over her shoulders, slid hers under his knees, and slowly hoisted him into a piggyback position.

Her legs nearly buckled beneath the weight.

Cassius was heavier than he looked—especially unconscious and deadweight.

But she refused to let him fall.

With a strained exhale, she steadied herself, took a deep breath, and began moving.

Each step was a struggle. Her boots sank slightly into the cracked earth with every stride, and the uneven terrain made the journey worse.

But she pressed on.

One foot after the other.

One breath after another.

The heat gnawed at her, tried to sap her strength with each minute. But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

Cassius had saved her.

Now it was her turn.

Unbeknownst to Freya, behind her—the lava pond she had dismissed—shuddered.

Its surface churned unnaturally. Not from mere heat.

But from movement.

A ripple coursed through the molten lake, as if something massive and sentient had begun to stir beneath its surface.

A single, slow bubble rose from the depths and popped with a soft growl.

And as Freya marched northward with determination burning in her chest, the lava pond—silent, smoldering, and patient—began to follow.