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

We moved out of the previous kill zone before anyone else caught wind of the massacre. No sense sticking around after fireworks—you don’t wait for the cleanup crew. You disappear before they know what happened.

This new place we ended up in? Just as ruined. Twisted rebar poking through shattered walls, broken furniture tossed around like some giant had a tantrum mid-furnishing, and dust clouds that made my lungs second-guess every breath.

Still, there was enough cover here. The architecture had collapsed in just the right way—enough debris to duck behind, but not so much that we couldn’t move fast if shit hit the fan.

Which, knowing my luck, it absolutely would.

I tried to sense the surrounding mana. Keyword: tried.

Nothing.

I grunted in annoyance. My mana sensitivity was absolute garbage. Like trying to smell a flower with a broken nose. No matter how much I squinted, focused, held my breath—I couldn’t feel shit unless it was punching me in the face.

But apparently, Kaelira was decent at it.

She crouched beside a broken chair, fingers brushing along its splintered leg like she was doing forensic analysis on a crime scene.

"Someone was here," she muttered. "Twenty minutes ago, tops. They used wood-element mana—this chair wasn’t broken like this before. The break pattern’s fresh. Too clean. Not from force, but from erosion."

She blinked.