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

A faint smile tugged at the corner of Fyudor’s lips as he crossed his arms and stared at Art. "Don’t tell me you’re getting emotional all of a sudden? Oh! Wait—" he raised a brow, eyes gleaming with amusement, "—you’re lamenting the fact that you couldn’t kill her. Isn’t that right?"

Art maintained a perfectly calm exterior. His voice was steady, his posture unmoved. "Yes. I am lamenting," he admitted without hesitation. "It’s such a pity that I couldn’t kill her with my own hands. I suppose... I’ll have to redirect my bottled-up frustration onto those filthy spawns instead."

Fyudor let out a genuine laugh, one filled with unexpected warmth. "Now that’s what I like to hear! I commend such thoughts. That’s the way it should be."

He stepped forward slightly, his grin widening. "So go. Get stronger. Push your limits. Defy everything I expect from you."

His voice deepened, serious now. "I’m still alive, Art. I will remain alive. And you—" he pointed a finger at him "—you still have a person you want to kill. Don’t let your lament be the end of your story. Let it be your fuel."

Art nodded slowly, he acknowledged his words. "But... there’s still a question that keeps bugging me." His eyes narrowed slightly. "Where are Lucian and Isolde?"

Fyudor exhaled deeply and rubbed the back of his neck. "Lucian is currently engaged in battle with the White Dragon of Grief."

His tone turned more reserved as he continued. "As for Isolde... there’s no trace. She’s a mystery right now. Maybe she’s helping Lucian. Or maybe she has her own plans. We don’t know."

He paused for a moment, then looked back at Art. "That all?"

Art straightened his back a bit more, his bearing unwavering. "Yes, that’s all. Please send me to the same place you sent the others."

Fyudor gave a curt nod and stepped forward, placing a hand on Art’s shoulder. "Bring me results, not excuses. And don’t come back just to be stubborn. Either come back stronger or don’t come back at all."

Then, without waiting, he flicked his fingers. A portal unfolded before Art.