Cursed System-Chapter 112: The Alliance

RAGNA POV...

As for us cursed children crammed inside that rattling, dust–choked carriage, anywhere I so much as shifted my foot or turned my head, I could feel eyes snapping toward me like iron drawn to a lodestone, as though I were some rare, exotic monstrosity hauled out of the abyss and paraded around for spectacle, something to be whispered about, stared at, measured, feared.

Normally—oh, normally—I would have relished it, basked in it, maybe even taught some loudmouthed brat a humiliating lesson just to remind them why my name carried weight. But this... this was one of those rare, suffocating moments where the attention felt less like admiration and more like scrutiny under a blade, and the atmosphere in that cramped carriage clung to my skin like damp cloth, awkward and heavy and strangely accusatory.

And truth be told, I wasn’t faring any better on the inside. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

With each passing day, each miserable stretch of desert sun and freezing night wind, it was becoming painfully, terrifyingly difficult to keep myself in check. My control—once ironclad, once something I prided myself on—was thinning like frayed rope over a cliff’s edge. Especially after the system’s notifications began flooding in like a merciless judge delivering sentence after sentence.

[Your hunger has grown further]

[Host has entered self-starvation mode]

[Host HP will begin degeneration]

[All host attributes will be halved until the Main Quest has been successfully completed]

I remember staring at those words as if they were some cruel joke etched into my vision. Mere hunger—just hunger—and the system was already activating countermeasures, pushing me, cornering me, practically shoving me toward devouring a demon as though it were the most natural solution in the world.

My disbelief curdled into dread. The fear of what tomorrow might bring began to coil around my heart, squeezing tighter with every hour. Sooner or later, I might lose it. Sooner or later, the unbearable urge would snap whatever thin restraint I had left, and I would go berserk—not metaphorically, not dramatically, but truly, catastrophically berserk.

Thankfully—mercifully—Reiner arrived with news that momentarily dulled the edge of my spiraling thoughts.

"Right, Ragna," he began, uncharacteristically serious, his usual grin nowhere to be found, "the Black Steel Knights are organizing small alliance groups now that we’re venturing deeper into the desert."

He explained how it was meant to be a safety measure—temporary, strategic. Four cursed children per alliance, overseen by a Black Knight. A structured formation. A chance to choose elite members within each group while the rest acted as support. A meeting would be held, and for once, we were given the "privilege" of participating.

Privilege.

The word tasted bitter in my mind.

Still, I could see it in Reiner’s eyes. He had glimpsed the desert’s cruelty firsthand, Berthold too. This wasn’t some playful expedition; this was stepping into the open jaws of something ancient and merciless. And we all knew it—there was no turning back.

Out of the four alliances, some might die. Maybe more than a few. A single pack of vicious wolves could shred through inexperienced cursed children like parchment. And that was ignoring the horrifying possibility of a swarm of golden zombie bees descending upon us like a living storm of rot and venom.

Our only saving grace was the Black Knight assigned to each group. But even then, a single misstep, a single blind spot, and one or two cursed child could fall to a sneak attack before anyone could react.

I might have been biased toward the other demon children, but even I could admit we were nearing our limits. Reiner and Berthold were especially shaken. For all their bravado, I could see the fear simmering beneath the surface. They had too much to lose now. We all did. They doubted they could withstand even one coordinated assault from a wolf pack. And beyond survival... what were the odds of finding someone like me again? Someone who had become less a companion and more a brother?

So they gritted their teeth and endured.

Meanwhile, for the first time in a while, their instincts were screaming at them about me.

They knew something was wrong.

No matter how subtly I masked it, no matter how carefully I regulated my breathing, they could tell. Yet every attempt to uncover the truth ended in failure. Even the demonic voice whispering in their minds had no answer. There was no aura of feeding intent radiating from me, no telltale hunger-signature. Compared to past cases, I seemed... normal. Too normal. As if the danger lurking inside me was invisible, buried deeper than instinct could detect.

But I felt it.

I felt myself weakening.

My HP was ticking downward like an executioner’s countdown. Even in the freezing desert night, sweat clung to my skin, rolling down my temple in cold beads. I could see the brothers standing in front of me, their silhouettes tense and worried.

"Ragna, are you okay?" Reiner asked, his voice strained with concern.

Berthold crouched down to my level, pressing his palm against my forehead. His eyes widened. "Brother... he’s so cold. RAGNA might actually be sick?"

Sick.

If only it were that simple.

"Of course, I’m fine," I forced out, a smile stretching across my lips like fragile porcelain threatening to crack. Inside, the urge was swelling, gnawing, clawing at my insides with growing impatience. I didn’t know what would happen when the last thread of my sanity snapped—but I knew it wouldn’t be pretty. It might explain why demon children in the past had gone mad, why massacres were whispered about in hushed tones.

If I lost control... there would be blood.

Later that night, the desert sky unfurled like an endless obsidian canvas, pierced with countless stars. Silver starlight bathed the carriages and the scattered demon children outside, giving the world an almost peaceful illusion. Around the campground, a lively circle had formed.

Cursed children sat around a crackling campfire, laughing, nudging each other, pretending—just for a moment—that we weren’t marching toward something brutal.

"Come," Reiner urged, gesturing for Berthold and me to follow. "Let me introduce you. This is Conny—part of our alliance group."

Conny extended his hand toward me, smiling confidently. "Nice to meet you. I heard how you trashed Marcus—like some kid."

For a moment—just a moment—I stared at his outstretched hand.

I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

I could feel the hunger stir.

Then I slowly lifted my gaze, forced myself to nod, and resisted the terrifying whisper in the back of my mind that suggested how easy it would be to grab that hand... and never let go.