Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 202: Random Lore Dump

Did she just say... fourth husband?!

A pair of legs froze mid-stride.

The Crown Prince of Iondora, Damon June Iondora, heir to the most powerful human empire on the continent, stopped in his tracks as he walked just nearby. His composure, cultivated over decades of imperial training, cracked. Just slightly. Just enough for those watching to notice.

The black veiled woman chuckled.

It was a light, musical sound, utterly unbothered by the bombshell she had just dropped. She even waved her hand with this playful, witty gesture, not just at Ruby, but at the others listening around them.

The cluster of nobles who had been straining to catch every word. The servants who had frozen mid-task. The beast lords whose ears had pricked forward with unmistakable interest.

"Yes, yes," Sees said, her voice warm with amusement. "I might not look like it, but my life is quite eventful, okay?"

That—that explained nothing!

Was she... was she a four-time widow or something? Was that why she wore a black veil? A woman who had buried four husbands and emerged, somehow, still smiling?

Lady Sees hissed at the people around them, giving them a pointed ’look’ from behind her veil.

"Mmm, stop judging. A lady can also have her life."

The men around them blushed. Actual, honest-to-gods blushes, creeping up the necks of hardened politicians and battle-scarred warriors. The women gasped and giggled, a ripple of delighted scandal running through their ranks.

"I was born an orphan, Saintess." Lady Sees’s voice softened, turning gently whimsical. Her smile, visible only through those deep red lips, became something almost wistful. "I was trapped from my childhood, for a long time, in a role I shouldn’t have shouldered. But little mama did her best." A pause, weighted with meaning. "I was a lost girl... like a bird in a cage..."

She sighed, delicately, almost a theatrical sigh that somehow managed to convey decades of unspoken pain.

"Then I met my first husba—" She stopped abruptly. Scoffed. The sound was sharp, dismissive, utterly disgusted. "Wait, no. Let’s not count that bastard."

She waved her hand as if physically batting away an unpleasant memory.

"He’s never my husband. Let’s never count him. Yes." A decisive nod. "So, the one who gifted me this dress is my third husband. Third. Not Fourth."

She flailed her hand, punctuating her sharp, chaotic explanation with a gesture that was somehow both elegant and absurd.

"So. I met that bastard, and everything changed. My life became worse." Another pause, perfectly timed. "After years and years, we finally separated. God, I wish we had done it sooner... he tore my heart from my chest."

She touched her sternum, just above her supple breasts.

"Like, literally."

What was this... bizarre info-dump? This whirlwind of revelation and deflection, tragedy and whimsy, all delivered in that warm, captivating voice?

"And then..." Lady Sees’s tone shifted again, softening into something almost reverent. "Then I met my first true husband..."

She sighed dreamily, her red lips curving into an expression of such tender longing that even the most cynical observer felt their heart clench.

"On God, the wisest... most beautiful gentleman ever... oh!" A small, breathy exhalation as she shook her head. "That man healed me... he was the only reason I am still alive today..."

People exchanged bewildered glances. This lore-dump explained everything and nothing, all at once. They had learned... what, exactly? That she had survived something terrible? That a man had saved her? That she had been married, more than once, in ways both tragic and dramatic?

But the way she spoke about this man, this first true husband, was undeniably sad. The kind of sadness that spoke of loss, of absence, of a love that existed now only in memory. Or... more...?

"You see these marks?" Lady Sees’s painted fingernails traced gently across her skin, following the dark red lines that spiraled up her arms, across her collarbone, disappearing beneath her veil. "This was from him..."

Her voice dropped, soft and sorrowful.

Damon’s eyes, already fixed on those marks with intensity, followed every movement of her fingers. So, tribal marks? Not dragons? Perhaps he had been wrong. But they looked so much like ancient dragon script.

Was her husband also a dragon? Like her? If she was a dragon, as he had begun to suspect...

He couldn’t help but listen further. See... more...

"Truly, it felt like the real start of my life." Lady Sees’s voice brightened again, the sorrow lifting like morning fog. "We travelled many places... met many souls... oh—"

She giggled, an actual, delighted giggle.

"That’s also how I met His Majesty. What a fate, right?"

Ruby stared at her.

What even was this woman?

How could she be so—chaotic? So unpredictable? One moment tragic, the next whimsical, the next scandalous, the next wise?

She had just delivered a life story that raised a hundred questions and answered none of them, and she had done it with such charm, such presence, that everyone around her was leaning in, hungry for more.

"Anyway." Lady Sees waved her hand again, as if dismissing the entire sprawling narrative. "That was how I met His Majesty. Oh, god, I rambled a lot, did I? I’m so sorry."

She looked genuinely guilty, her red lips pressed together, her veiled face tilting in an expression of self-deprecating embarrassment.

She had actually made it sound like she had lived such a long, fulfilling life. How old was she? What was she?

"No, my Lady, please tell us more about you!"

The other ladies, noblewomen from half a dozen kingdoms, beast ladies with glittering eyes and eager smiles, began to press forward. The warm, captivating way she had told her story, that chaotic blend of tragedy and whimsy and just a touch of scandal, had charmed them utterly.

They wanted more. They wanted her.

And Ruby...

Ruby felt stupid.

Why was she even standing here? This woman, this variable, this unknown, had just been swept away by a tide of adoring noblewomen, leaving Ruby stranded at the edge of the crowd like debris after a storm.

She had lived two lives. Two entire lifetimes of experience, of knowledge, of carefully accumulated power. How could a random, unknown woman—

"Ruby."

A hand closed around her arm. Tight. Insistent.

She was being pulled, pushed, nudged away by the sea of women surging toward Sees. Someone had caught her, dragged her clear of the crowd.

She looked up, grimacing at the sharp pain in her arm, and found Nikolas.

That cold expression. Those stern eyebrows, drawn together in barely-suppressed fury. That tight line of a mouth that had forgotten how to smile.

He was mad again.

Of course.

Because of Arkai’s dismissal. Because of the looks. Because of the shame.

"We’re going home. Now."

The words were curt. Absolute. A command, not a request.

Ruby turned, looking back over her shoulder.

Sees was surrounded. The star of an impromptu salon, holding court among the most powerful women in the room. She didn’t need Arkai beside her. She didn’t need anyone. She was enough, all on her own, radiating that warm, chaotic, captivating light.

Meanwhile Ruby—

Her husband dragged her away coldly, his grip leaving bruises on her arm.

Why?

Why couldn’t he be more... loving? More considerate? More supportive? Like Lord Arkai with his Luna, the way he looked at her, touched her, cherished her.

Like Arzhen.

Like—

Outside the hall, in the cold night air, Ruby finally shrugged free of Nikolas’s grasp.

"Nik... it hurts..."

He turned to look at her.

His eyes were cold.

He didn’t say anything.

The carriage door stood open. Inside, Dorian was already seated, his face a mask of silent, seething fury.

After the looks pointed at them tonight, the sneers, the cold shoulders, the silent judgments, he had had enough.

Ruby sneered inwardly. These two. So wrapped up in their own wounded pride, their own damaged image, they couldn’t even see that she had been trying. Gathering information. Probing the enemy. Doing exactly what a strategist should do.

But Nikolas was already blind. He saw only what he wanted to see. His wife, his mate, his property, pointlessly currying favor with Arkai’s Luna like a beggar seeking scraps.

Shameful!

Did she truly have no dignity? Was she truly that stupid? Didn’t she see the looks on people’s faces? Didn’t she feel the weight of their pity, their contempt, their amusement?

In their eyes, her performance had been pathetic. Humiliating. So pitiful that they had felt compelled to rescue her from herself.

That was enough.

Nikolas didn’t use force again. But he was still cold. Still silent. He helped her up into the carriage, a courtesy, nothing more, and followed her inside.

The door closed.

The ride home was silent.

Broken.

Pathetic.