Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 34: Absolution

"Are these... the same thing you gave me last night?" Arkai asked, eyeing the mountain of shimmering vials. The memory of that universe-rewriting potion was burned into his soul. The instant knit of bone, the sealing of a fatal tear, the taste of a second chance.

Cecilia regretfully shook her head. "No. These aren’t as effective." Her tone was apologetic. "These can only heal to a certain degree. What I gave you last night was an instant, life-saving one, and these... I think it’ll depend on the patient themselves whether this will help or not... And it’ll perhaps only prioritize some injuries and not the other..."

More like a triage in a bottle. It would staunch a bleed, but it wouldn’t perform a full-system reboot on a body that had already signed its resignation.

"I presume the one with instant effect is rarer compared to these?" Oathran inquired. He understood the economics of miracles. The truly world-altering ones never came cheap.

Cecilia confirmed with a nod. "Yes. Hmm... let’s say the Miracle Elixir’s value is 1000 G, but I can’t always get it when I want it. And if I want to get it, I can’t pay for it with Gold. Meanwhile, these ones are valued at 100 G, and I can get them as much as I like."

"One hundre—" Arkai’s eyes widened. One hundred gold. That was the total annual salary he paid to each of his most trusted aides. It was a small fortune, enough to buy a decent house in a southern city. And one of these vials, this lesser potion, cost that much?

He looked from the vials to the ashen, broken faces of the survivors being tended to by his men. He saw the shallow breathing, the bandages already soaked through with crimson.

He closed his eyes.

Well, he thought, if it could stop someone from crossing the edge, it was worth it. See it as an investment in a future heartbeat.

"Saintess Cecilia, you’ve used something invaluable to save me. How do I repay you?" Arkai placed a hand over his chest, a formal gesture from a man who clearly did not offer his debts lightly.

But seeing that, Cecilia narrowed her eyes, planted her hands on her hips, and raised her chin at him.

"Did you think just because I used the more effective item, I’m treating you more special than others?" she retorted, a sharp "Hmph" punctuating the question. "You just don’t know that the one I used on you was the only thing I had at the moment."

Arkai’s brain stuttered. How could she logic the fact that he was the accidental, one-time beneficiary of her entire stock of miracles... yet somehow that didn’t make him special? His brow furrowed in confusion.

"These ones," Cecilia continued, smiling lopsidedly as she gestured to the piles of Healing Elixirs, "I had to negotiate to get. I even sacrificed something to get them as many as I want whenever I want them. These are more precious in my eyes."

"You shouldn’t be that thankful of me."

Uuhh... how bizarre...

Oathran, who had been watching the exchange, couldn’t hold back a grin as he looked away, his shoulders shaking with silent laughter. And in that moment, seeing the Dragon Lord’s reaction, Arkai understood.

This was just... how she was.

Swallowing his pride, Arkai turned to the three wide-eyed, jaw-slacked werewolves. "You three, distribute these to the survivors and the people we brought to the doctors. Keep an eye on them all. These are very precious, so make sure each and all of them only end up with the ones who need them." 𝘧𝓇𝑒𝑒𝑤ℯ𝑏𝓃𝘰𝑣ℯ𝘭.𝘤ℴ𝘮

"Aye, Lord!" They scrambled into action, the errand shaking them from their stupor.

Once they were gone, Arkai ushered Cecilia and Oathran into one of the newly erected tents. He performed the courtesies, seating her first, then Oathran, before settling his own formidable frame onto a stool.

The man racked his brain, and finally decided on how he would repay all this. The help, the rescue... and perhaps also apologize for his negligence about her prophecy.

"We are infinitely indebted to you, Saintess, Your Majesty," he began. "I am... sorry for the way I handled your warnings. It is no excuse, but I was distracted about the assassination of the southern lords, one of the things you prophesied last year."

The admission was a blade turned inward. This was a man who wore his competence as his identity, and to admit a failure of vigilance was to admit a crack in his very foundation.

"I got so used to receiving your warnings that when you didn’t, I forgot I must be extra vigilant about Mount Saede this time of the year. I took your words for granted," he continued, his voice dropping, guilt weighing down his proud shoulders until he bowed low before her. "It was all my fault."

Cecilia’s eyes softened. How could she fault him? She, of all people, knew how her constant alerts could be perceived as background noise. The nagging of a woman who cried wolf, even if the wolf eventually did come.

But this man... he had never been one of the complainers. While other lords sent thinly-veiled requests for more "pleasant" prophecies, he had sent gifts. While they grumbled about her alarmism, he had sent personal words of gratitude.

His loyalty had been silent, steady, and taken for granted by the system that betrayed them both.

He felt as responsible as she did.

But she knew a truth he didn’t.

It was never a prophecy. It was forecasting. An educated guess. She wasn’t a divine channel, she was just a woman with a system interface and a head for patterns. She couldn’t just ask the gods about it.

Even with her warnings, a mountain’s fury would always claim its due. The goal was never to prevent all death, but to make preparedness the only variable they could control.

"I’ve witnessed your men pulling out people from home made bunkers," Cecilia said, her smile gentle yet sad. "If you never heeded my words at all, there would not be a bunker built... nor survivors. You... we... did everything we could..."

It was an absolution, and a shared one. We.

Then, the truth of the situation, the crushing weight of their collective human limitation, escaped in a whisper meant only for herself. "It was just not enough..."

Oathran, whose entire focus had been fixed on her from the moment they sat down, reached out. His hand softly enveloped hers, "Saintess... you can’t blame yourselves so hard,"

He continued, reminding her, "You said it yourself. You had tried to send away all those last prophecies you could muster three months ago. But without your knowledge... they intercepted it and never sent it out to the world."

They.

Fucking they.