The Spoilt Beauty And Her Beasts-Chapter 143: Uhh… I-I can carry buckets?

Isabella blinked in confusion at the collective gasp that escaped the crowd. Her eyes flicked from face to face, eyebrows furrowed. Why were they reacting like he’d announced he could breathe underwater?

But then it clicked.

Oh.

Right. This world may have magic, but actual cultivation? Rare. Hard. Most villagers could barely sense it, let alone wield it. If someone could, it meant one of two things—they were either born lucky into a powerful city family or handpicked by a high-ranking master.

But Cyrus? He hadn’t arrived like a man of status.

No grand entrance. No powerful aura. Just a quiet man with a calm voice and kind eyes, who came to their tiny village with no home and no family. And more importantly—no stripes.

Not a single one.

Even now, after almost a week, that part still didn’t make sense. Everyone in the village had noticed. Everyone whispered. Even Isabella. Because no matter how hard you trained, even the weakest Beastmen had a stripe or two if they’d managed any cultivation at all.

But Cyrus? Blank arms. Smooth. Untouched. As if fate skipped him altogether.

So how—how—was he claiming to use magic?

The men stared at him now, some wide-eyed, others squinting in doubt. One even subtly flexed his striped arm as if to remind himself he still held some form of superiority.

Isabella, however, never doubted him.

Not once.

It wasn’t about logic. It wasn’t about proof. It was... something else. Instinct? Intuition? Or maybe it was just him. The way he moved, the way he carried himself—quiet but never weak. Gentle, but never submissive.

She didn’t trust easily, but with Cyrus... it wasn’t about trust. It was curiosity.

Deep, gnawing curiosity.

Who are you really?

Where did you come from?

What are you hiding behind that calm voice and those frustratingly warm eyes?

She glanced up again and locked eyes with him. Those stupid perfect pink eyes. His gaze was steady, unwavering, trained only on her. Not once did he flinch under their scrutiny. Not even when the whispers turned sharp.

He stood like a rock in the middle of a storm—tall, still, completely unaffected.

And she hated that smile. That gentle, composed smile that made her chest flutter and her brain itch at the same time.

She was about to say something when a cold voice broke through the tension.

"I do not trust this beast," an older woman muttered, her tone sharp and cutting. "He shouldn’t be in our midst."

"Yes," another echoed with narrowed eyes. "How can a person who has no stripes be that powerful?"

The crowd started to murmur again, ripples of doubt spreading like wildfire.

Isabella turned.

Isabella turned, slow and deliberate, eyes narrowing at the two women who had spoken. The amused light in her gaze was gone—now replaced with steel.

"Funny," she said, voice calm but laced with venom. "None of you had a problem when that beast was the one who stayed behind to help dig this well. Or when he was hauling rocks while your husbands were hiding in the shade."

Silence. A few men subtly stepped back.

She tilted her head, arms folding across her chest. "I didn’t see you volunteering to get your hands dirty. Didn’t hear you complaining when you were all lining up to take the first sip once it was done."

Her voice rose just slightly, enough for every villager within earshot to catch it. "You all stand there waiting for a miracle—filthy water, sick children, rotting food—but when someone actually steps up to help, suddenly you grow mouths."

The air turned thick.

She took a step forward, her presence radiating authority. "If you have time to gossip and doubt, then you have time to grab a bucket and help purify this mess. Because from where I’m standing, only one person here has offered to do anything—and it’s not any of you."

A beat passed. Her gaze swept the crowd like a whip.

"Stripes don’t mean strength. Actions do."

Then, just to twist the dagger: "So unless any of you plan to help... shut up and step back."

The villagers froze like they’d just been slapped with a wet cloth.

One man coughed into his fist and looked at the sky, suddenly very interested in a passing cloud. Another began adjusting an imaginary belt that didn’t exist.

The two women who spoke earlier instantly scurried back to their males, clutching their arms like delicate flowers that had never uttered a single word.

Their eyes darted around innocently, lips pressed in fake smiles, as if hoping proximity to their partners would shield them from Isabella’s wrath.

Someone at the back mumbled, "She’s scary when she’s mad," earning a swift elbow from their neighbor.

A nervous chuckle broke out. Then silence again.

Nobody dared to meet Isabella’s eyes. Even the loudest gossips suddenly found their shoes fascinating. The atmosphere turned awkward—but not out of fear. Out of shame.

They all knew she was right.

And to make matters worse, Cyrus didn’t look smug about any of it. He just stood there, calm and unbothered, still watching Isabella with the same steady gaze—like she’d just done exactly what he expected her to do.

A kid whispered, "I like her," to his mom, who immediately hushed him.

Another man hesitantly raised his hand. "Uhh... I-I can carry buckets?"

Isabella gave him a chilly stare, her eyes narrowing just enough to make the man flinch. His attempt at speaking died in his throat, and he quickly clamped his mouth shut, avoiding any further eye contact.

She might not have any combat skills, but when it came to things like this, Isabella had an unwavering confidence. And confidence? Confidence was more than enough for her.

Opehlia watched the scene with a slight wince, feeling kind of bad for the villagers.

They had no idea what they were getting into. She wanted to explain to them that Isabella wasn’t mean or rude, she was just... well, Isabella. The kind of woman who didn’t hesitate to put people in their place, especially when they needed it.

The poor lady could only let out a sigh, standing by the side with a helpless look on her face. It was a mix of sympathy for the villagers and a quiet understanding of how Isabella operated. fɾēewebnσveℓ.com

Just then, a soft chime rang through Isabella’s mind.

[Ding! Congratulations on leveling up to level 2 leadership skill]

Isabella merely glanced at the notification for a brief moment before brushing it aside, not allowing even a flicker of emotion to show on her face. She didn’t want anyone to think she was proud of something as small as a system achievement. She had to stay focused.

Still, deep down, there was a part of her that was secretly pleased with the progress. It was slow, but it was progress nonetheless. Yet, showing any happiness about it? That was a luxury she couldn’t afford—at least, not with all these eyes watching her.

Instead, her gaze moved back to Cyrus, whose quiet calm never faltered. He was already making his way toward her, moving with deliberate, easy steps.

He was ready. Ready to do what needed to be done, no questions asked.

And Isabella, though a little unsure of everything else, knew one thing for certain: he was the only one she could count on right now.