Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 144: Tangible Godhood

"It is my fault for not teaching them better, my Lord," Serayu said.

How shameful!

At nearly two thousand years old, she was the eldest present, a legend of storms and solitude. Yet in this moment, she was forcefully reminded of the wisdom and compassion that radiated from their Lord!

What a compassion that extended even to the smallest, most fragile of lives... How majestic! How noble! Truly, the bloodline of the First, Isaiah himself!

"Please forgive me, Miss Bessa," Jenggala said, turning to her with intense seriousness. Even if he was over two hundred years older than the Lord, he would never dream of contradicting Oathran. "I was wrong to assume a blessing and step over a... a dishonorable line. It was ignorant."

"I-I... I’m not... I’m just... surprised...!" Bessa managed to stutter out, her hands fluttering helplessly. "P-please don’t worry too much..."

Serayu, noticing Lazuardi’s shoulders shaking with suppressed amusement, reached out and slapped the back of his head with a sharp crack.

The blue-haired dragon gasped, his widening grin vanishing as he swiftly schooled his features into somber neutrality. The thousand-year-old trickster was enjoying the spectacle a bit too much.

"Such uncouth behavior," Serayu declared, turning her stern violet gaze back to Jenggala. "You will gain her utmost forgiveness. You will be Miss Bessa’s personal escort for the remainder of her time here. Attend to her needs. Properly."

Bessa’s mind, already teetering, went completely blank. "W-what?!"

Jenggala, however, seemed to have an epiphany. The pieces clicked. To comment on a human’s loss, a loss that to a dragon might be a minor inconvenience but to a human was life-altering, possibly traumatic... it was the height of rudeness.

To arrogantly declare he would ’fix’ it without invitation? Stupid! No wonder the Lord had reacted so swiftly.

Losing a limb was a big deal. A human-sized big deal. He had committed a grave offense.

"Yes," Jenggala said, rising to his feet but keeping his head respectfully bowed toward Bessa. "I will be your escort, my Lady. I will also see to your provisions during your stay. If... if Your Majesty allows..." He glanced nervously at Oathran.

Oathran sighed again, exasperated. "Do you even know how to provide for her...?"

Jenggala paled further. "It... would also be rude to have her teach me what she needs... it would be a hassle for her... but..."

"I understand you wish to learn," Oathran said, massaging his temples. "But again, the solution begins with asking for her opinion. Politely." His gaze swept to include Serayu. "That applies to you as well. Issuing decrees about her escort is not asking."

"We apologize!" the two dragons chorused, bowing again.

Bessa wanted to drop dead.

This was too heavy!

To have beings equivalent to gods fussing over her, apologizing to her, and hanging on her hesitant words... it was an existential weight Bessa’s psyche was not built to bear.

"N-no... it’s okay..." she managed, still, inadequate for the magnitude of the situation.

Oathran, sensing her overwhelm, nodded with a calming grace. "It’s okay. Let’s slow down. No need for haste in anything. You may always speak your mind here. But, ah—!"

He paused, a flicker of something... embarrassment(?) crossing his majestic features. "Come to think of it, Miss Bessa, I have an offer for you..." he began, his tone shifting to one of mild awkwardness. "I will, of course, reward you aptly. But... would you mind telling us what you know about cooking?"

Bessa blinked, the non-sequitur yanking her from the precipice of whatever draconic drama that was.

Cooking...?

Why?

"I heard it will be my wife’s birthday soon," Oathran explained, a soft, proud warmth infusing his voice. He gestured, and his beautiful, intricately carved walking cane floated from where it had leaned against the bench to his hand. He held it up like a treasured artifact.

"She made me this for mine. I wish to surprise her with my very first cooked meal. Prepared by my own hands."

He then turned his gaze upon the three chastised dragons. "And since it seems we dragons are not... naturally gifted in this particular art, I thought perhaps you could assist as well, under proper guidance."

Oh...

Bessa was stunned. Was this how... gods truly were? Capable of world-shaking power and terrifying displays of dominion, yet also capable of apologizing for a slight she hadn’t even fully processed, and now... clumsily, earnestly seeking to learn how to cook for a loved one?

"It would be my honor, Your Majesty," Bessa said, finding a sliver of solid ground in the familiar territory of practical knowledge. She took a steadying breath. "And you don’t need to reward me. It’s just a small favor."

"That cannot be," Oathran shook his head, his expression firm. "A favor has value, and value must be acknowledged. Please, choose any reward you wish from my treasury."

Bessa stuttered again, flustered. "B-but what I can teach you might not be worthy of such a reward! I’m not a trained chef, I just... know how to feed myself."

"But you were once an alchemist," Oathran countered, his logic impeccable, and also relentless. "No scholar understands the intrinsic nature of ingredients, their properties, their reactions, the optimal methods to transform them, better than an alchemist. You possess the foundational science. We merely need it translated into culinary art."

"..." Bessa was completely speechless. Why did his logic make perfect sense?

As expected of the Dragon Lord’s mind!

"Miss Bessa," Serayu intoned, bowing her head with renewed respect. "Please, grace us with your knowledge."

"And also..." Jenggala ventured carefully, seizing the opportunity, "...about humans in general? Their... sensitivities? So we might avoid future offense?"

"Yes," Lazuardi added, his earlier mischief now fully subdued into curiosity. "Please enlighten us."

Cornered by divine deference and genuine curiosity, how could she possibly refuse? After a deep breath, she nodded. "It... it will be my pleasure."

Oathran’s face lit up with a bright beam of mirth and relief the moment she conceded. From ancient lord to eager pupil in a heartbeat.

"Perfect!" he said, his voice warming. "There are ingredients already avai—"

RATTLE—

The word died on his lips.

The earth was shaking.

No. Not the earth. It was the castle itself. The very mountain around them.

It was a ripple. A deep, resonant, organic undulation that passed through the stone like a wave through water. The floor beneath them surged and settled, the walls seemed to breathe, and the towering ceilings groaned as if the entire fortress were a living beast stirred from a deep slumber.

The sensation was like a massive heartbeat echoing through the stone bones of the aerie.

Oathran’s face fell. The mirth evaporated, replaced by a sudden, terrifying blankness. His beautiful cane clattered to the floor His hand flew to his face, fingers clawing at his temples as if trying to tear something out. A low, agonized sound, more vibration than voice, emanated from him.

"My Lord! What’s wrong?!" Serayu was at his side in an instant, her voice sharp with alarm. She didn’t touch him, but her posture was one of desperate readiness.

This castle was an extension of him, a part of his very being. For it to react like this, to convulse... something catastrophic had happened within him.

Bessa stumbled, the wave of stone unsettling her balance. She clutched at the nearest object to steady herself. It was warm, and clothed. She realized, with a jolt, that she was clutching Jenggala’s arm.

The green-haired dragon had already moved to her side, steadying her.

But his attention, like Serayu’s and Lazuardi’s, was locked on Oathran. Their expressions were of horror and comprehension. This was the look of subordinates witnessing the unthinkable destabilization of their pillar.

So this was how dragons see their Dragon Lord. The Lord of the Lords of Beasts. The pinnacle of tangible godhood in their world. And right now, that godhood was... breaking.

"..." Oathran lowered his hand. His eyes, when he opened them, were voids of mist-grey flame and world-ending sorrow. He called his cane back to his hand with a mere thought, the object flying to his grasp.

He leaned on it heavily, his voice dry, cracked, carrying the weight of collapsing stars.

"My beloved needs me."

He said nothing else.

One moment he was there, and the next, he was simply gone. A rush of displaced air, a woosh, and the space where he stood was empty.

As instantly as he vanished, the mountain calmed. The rippling stone stilled. The groaning ceased. The living castle became, once more like a corpse of rock, its soul violently ripped away.

But the horror remained on the faces of the three remaining dragons. They looked at one another, their eyes wide with a shock that bordered on trauma. They had never seen him like that. Not ever.

Bessa’s legs finally gave out completely. The prosthetic limb creaked as she crumpled. Her descent was halted by Jenggala’s swift arm, his attention snapping back to her the moment she moved.

"Serayu," Jenggala asked, his voice uncharacteristically grim as he helped support Bessa, "what in the name of the First just happened?"

The eldest of them, Serayu, shook her head slowly, her violet eyes haunted. "I don’t know. I... I truly don’t."

"Should we inform the Elder Dragon?" Lazuardi asked, all trace of mischief obliterated, replaced by urgency.

Serayu took a shuddering breath, composing herself with visible effort. "We... yes. We must report this to Lord Baswara. But not now. I think... we must stay. We were given a task. We must wait for his return."

Silence descended.

"Or for his call."