Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 186: Racing Between Rivers

The world dissolved in an inward rush, a sensory blur of spent pleasure, tangled limbs, and dorm-room quiet snapping back into the sharper, colder reality of threat and consequence. The transition was not gentle.

They were back. Back in the sitting room of that fateful night, the day they found out about Ruby’s prophecy. Six people, four men, two women.

"Ha—!" Oathran stumbled, his body lurched as the phantom sensations of a mortal climax and the sudden solidity of stone floor collided. Eastiel’s arm shot out instantly, catching him before he could fall.

"What’s wrong?" Eastiel asked, his brow furrowed in concern. His gaze then snapped to Cecilia, who had also stumbled, caught in the steady hold of Arkai.

For a single, loaded second, Cecilia and Oathran’s eyes met across the room. A universe of understanding passed between them, all compressed into a glance. For the life of him, Oathran couldn’t predict the storm brewing behind her blue-green-grey eyes now.

Then she spoke, and the storm had a direction.

"Let’s use Ruby Vaiva."

Every eye in the room, Eastiel’s sharp gold, Arkai’s calm obsidian, Stevan’s wary green, Angela’s blazing violet, snapped to her.

"What?" the princess asked, disbelieving.

Cecilia stood straighter within Arkai’s supportive hold, her mind visibly racing at a speed that left the room behind.

"If... time is woven from the will of every soul in the world, then there must be infinite versions of reality. But only two timelines have intersected so far. Only two are known. I think it means there are only these two that matter."

She paced the logic out. If human will could bend fate, what about the will of gods?

What if these two parallel rivers of time existed only because divine hands had parted the waters?

Then they were happening simultaneously, destined to merge into a single outcome. They had split when Ruby disappeared. They would meet again when she died. And in that collision, everything would be corrected.

Between the two canons of the universe, which one held a future? The other, the one Ruby remembered, had ended in her death. But this one, their present, could still be split back to the very beginning.

What was the intended result?

"We admire the essence of your soul."

The memory of the voices in the white light echoed. Perhaps... Oathran, Arkai, herself... they were never intended to die at all. Or even if death was a possible thread, they were needed alive for some other, greater fruit to ripen.

Those voices...

Caledfwlch and Morgen.

They had granted the System, or at least ones who wanted something to change. They were likely the ones who had cleaved time, allowing Ruby’s consciousness to swim upstream.

But why Ruby? Why that specific moment, right before her coronation?

The answer was obvious.

If Ruby hadn’t stepped down, Cecilia would never have become Saintess. If Cecilia hadn’t become Saintess, she would have perished. But she would still perish just as she had in the other timeline by Arzhen’s hand in this one.

She had been saved only because the System chose her.

It admired the essence of her soul. A soul tried and tested. Proven for a purpose. A soul capable of bearing its weight.

Thus, that exact pivot in history was chosen.

Ruby’s disappearance. For Cecilia’s ascension. For her to prove her worth. For her to earn the System... all to forge the instrument needed to save Oathran, to save Arkai... and perhaps, to save Eastiel, whose death remained a shadow yet uncast.

"Ruby is the only connection we have to that other timeline. The timeline where we all should’ve died," Cecilia stated. "So, we shouldn’t kill her."

Not because they were afraid they’d trigger another time loop.

She turned, her gaze sweeping the room. "Let’s use her. Use her to find out what happened in that timeline and make sure it doesn’t happen in this one."

"But..." Angela frowned, tapping her nail on the arm of her chair. "How can we control what prophecy that wench is going to spit out?"

"We don’t," Cecilia said. "We let her tell what she wants, and then what she must. If it’s a dangerous prophecy, we pressure her to retract it. But we must still know what the prophecy is. We create the situation where she does what we need."

Oathran stared at her, speechless. This wasn’t the grief-stricken girl from the snowy field or the passionate woman against the door. This was... the Saintess. Returning to the playing field. His Saintess.

"We go with the original plan. The elixir plan, the rival saintess plan. It will goad her. It will force her to prove her accuracy. She’s already ’wrong’ once about Arkai’s death. We make her ’wrong’ again."

She turned her focus to Oathran. "Your Majesty," she said, calm, controlled. "Go to the place Ruby told Arzhen your corpse should have been. Meet him there. And beat him up."

Oathran blinked.

"But," she added, holding up a finger, "not so much that he can’t immediately crawl back to Ruby and cry that her prophecy is ’false’."

She pivoted to Arkai. "Your Majesty," she said, a different softness entering her tone for the wolf. "It’s time you appear in front of Ruby, and everyone in the capital. Remind her she shouldn’t hastily spread unproven prophecies. You are the living proof, after all. And I will be with you. As the ’miracle doctor’."

Arkai’s eyes widened. Then, a slow smile spread across his lips. "Oh." He understood.

Lastly, she turned to Eastiel. "To pressure them more, Eastiel, admit that you were the one who attacked the Delanivis first."

"Eh?" Eastiel flinched, surprised, and visibly delighted that she was finally unleashing him. "Of course! Good! I’ll do it and provoke them until their ears bleed!"

"Do that," Cecilia nodded. "And accuse them of intercepting my prophecies when I was Saintess, preventing warnings from reaching the people, causing the tragedy at Mount Saede unprepared... and will be responsible for every disaster that follows this year."

"Huh?" Eastiel’s grin turned wolfish, although he was supposed to be the lion one. "You... you sure I can provoke them that much?"

"We need to distract them completely," she answered, her voice firm. "Create chaos. Make them defensive, reactive. While they’re looking at the fire in front of them, they won’t see the knife from the side."

"What about me?" Angela leaned forward in her armchair, crossing her legs, a familiar, imperious smirk on her lips. "What do I do now?"

Cecilia met her smirk with a dry, knowing scoff. "Go back to that dungeon and give birth to a son. Let’s place him on the throne next."

Angela scoffed back. Then she turned her gaze to Stevan, who stood stiffly by the wall, his jaw slightly slack. "That’s my plan anyway..."

The path was no longer mere survival or reaction. It must become a multi-pronged assault on fate itself, using their enemy as the key.

For now... she would focus on the System.

The gods, or whoever those vast, amused voices belonged to, had told her the only concrete lead. They had implied the System held the answer.

Therefore, the stronger she and her husbands grew through its power, the more tools they would have. The wider the array of options would become.

She needed options. She needed an outcome where she could sacrifice as little as possible.

"Cecilia."

The gentle voice pulled her from the swirling calculations of power growth and divine gambits. She blinked, the grand strategy receding, and found the present room again.

"Yes, Your Majesty?"

Oathran had moved. He now sat on one of the plush sofas, regally composed, his back straight, his hands resting on his knees. His expression was solemn, courteous, the serene Dragon Lord holding court.

Such a stark contrast to the frantic, whispering boy she’d been entwined with just moments ago in another reality.

He met her gaze, and said—

"William is back. Please say hello to him."