Beast Gacha System: All Mine

"It’s... war..." Ruby answered. "The eastern people... they are going to massacre the towns on their way here... with poison mist magic."

Roarke widened his eyes.

This was it. This was the purpose of his infiltration here. To gather intelligence, to monitor the Saintess, to uncover the truths that no one else could reach.

And now, standing outside her door, he had just heard something invaluable. A prophecy of war? An eastern attack? Poison mist magic?

This was the kind of information that wouldn’t be widespread like the usual prophecies, this would cement his value to the Luna beyond any doubt.

He knocked on the door, his healer’s persona settling over him like a second skin. "This is Rohan. May I come in?"

Ruby flinched at the sound, and then, unconsciously, a smile crept across her face. Relief. "Y-yes, Father Rohan! Please come in!"

Her voice was bright, almost eager, and she silently thanked everything there was for sending anyone to interrupt this nightmare. Anyone to get rid of this filthy old man!

The Pope’s face tightened with displeasure, but only for a moment. He smoothed his expression back into its grandfatherly mask as the door swung open, and his pale eyes assessed the newcomer.

But seeing the healer’s robes, his wariness eased.

"Ah, Father... Rohan, yes?" The Pope inclined his head magnanimously, as though granting a blessing with the gesture.

"It is nice to finally be in your presence," Roarke said humbly, his dark eyes properly lowered. Then he turned to Ruby, his expression shifting into professional warmth.

"Please forgive me for interrupting, but it is time for the Saintess’s calming tea. Let us try the usual concoction mixed with a heat-dispersing medicine." He paused, as though considering. "Ah, to balance it, Saintess, I know you might not enjoy it as much, but dinner with beef would be good."

"N...no, I quite enjoy beef, so it’ll be pleasant," Ruby said quickly, her voice steadier now, strengthened by the presence of someone who wasn’t the Pope.

"That’s a relief. I’ve notified our cook." Roarke smiled and began preparing the tea. All the while, his mind was racing. He couldn’t help but want to get more detailed information about this.

The reason he had knocked on the door instead of continuing to listen outside was because it would have been damning to be seen lingering alone there, as though eavesdropping.

The temple walls had eyes, and a healer standing frozen outside the Saintess’s door would have drawn questions he couldn’t afford.

At the same time, by entering, he kept the possibility open that the conversation would continue in his presence. He could still gather what he needed.

Also...

"Please forgive me." He bowed his head slightly. "Just now, I overheard the Saintess’s words. It truly was accidental, but was it the vision that caused the Saintess’s breakdown?"

Yes. He, as the healer, had every right to ask about anything related to the Saintess’s health. The Pope could not dismiss him without looking unreasonable.

"Please, I may have overstepped, but I must say this." Roarke lifted his gaze, calmly and resolutely meeting the Pope’s pale eyes without flinching.

"Dear Pope, please be mindful of the Saintess’s mental wellbeing. Asking her point-blank like this might cause her to have another breakdown. It will be best to notify me and the Saintess’s attending priestesses beforehand."

The Pope’s eye twitched. Wasn’t this upstart trying to push him away from his role again? First the fake Saintess, and now this nobody healer, presuming to tell him how to handle his own Saintess?!

"This is a crucial time, and the first of our Saintess’s tribulations. Your Holiness needs to stay at the Saintess’s side to be her strength, and the rest of us will support you. Caution is essential," Roarke said smoothly.

Thanks to that, the Pope’s expression eased again and the flicker of annoyance in his pale eyes dimmed. Well, if he wanted to secure his standing, this much was to be expected.

No, actually, this was the better way to do it. With this healer on his side, he would be justified in controlling the situation. After all, the healer himself was the one who could decide whether the Saintess was stable or not.

Accidentally, Ruby also preferred this outcome. She looked at Father Rohan in a renewed light, her hands finally relaxing.

This meant he wouldn’t let the creepy old man be alone with her. It would be great if there was always a witness. She had never thought she would feel grateful to a contract healer, but here she was, silently blessing him for interrupting.

Roarke himself didn’t know why, but seeing the Saintess’s relieved reaction, he understood something important. Apparently, the Saintess didn’t particularly like the Pope.

That was another interesting piece of information to present to the Luna. Fear. Avoidance? The subtle flinch when the old man drew near. It was even more conscious than when it happened to Arzhen days ago.

To have his mission progress this far in such a short time... could it be the Luna was behind this?

Yes, she had somehow known the Saintess would also have a breakdown at the same time Arzhen did. She had said as much.

But was it possible that she was somehow responsible for both breakdowns? That she had orchestrated this entire scenario, this convergence of crises, to place Father Rohan exactly where he was now?

Perhaps she was that formidable. Roarke kind of believed so.

After finishing brewing the tea, he poured the steaming liquid into the cup, tested its temperature against his own wrist, and then turned to Ruby.

"Drink slowly, Saintess," he murmured, lifting the cup to her lips.

His dark eyes missed nothing. The way Ruby’s hands trembled as she drank, the way her gaze darted toward the Pope and then away, the way her throat worked as she swallowed not just the tea but the fear that had been choking her since the old man entered the room.

Interesting. What was the history between them?

They shouldn’t have known each other much. They hadn’t interacted much, after all. It was only a few months since the new real Saintess’ coronation.

But this seemed deeper than that.

She drank every drop and the warmth spread through her chest, loosening the cold knot of terror that had taken root there. Her breathing finally slowed.

The Pope waited until the last drop had been swallowed, before he spoke again. His voice was soft and coaxing, drawing out more information, "War, eastern people, poison mist magic..." He paused. "Can you elaborate?"

Ruby’s fingers twitched. The tea had calmed her body, but her mind was still racing. She had to be wise. Right now, she couldn’t rely on Nikolas or Arzhen.

This future knowledge she brought from the future, she had to somehow find a way to manipulate it to her own benefit. Not Nikolas’ or the Delanivis family anymore.

She closed her eyes, as though reaching for the memory of the vision. When she spoke, her voice was soft and distant, acting like she was still half-caught in the grip of prophecy.

"The eastern martial cults and alliances... They have united under a new banner. A warlord, a horn like the crescent moon."

"They march on the empire through the mountain passes, and where they go, they leave no survivors. Even the wells... the wells... The poison mist... it rolls down from the peaks like a tide. Whole towns... empty. Gone."

This—!

Roarke stood quietly at the bedside, his healer’s mask firmly in place. But behind it, his assassin’s mind was working feverishly. Eastern martial cults and alliances?!

Only one name emerged in his mind.

Was it... the Divine Cu—

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