Beast Gacha System: All Mine-Chapter 270: Progressive

A goodbye was a goodbye.

There was nothing anyone could do to stop it, so better make it actually good.

The hill where the cemetery lay was still wrapped in winter’s grip, the snow having settled into a hard, crystalline crust that crunched underfoot with each step. 𝘧𝓇ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝘣𝓃ℴ𝓋𝑒𝑙.𝑐𝘰𝑚

The trees that lined the path were still as skeletal, their branches bare against a sky the color of old pearls, but here and there, stubborn evergreens stood, their dark needles quite a stark contrast against the white.

Cecilia walked alone.

Her boots left deep impressions in the snow, marking it temporarily because surely the wind would erase them by morning.

In her arms, she carried a large bouquet. Red flowers, dozens of them, in every shade from crimson to burgundy to the bright, almost bloody scarlet of fresh poppies. Their petals were velvety against the winter pallor, splashes of warmth in the frozen landscape.

Summer Silver’s favorite.

Just like the two bottles of alcohol clinked softly in a bag hooked over her wrist.

She reached the grave.

Dr. Summer Silver’s stone was simple, unadorned. The snow had gathered on its top, a white cap that softened the edges.

Cecilia stopped and looked down at the stone.

A grin spread across her face.

"I’m back."

***

In the Dawnoro patriarch’s office, the atmosphere was decidedly less warm.

August sat, his expression carved from the same ice that covered the northern lands outside his windows. His hands were folded before him, still.

Before him, on the sofa that had become far too familiar with unexpected guests, sat two men.

The first was beautiful. There was no other word for it. Long, straight blonde hair fell past his shoulders, catching the firelight and turning it to gold. His features were sharp, elegant, leonine, the kind of face that belonged on ancient coins or the prow of a warship.

He smiled, and the expression was warm, pleasant, and unreadable.

Beside him, an older man sat with his arms crossed, his posture radiating displeasure. He was weathered, the kind of man who had seen too much and was too old to pretend otherwise.

His beard was thick, his eyes sharp beneath heavy brows, and he grumbled under his breath.

August didn’t know how to react.

He knew exactly who they were. The blonde one was Eliam Edengold. Patriarch of the southern magic household. Ruler of territories that rivaled kingdoms. The father of the boy who had somehow entangled himself with the woman who was now engaged to August’s son.

The grumbling one was Baswara. Former Headmaster of the Athenaeum. Battle mage of such renown that his name was still spoken in military circles with awe and fear. A man who, in his prime, could have destroyed two or three established magic houses in a single campaign.

And they were both sitting in his office.

"What brought you two—"

"You’re not like our sons, August." Eliam’s voice cut through August’s words, yet so light, polite and pleasant. He smiled wider, showing teeth. "Even though they don’t mind sharing, you mind. Right?"

The last word was directed at Baswara, who raised his chin and glared at August with the kind of disdain that could strip paint.

"That girl was supposed to be my boy’s wife." Baswara’s voice was gravel, low and dangerous. "Not yours."

August’s eyes narrowed. His hands remained still on the desk, but something cold flickered behind his gaze.

"Why blame me when she was the one who accepted?" His voice was ice. "My daughter-in-law was the one who wante—"

"Bullshit." Baswara scoffed. "You were forcing her to hide your own family’s scandal."

August’s jaw tightened.

"Family scandal?" Eliam leaned forward slightly, his smile never wavering. "Interesting." He tilted his head, those golden eyes, so like his son’s, gleaming with something that might have been amusement. "Mind telling me before I ask my son myself?"

He already knew. This lion already knew everything.

August’s face folded.

Wrath twisted his features, carved lines into his face that hadn’t been there moments before. His hands, still folded, were white-knuckled now.

"How dare you two."

Eliam rolled his eyes, almost too casual for a man of his stature.

"Eastiel has changed these days." His voice carried a note of something that might have been wonder, might have been concern, might have been the particular bemusement of a father watching his child become something unexpected. "He somehow grew stronger. Leaps and bounds beyond my expectations."

The other two men turned their attention to the blonde man. The firelight caught his hair, turned it to molten gold, and for a moment he looked less like a man and more like something from old myths.

"He slapped two of my generals across the face." Eliam’s tone was almost conversational. "Made them kneel." A pause. "Then he took over the family’s army and broke them down to tears with grueling training."

He sighed, long and slow.

"It is honestly a bit alarming, even to me."

Baswara’s eyes narrowed. Come to think of it, he had noticed changes in Oathran. Not the same as Eastiel’s, perhaps, but changes nonetheless. The boy was different. More settled. Less like a blade waiting to fall.

August, too, had noticed the shift in Arkai. His son had always been dutiful, obedient, predictable. But recently—

"After they met Cecilia Araceli." Baswara’s voice was certain. He voiced what the other two were already thinking.

"My boy started drinking knowledge like vacuum." The old man shook his head slowly. "Collecting magic theories in his room. It feels like he’s gone mad."

August frowned deeper.

It was only the first day of school. He had only noticed the change in Arkai for a few days, less time than these two, whose sons had met Cecilia much earlier. But still. Arkai had gone against his orders. Had defied him. That was quite a shift in itself.

"I am actually quite surprised we don’t see Anton Vasiliev here." Eliam’s voice was light, almost amused. "It seems after your boy beat his son, he decided not to take part in this mess anymore."

"Wouldn’t your son beat him up too if he was around when whatever-it-was happened?" Baswara asked.

Eliam scoffed. "Certainly."

August’s jaw tightened. The Vasilievs were his distant relations. Not close enough to be family, not distant enough to be irrelevant. Anton’s absence might be a statement in itself.

"If we want to know what Cecilia Araceli is," August said, cold, measured, "and how she’s influencing our sons, shouldn’t we ask you, Professor Baswara?"

"I don’t care." Eliam raised both hands, his smile widening. "I actually like my son more now than before. He becomes more like his mother. I can’t complain."

"And I don’t understand what you mean." Baswara’s glare could have melted steel. "Cecilia Araceli is not the problem here."

August stared at him. The old man vouched for her? And now he sat in the Dawnoro office, surrounded by enemies, declaring her innocent?

"Then why are you two here?" August’s voice was sharp. "Spit it out."

"Terms." Eliam’s smile didn’t waver. "At least for me, I want terms."

Baswara crossed his arms, his expression settling into something hard and immovable. "And I want to make sure you’re not trying to force that girl into an unfair situation, Dawnoro." His chin lifted. "That girl is my girl as much as my boy is."

August was speechless.

He had been right. These two powers, the southern lion and the academics were backing Cecilia Araceli.

"Well." Eliam leaned back into the sofa, his golden eyes gleaming. "For me, because I’m sure no one can control my son once my wife and I are gone, I need that girl around." He spread his hands. "He wouldn’t be able to function as an admirable member of society without her." A pause, more serious. "Worse, he might cause wars for no reason."

He turned to Baswara. "Do you not want the same thing, Professor?"

"No." Baswara’s voice was flat. "I don’t care about the kids’ romantic endeavors."

Eliam nodded slowly. "Admirable." His smile was almost genuine. "You are the most progressive man here, despite how you look."

Baswara grunted.

August watched them, these two strange, powerful men who had come to his office with demands and accusations and terms. They agreed with each other. They disagreed with him. They sat on his sofa like it was their own, drinking his tea, speaking of his daughter-in-law like she was theirs to protect.

He had never felt more lost in his life.