I Got My System Late, But I'll Become Beastgod
Chapter 150: The Arrival of the Hero

Chapter 150: The Arrival of the Hero

The sun hung lazily over Vedanpur, casting a soft golden haze over the village rooftops. It was a peaceful afternoon, the kind where time slowed and everything felt safe. On the edge of the village, in a clearing where the grass reached their knees, Zorawar and Vyuk wrestled with a broken wooden wheel, trying to convert it into some sort of battle chariot for their imaginary crusade.

"No, no," Vyuk grunted, trying to wedge a rock beneath the wheel. "If we add one more spoke here, it won’t spin. It’ll break."

Zorawar frowned. "You just don’t see the vision."

Before Vyuk could argue back, a boy no older than them came running down the dusty path, hair sticking to his forehead, panting with urgency.

"Vyuk! Zorawar!" he shouted. "You won’t believe it!"

They both stood upright, wiping sweat from their brows.

"What is it, Nishu?" Vyuk asked.

The boy caught his breath. "The Holy Knight! Karunik! He’s coming to our village!"

Zorawar’s eyes went wide, heart skipping a beat. "What? Really? Are you serious?"

Vyuk squinted. "Are you joking again? Didn’t you say a sky serpent was spotted near the well last week?"

"No! I swear! The village chief said it himself. He’s coming today!"

Zorawar stepped forward, grabbing Nishu by the shoulders. "Did he say why? Is there danger nearby? Or is he here just to bless the village?"

Nishu shrugged, still breathless. "I don’t know! Maybe just passing through... but the chief told everyone to prepare offerings!"

Vyuk muttered, "Great. So now we’re supposed to pretend we’re something we’re not."

Zorawar ignored him, already lost in a whirlwind of thoughts. "If I meet him... I’ll ask how he trained without mana. I’ll ask everything!"

Zorawar dropped the stick in his hand and bolted. "Amma has to know!"

The orphanage at the village’s southern edge was a small home made of mud bricks and warmth. The walls might have cracked and the roof sagged during rains, but inside it was full of laughter, the smell of spices, and the gentle voice of an old woman who the children called "Amma."

Zorawar burst through the door, almost tripping over a toddler crawling near the entrance.

"Amma! Is it true?" he shouted, breathless. "Is Karunik really coming?"

Amma looked up from grinding herbs in a bowl, her eyes kind but tired. "So the winds have carried the news to your ears already? Yes, my child. The hero you speak of is coming."

The children inside crowded around Zorawar, their eyes wide with curiosity. "Will he ride a golden horse?" one asked. "Will he bring sweets?"

Zorawar grinned and ruffled the child’s hair. "He’s not a king. But he’s better — a knight. A real one."

Amma gave a weary sigh, her stirring slowing. "Knights are just men, Zorawar. Don’t place stars in your eyes too soon."

Vyuk leaned against the doorway, arms folded. "You’re sure it’s not another visiting merchant?"

She smiled. "I heard it from the chief himself this morning. He asked the villagers to prepare."

Zorawar’s face lit up. "We have to help! Vyuk, let’s go!"

They spent the rest of the afternoon running around the village. The streets were buzzing with activity. Banners of green and gold were being strung between rooftops. Women arranged fresh marigold garlands while children polished the best brass utensils. Carpenters brought out their finest works, hoping to impress. Even the blacksmith lit his furnace anew, intending to gift a blade.

Vyuk helped an elder lift a heavy beam for a stage platform, wiping sweat from his brow. Zorawar ran past with a basket of flowers, nearly tripping over a goat. They both laughed, bumping shoulders.

Zorawar paused for a second as he passed a group of little kids drawing in the dirt with sticks.

"He’s really coming, huh?" one whispered.

Zorawar bent down. "Don’t be scared of how tall he is. He’s kind. He protects people."

"Will he stay here forever?" another girl asked.

"Maybe," Zorawar lied gently. "Maybe he’ll build us a fortress."

"We’ll get a good spot to see him, right?" Zorawar asked.

"If you don’t trip over yourself first," Vyuk teased.

An old man overheard them and chuckled. "Just don’t faint when you see him, boy."

"I might," Zorawar replied with a grin. "Depends how shiny his armor is."

Zorawar couldn’t contain his joy. This is the man who fights without magic. Like me. One day, I’ll be like him.

Vyuk remained quieter. He smiled when needed, helped string flags, but his eyes often strayed to the soldiers setting up tents on the outskirts.

When Karunik arrived at twilight, the village gathered in the square. The sky turned amber as he rode in on a snow-white steed, his silver armor gleaming. He dismounted gracefully, removed his helmet, and offered a radiant smile.

He raised a hand, letting silence fall. "I greet you not as a warrior... but as a humble servant of Aryavrata."

The crowd murmured in awe. Some even knelt. Children stared at him like he was a god come to life.

An old woman with a crooked cane reached out to bless Karunik, but he only gave her a brief nod before moving on.

Vyuk frowned. "Did you see that?"

Zorawar blinked. "See what?"

"He skipped her. Didn’t even smile."

Zorawar shook his head. "He’s a knight, Vyuk. Not a saint."

Cheers erupted.

He walked through the crowd, greeting elders with reverence, tousling the hair of young children. When he passed the carpenters and potters, he paused to admire their work.

"Such detail. Aryavrata is blessed to have you craftsmen," he said, his voice deep and reassuring.

Zorawar stood near the front, practically shaking. "He’s even greater than I imagined."

Vyuk, standing beside him, nodded slowly. "Yeah... but look at his eyes."

Zorawar blinked. "What about them?"

Vyuk lowered his voice. "He doesn’t look at people. He scans them. Like he’s measuring something."

Zorawar blinked. "He’s a knight, Vyuk. Maybe he’s just... aware. You know, trained."

Vyuk didn’t answer. His eyes followed Karunik as the knight’s gaze lingered too long on a group of young women. He didn’t like it. Not one bit.

That evening, a banquet was held in Karunik’s honor. The village chief welcomed him personally, presenting him with a robe and carved spear. Beside the chief stood his daughter, Priya — known for her calm wisdom and healing hands. Karunik took her hand, kissing it lightly.

"May Aryavrata bless your beauty," he said.

Her hand remained stiff in his grasp, and her smile did not reach her eyes. The air between them shifted slightly — just enough for Vyuk to notice.

She offered a polite smile, but Vyuk noticed her flinch.

The chief shifted awkwardly, but said nothing. A few elders glanced at each other, uncertain.

Vyuk noticed how Priya’s smile dropped the moment Karunik turned away. Her shoulders tightened.

She turned and walked off quickly, her footsteps fast — not graceful like usual.

Late into the night, while most villagers slept peacefully, Priya moved through the village alone, carrying herbal poultices to an injured child. But halfway down the path, she stopped. Karunik stood in her way, half-shrouded in shadows.

"Out late, are we?" he said.

She bowed slightly. "A child was burned this morning. I was delivering salves."

He stepped closer. "You shouldn’t walk alone at night."

She tried to step around him, but he grabbed her wrist.

"Let go," she whispered, firm and calm.

Her elbow connected with his ribs, but he didn’t flinch. His grip tightened. "Don’t be stupid," he growled. "No one will believe you."

"Someone will," she hissed, and with one final twist, she yanked herself sideways — just as a stone whizzed through the air.

Karunik’s smile faded.

When she resisted harder, he shoved her against the wall.

A moment later, a rock smashed into his shoulder.

A teenage boy had seen the scuffle and raised the alarm. Karunik fled, disappearing into the shadows before more could arrive. Priya was bruised but alive.

The next morning, the village erupted in confusion. Some refused to believe it.

A potter shook his head. "There must be a mistake. Karunik helped defend Amarputh from a demon beast’s attack last year."

A mother holding her child whispered, "But Priya wouldn’t lie... she’s not the kind."

A soldier in Karunik’s squad looked pale, glancing between the crowd and the horizon. "He disappeared last night... no word since."

"Karunik? The Holy Knight? No... impossible."

Others stood in fury, surrounding the chief’s house.

And Zorawar sat alone beneath the banyan tree, staring at the stick he used to call a sword.

His hero wasn’t real.

Everything he believed in had started to fall apart.

Vyuk approached silently and sat beside him. Neither spoke for a while.

"I used to think he was like us," Zorawar finally said. "A man without magic... proving he could be great."

Vyuk’s voice was low. "He proved something, alright."

The wind rustled the banyan leaves above, but neither boy looked up.

Zorawar looked at his hands, dirt beneath his nails. He clenched his fist, then opened it again slowly.

"All my life, I thought he was proof. Proof that we don’t need magic to matter."

Vyuk sat beside him, arms resting on his knees. "Maybe he was. Just... in the opposite way."