I Got My System Late, But I'll Become Beastgod
Chapter 152: The Name Is Kairav

Chapter 152: The Name Is Kairav

The present-day Vyuk stared at the fire crackling in the distance as he spoke to Aamir, his voice low but steady.

"That was the moment I stopped seeing him as a boy who admired Karunik..."

His fingers tightened around the cup in his hand.

"...and started seeing him as the boy who wanted to destroy everything men like Karunik stood for."

He closed his eyes.

"That was the first time he said it to me, trembling but burning inside—

’Vyuk, I swear... I’ll change this world. I’ll change everything.’"

The story continued, returning to the day the village burned.

Vyuk and Zorawar sat chained in a slave cart, surrounded by sobbing women and bruised children. The wheels groaned beneath them as the caravan rolled slowly over uneven roads, heading toward the slave market.

Zorawar sat silently, staring at the floor of the cart. His eyes were blank. No tears. No words. Just ash on his cheeks and dried blood on his shirt.

Vyuk glanced at him, worried. But he didn’t say anything. What could he say? There were no words left.

The soldiers laughed as they walked beside the carts, mocking the prisoners. One of them — a scar-faced guard — climbed up and stood in front of Zorawar.

"Still sulking, little hero?" he sneered.

Zorawar didn’t respond.

The guard scowled and slammed the butt of his spear into Zorawar’s head. Thud.

"Answer me when I speak!" he growled.

Zorawar’s head jerked forward, blood trickling down his forehead. He still didn’t look up.

The guard leaned in closer, lips curling.

"You fool. Trying to be a hero in a world like this? Hah! In this world, only the powerful rule. If you want to survive, either become powerful..."

"...or just die."

Vyuk clenched his fists, but said nothing. He wanted to scream. To fight. But his arms were tied and his body still ached from the beating earlier.

Karunik rode ahead of the convoy on a white horse, his silver armor now darkened with soot. He looked unbothered — as if the screams and chains behind him were nothing more than background noise.

And then... everything changed.

A man walked onto the path ahead.

He wore a long, faded coat with a hood that covered his face. His hands were in his pockets. A simple sword hung from his waist, but there was nothing flashy about him. No glowing aura. No mana.

Just... silence.

He walked slowly, directly toward the convoy, head slightly tilted down.

A guard raised his hand. "Hey! Move aside, old man!"

The man didn’t stop.

"Didn’t you hear me?! You’re in the way of Sir Karunik!"

The man’s voice was calm. Almost polite.

"Didn’t you see you’re in my way too? Did I say anything about it?"

The guard frowned, gripping his spear. "You piece of shi—"

He didn’t get to finish.

Shing—

A flash.

Then silence.

The guard’s head dropped to the ground, bouncing once... twice... like a kicked ball.

The other soldiers froze in place. Blood sprayed across the dirt road.

The man sighed softly, tilting his head.

"I don’t like it when people pretend they’re gods."

His hand returned to his side, the sword already back in its sheath — like it had never left.

The prisoners in the carts went quiet. Even the horses sensed it — they shifted uneasily, snorting and stepping back.

Karunik slowed his horse, eyes narrowing.

The mysterious man took another step forward.

The man stood calmly in the middle of the road, his sword still at his side.

"There is no god," he said quietly.

"Because if there was... the ones who pray to him the hardest wouldn’t be starving. They wouldn’t die under boots like yours."

His voice sharpened. His eyes fixed on Karunik.

"Especially not by hands like yours."

He pointed.

Karunik halted his horse and jumped down. His boots hit the dirt with a heavy thud. He removed his cloak and stretched his neck slowly, then laughed—low and cold.

"Oh yeah?" Karunik said, eyes gleaming with madness.

"Good guess. I don’t think I’m a god, either. People call me something else..."

He cracked his knuckles.

"...They call me the devil."

The hooded man met his stare, calm as ever.

"Then I’ll purify your soul."

Karunik roared and lunged forward, sword flashing in the sunlight.

But the man vanished.

He twisted away with strange, fluid footwork — faster than anyone expected — and reappeared beside the slave carts.

"What—?!" Karunik turned, blade missing nothing but air.

In one smooth swing, the mysterious man sliced open the wooden bars of the slave cart.

The prisoners gasped.

The lock clattered to the ground.

"Hai, kid. Go. Run." the man said.

Zorawar blinked. His blank eyes came alive for a second.

He looked at the open gate, then at the people inside. A woman sat beside him, holding a child.

Zorawar didn’t hesitate.

"Miss, go first!" he said, helping her out.

He reached for an older man. "You too, hurry!"

The man watched him from the side, and a rare smile touched his lips.

This boy... even now... thinks of others.

Karunik growled, lunging again.

Steel clashed.

This time, the man didn’t dodge.

He blocked.

Clang!

With one motion, the mysterious man deflected Karunik’s sword, sending sparks into the air.

Then — shink!

In a single strike, he sliced Karunik’s sword clean in half.

The broken blade dropped to the ground with a dull clang.

The man’s voice was like thunder in the sudden silence.

"Leave. Now. Or next time... it’ll be your neck."

Karunik’s eyes blazed.

"Oh yeah? Try me!"

He threw a punch — fast, strong, brutal.

But the man’s blade moved faster.

Slice!

A scream tore through the air.

Karunik’s arm hit the dirt, fingers still twitching. Blood sprayed like a fountain.

"AAAAARGH!" Karunik roared, falling to his knees.

He clutched the stump, face twisted in agony.

"I’LL FIND YOU! I’LL KILL YOU FOR THIS!" he screamed.

But he didn’t stay.

Karunik turned and ran — stumbling, bleeding, swearing.

The soldiers saw their commander flee and panicked. The mysterious man didn’t chase them. One by one, he dismantled every guard who dared to attack. Every movement was efficient, clean, deadly.

When the dust settled, only the freed villagers, Vyuk, and Zorawar remained — shocked, panting, staring.

The man turned.

Zorawar stared at him, as did Vyuk. Blood still covered their faces, but their eyes burned with life again.

The man tilted his head.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice quieter now.

Zorawar stepped forward, still wincing.

"Thanks... for leaving him alive."

The man raised an eyebrow beneath his hood.

"Strange."

"He massacred your village. Sold you as a slave. And yet... you thank me?"

Zorawar’s jaw tightened.

"Yeah... because now, I can kill him myself."

The man blinked.

Then, unexpectedly... he laughed.

A low, awkward, half-surprised laugh — like he hadn’t done it in years.

The man’s laugh faded slowly.

He looked at Zorawar again, this time more carefully. There was no longer just pity or curiosity in his eyes—there was respect.

"You’ve got good fire, kid," he said.

"Most people break after what you just went through. You... you didn’t."

Zorawar didn’t reply. His fists were still clenched. His legs still shaking.

Vyuk coughed behind him.

"Zor... is he gone?"

Zorawar turned quickly, kneeling beside him. "He is. You’re safe."

The man walked over and glanced at Vyuk’s bleeding arm. Then at the other freed prisoners.

"You two aren’t the only ones who need help."

Without waiting, he ripped part of his cloak and began tying it around Vyuk’s wound.

"W-Who are you...?" Vyuk asked, his voice weak.

The man didn’t answer right away.

He glanced toward the direction Karunik had escaped.

"Just a man who got tired of watching cowards wear crowns."

He stood up.

Villagers began stepping out from the carts slowly, unsure if it was really over. Mothers held their children. Old men leaned on each other. Some people cried silently. Others were still frozen, staring at the blood in the dirt.

Zorawar looked at the man again. "They’ll come back. He’s not the type to let this go."

The man nodded.

"Then next time, we kill him."

Zorawar swallowed. "What’s your name?"

The man hesitated again... then looked up at the smoky sky.

"...Call me Kairav."

Vyuk coughed. "That name... I’ve read it before..."

Kairav didn’t answer. His face remained unreadable.

Suddenly, he turned and walked to the broken carts. He lifted a fallen axe and began smashing the remaining chains and locks.

"You two," he said. "Come with me. If you stay here, you’ll be hunted again by nightfall."

"But the others—" Zorawar began.

"I’ll guide them to safety first," Kairav said. "There’s a path through the forest. A hidden temple. A healer waits there."

He looked back at Zorawar.

"You’re not ready for revenge. Not yet. But I can teach you how to survive it."

Zorawar stared at him, chest rising and falling.

Vyuk sat up straighter.

"We’ll come."

Kairav gave a short nod. "Then help me move the injured. We leave before sunset."

later that day....

As the sun begins to set

The wind carried the last embers from the destroyed village. Broken roofs still crackled with dying flames.

Zorawar stood beside Vyuk and Kairav, watching the survivors walk quietly toward the woods.

Priya walked too — limping but proud. She turned her head and looked back one last time.

Zorawar followed her gaze.

The place where they grew up was gone.

But something new had begun. A fire not of destruction — but of purpose.

Zorawar whispered to himself, "I’ll find him. I’ll become strong enough to end him. For everyone."

Vyuk heard it.

And for the first time in hours, he smiled.