Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH58

[Escarot POV]

The moment Cold’s ship pulled away and their ki signatures finally thinned into the distance, I let myself breathe again.

I walked back into the palace, the stupid cloak dragging across the cracked tiles from the flagship’s landing blast. Advisors hovered near the hall entrance, staring at me like I had just negotiated peace with gods.

In a sense, I had.

The doors closed behind me, muting the outside noise. I rubbed my temple.

“Well,” I muttered, “that went… significantly better than expected.”

I’d walked into that shithole expecting at least two dead Saiyans. Maybe three. Possibly me. Frieza liked killing people for punctuation, and according to what I had heard about King Cold, he wasn’t above making an example out of someone just because he found the silence too comfortable.

But no one died. Not one person.

In fact, all things considered, the entire exchange went smooth.

Suspiciously smooth.

Calmly, I replayed the encounter in my mind.

Cold had accepted my explanation about King Vegeta… not happily, but cleanly. Beerus’ name had done the heavy lifting there. Frieza had been unnervingly tame after hearing it.

Lord Beerus really was the ultimate cheat code. Terrifying how effective that was.

Still… I didn’t like how much I relied on it.

And Frieza…

Yeah. He definitely took an interest. That was dangerous. Frieza’s version of “curiosity” usually meant with beings like him that he was deciding where best to insert a knife later.

But he didn’t push.

He didn’t test me further.

He didn’t kill anyone to “establish dominance.”

If that wasn’t a miracle, I didn’t know what was.

I leaned back, exhaling.

“Could’ve been worse.” Much worse.

That was the understatement of the century.

But the moment the relief passed, the headache arrived.

Because now came the real problem.

Their gift.

I wasn’t an idiot, and knew very well, they didn’t give us scouters out of their massive generosity. They didn’t gift us weapons because he wanted us better equipped. None of this was goodwill. It was surveillance disguised as charity.

I knew damn well those scouters were broadcasting everything straight to the Cold Clan.

Conversations.

Power readings.

Movements.

Behaviour patterns.

Political shifts.

All of it.

Frieza didn’t want to empower the Saiyans. He wanted to watch them choke on a leash so tight they’d thank him for it.

I pushed myself up from the throne and walked toward the crates stacked against the far wall, even though I had asked them to take them to the armory. The advisors had neatly organized them—rows of fresh scouters, pristine plasma rifles, polished armor enhancements.

I picked up one of the scouters.

If I were some clueless Saiyan with no knowledge of the larger plot, this would all seem like an upgrade. Better tech, stronger firepower, reliable communication. But I knew better. I’d watched Frieza wipe out the Saiyans with a smile, and it wasn’t because they posed real danger. It was because they might eventually.

Fear disguised as preemptive extermination.

Which meant I needed to adjust my plans. Again.

I wasn’t just King now—I was King of a monitored species. Everything we did from this moment forward had a pair of red eyes watching.

I needed a workaround.

And fortunately, I think I already had one.

Saiyans went off-world frequently. Missions. Conquests. Occupations. Half the military spent more time in space than on the planet. If I distributed the scouters primarily to outbound squads, with the excuse they needed the best of the best to complete their tasks, then…

One, Frieza would get the illusion of compliance.

Two, most spying would happen off-planet, where I didn’t care.

Three, the fewer scouters worn on Vegeta, the less the Cold Clan could track internal affairs.

And four, I could keep a portion of my power hidden behind closed palace walls.

The perfect loophole.

I didn’t smile, but a small part of me felt the satisfaction.

I walked back to the throne and sat again, leaning forward with elbows on my knees.

“Alright,” I muttered. “Plan B. Or C. Or whatever letter I’m on now.”

Step 1:

Assign scouters only to off-world units. Make it seem strategic, not suspicious.

Step 2:

Keep palace members on “traditional operations,” meaning no scouters inside sensitive areas.

Step 3:

Pretend I’m exactly as strong as they think I am. And as loyal as they expect me to be.

Step 4:

Train.

Step 5:

Kill them.

I wasn’t an idiot to assume this had changed the fate of the Saiyans, so I had to kill them… sooner than later.

Footsteps approached behind me.

One of the royal advisors—the older one with the ridiculous mustache—bowed stiffly.

“My King… shall we begin distributing the equipment?”

I nodded. “Yes… Assign the scouters to the units preparing for off-world deployment. Make it seem like an efficiency upgrade.”

He blinked. “Only off-world forces?”

“Yes,” I said evenly. “Scouters are unnecessary for domestic operations. They’ll just clutter communications here. Send them with the squads that need long-range tech.”

He nodded slowly.

He didn’t question me. They just nodded. That’s all they ever did.

They were afraid of me, can’t say I blame them… I did redecorate the room with the brain of the last King, and that ought to leave an impression.

“Right away, my King,” he said, rushing off.

I leaned back on the throne again.

Today, was a win.

A big one.

Still… I had the feeling he’d be back sooner than later. Curiosity was a dangerous trait in tyrants, and Frieza had it in spades.

I sighed again, rubbing my eyes.

“Alright, Escarot,” I muttered to myself. “Time to train.”

I wonder if I can use my food to lure Whis into training me for a bit?

Hmmm

I think I know just the thing to lure those two back to Planet Vegeta.

Pizza.

Plan in motion, I walked into the kitchen—my kitchen, since the castle one was a disaster—and tied an apron around my armor.

“Alright… time to bait two cosmic predators with food.”

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Ten minutes in, the dough was rising beautifully. I diced the meat thin, layered it with sauce I’d perfected months ago, sprinkled the cheese—

And then it happened.

The air shifted.

The lights flickered.

Reality itself paused like it sensed what was coming.

Then—

A purple blur materialized two feet behind me.

“WHAT IS THAT SMELL!?” Beerus shouted. “I MUST HAVE IT! TELL ME WHERE IT IS! OR BE DESTROYED!”

He manifested like a hungry deity being yanked through a wormhole by the scent of good meal. Or a cat that hears a tuna can being opened.

Whis appeared right after him, serene as always, floating with his staff in one hand and a smile that said I absolutely knew this would happen.

“Escarot,” Whis said, “Did you miss us that much?”

“You could say that.”

Beerus’ eyes zeroed in on the pizzas like they were artifacts of untold power.

Whis leaned closer to one tray, humming. “How fascinating. They resemble flat breads yet smell far more complex. What are they called?”

“Pizza.”

Beerus repeated the word like he was reciting scripture. “Piiiiizzaaa…”

He sat on my countertop like a cat claiming ownership of a warm laptop.

I slid the first tray out of the oven.

Beerus snatched it midair.

He didn’t wait. He inhaled three slices like he was trying to speedrun eating.

Whis accepted his slice with elegance, took a single bite, then widened his eyes a fraction, followed by a deep moan.

“Oh my… this is delightful!”

“Of course it is,” I nodded.

Beerus finished an entire pizza before saying a single word.

And that word was:

“More.”

I slid the second tray forward. He tore into it.

Perfect. Now was the time.

“Whis,” I began carefully, “I wanted to ask you something.”

Whis dabbed the corner of his mouth with a napkin—an act I’m fairly sure he does just to show off that he has dignity.

“I’m listening.”

I crossed my arms.

“I want training. Real training. But…” I lowered my voice just slightly, “I want to keep my true power hidden until I’m strong enough to challenge the Cold Clan, so I was thinking.”

Whis tilted his head.

Beerus froze mid-bite.

Like actually froze.

The pizza slice hovered halfway to his mouth while his eyes slid toward me.

Very slowly, he lowered the slice.

“Whis,” Beerus said, voice muffled with pizza still in his cheek, “Don’t answer him yet.”

Whis raised a brow. “My Lord?”

Beerus swallowed loudly.

Then he looked directly at me.

“Escarot… why do you wish to kill Frieza?”

“Because he’s a threat.”

Beerus actually blinked.

“A threat to whom?”

“To me,” I said simply. “If I can help it, I wish to kill him.”

Beerus drummed his fingers on his knee thoughtfully.

Whis looked amused, which was either a good sign or a life-ending one.

Beerus hummed. “Kill Frieza…” He tapped his chin. “Interesting. Very interesting indeed.”

Oh no.

I did not like that tone.

Beerus slapped his hands together. “Alright!”

I jerked slightly. “Alright… what?”

Beerus stood up on the counter. “I’ll train you.”

I blinked.

“Wait—what?”

He pointed at himself proudly. “Me. Lord Beerus. The God of Destruction. I’ll personally oversee your training.”

My soul left my body for a moment.

“Why?” I said, unable to stop the word.

“Because it’ll be fun,” Beerus answered immediately. “And Whis keeps nagging me about taking on an apprentice. So if I must spend time with someone, it might as well be the one creature in this wretched universe who can make food worth chewing.”

Whis placed a hand over his mouth. “My, my. How unexpected. Lord Beerus volunteering to help someone train? You really must be losing your edge.”

Beerus glared. “I am NOT losing my edge!”

“Of course, my Lord,” Whis replied with a grin that said I’m absolutely messing with you.

I waved my hands. “Wait—hold on, Lord Beerus, I don’t want you to waste your time on me.” Or kill me because you tapped me a bit too hard on the back, or sneezed in my general direction. “So, how about you let Whis train me?”

Beerus scoffed loudly. “And I’m telling you I’m taking charge. Whis can help with the technical details or whatever boring things angels do, but the bulk? That’ll be me.”

I rubbed my forehead. “Hurray.”

This was it, I was going to die. 

I overplayed my cards, and now this happened. 

“Yes,” Beerus said proudly.

Whis floated a little closer, resting both hands over his staff. “You should feel honored, Escarot. Lord Beerus rarely takes a personal interest in others. And when he does…” He paused, then smiled lightly. “Well, they usually don’t survive long. But you might.”

“Might?” I asked.

I wonder if I can get reincarnated again…

Beerus grinned. “Don’t worry. I’ll kick you into shape quickly. I won’t hold back. Not even a little. We’ll start with durability training.”

That sounded suspicious.

“…Define durability training.”

Beerus rolled his wrist casually. “I hit you.”

“…How hard?”

Beerus smirked. “Hard enough to see if you die.”

I stared.

He stared back.

Whis giggled.

Oh god, I am going to die… and then by the pecking order that would make Okara the Queen… Oh god, everyone is going to die.

Beerus flopped onto the counter again and reached for more pizza.

“Relax. If you die, Whis can revive you.” Beat. “Probably.”

Whis nodded politely. “As long as thirty percent of the body remains, I should be able to, yes.”

“That’s supposed to comfort me?” I asked.

Whis nodded again with that calm, innocent smile that meant he absolutely enjoyed my suffering.

“Of course. Most mortals find the idea of partial revival very reassuring.”

They do?

Beerus waved a slice of pizza like it was a royal decree.

“Stop whining. You wanted training. Besides, you Saiyans get stronger from near-death beatings, isn’t that right?”

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to.

Beerus took my silence as confirmation.

“Good!” he said. “Then dying a few times means you’ll improve faster. Efficient!”

“Efficient,” I repeated flatly. “Right.”

He nodded proudly. “Exactly. See? Already using that kingly brain of yours.”

I resisted the urge to tell him that I was using my survival brain, because that was the one currently panicking.

Whis tapped his staff lightly on the floor. “Well, Lord Beerus, shall we begin now?”

Beerus inhaled sharply, puffing himself up. “No, no. Not today.”

Oh thank God.

“…I just ate. Exercise after eating is terrible for the body.”

Whis blinked politely. “My Lord, you don’t have a digestive system that functions like—”

Beerus snapped, “I said it’s terrible for the body!”

Whis smiled. “Of course, my Lord.”

Beerus crossed his arms, tail flicking lazily behind him. “We start tomorrow at sunrise.”

…Sunrise.

Great.

“Well then, Escarot,” he said cheerfully, “I look forward to seeing how you perform under Lord Beerus’ personal tutelage. Not many can say they’ve survived it, actually, none have, he has a 0% success rate, wait no, I was wrong, he actually has a negative 10% success rate.”

How in the hell do you get a negative success rate?! Did you kill the diciple of someone else?

“Well, that’s reassuring,” I said again.

Whis tilted his head. “It was?”

Beerus stood abruptly, dusting crumbs off his fur like a man preparing for a business meeting instead of planetary destruction.

“I will return tomorrow,” he declared. “Rest well, little king. You’ll need every ounce of strength.”