Dragon Ball Z: The Beast Within - CH57

[Escarot POV]

“…And where,” King Cold said, “is King Vegeta?”

There it was.

The question I’d been waiting for.

I inhaled once, steady and quiet.

“I killed him.”

Behind Cold, Frieza let out a soft little laugh—one of those high, childish giggles he does when he hears something he thinks is beneath him.

“Ohohoho… my, my,” Frieza chuckled. “How predictable. Leave monkeys alone for five minutes and they start tearing each other apart.”

His voice sounded exactly like I remembered… and yet slightly different.

Higher.

More nasal.

Somewhere between a cartoon villain and a spoiled toddler.

And pink.

Why the hell was he pink?

In the anime he was white.

White and purple.

Here, in person, up close?

He mostly looked like a pissed-off earthworm with jewelry. A very powerful worm at that.

I kept my expression still.

Thinking something rude about Frieza was one thing.

Letting him see it was suicide.

Before Cold could ask anything else, a third voice slipped in from the side—one I hadn’t noticed until now.

“Well now,” a shrill, unimpressed tone said, “that’s quite the answer to give so casually.”

Who the heck is that?

I had failed to notice her until she waddled into my peripheral vision—a short, round, blue creature with a permanent expression of someone smelling something unpleasant.

She adjusted her glasses and stared me down like I’d just failed a performance evaluation.

“And why,” she asked, “did you kill King Vegeta?”

Cold and Frieza were watching me.

Their men were watching me.

My own men were sweating bullets behind me.

I chose my next words very carefully. Deciding to use my one and only card, and the one who forced me to get the damn crown.

“He insulted Lord Beerus,” I said.

Cold’s ki wavered—not enough for anyone normal to notice, but I felt it. Like a tremor through the atmosphere.

Frieza’s tail stiffened mid-swing. His pupils tightened. His smile froze halfway through forming.

Every person with an ounce of political sense in the galaxy knows one thing:

You do not say Lord Beerus’ name unless you have to.

“What did you say?” Frieza asked, voice thinner than before.

I kept my tone steady, like I wasn’t spinning a bomb in my hands.

“I will not tolerate disrespect toward Lord Beerus,” I repeated. “Not from a Saiyan. Not from a king. Not from anyone. He crossed a line, so I removed him.”

Cold’s eyes narrowed just a fraction.

That was all it took for the entire platform to go silent.

Even the wind seemed to stop.

I continued:

“As a loyal follower of Lord Beerus, it’s my duty to protect his name, if it is within my means.”

Frieza let out a shaky laugh—barely controlled.

“Ohoho… my, what a loyal little monkey you are. Imagine that, Father—King Vegeta, disgraced because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut around a god.”

Cold gave no smile.

“And when…” he asked, “did this insult occur?”

Ah.

The follow-up question.

I expected that.

“A while ago,” I lied, mixing in just enough truth to keep my face straight. “The previous king forgot his place. And Lord Beerus made his displeasure known.”

Frieza stiffened at the word displeasure.

The Cold Clan had dealt with Beerus before.

They knew what that meant.

I continued, delivering the second half of the lie:

“So, I acted accordingly.”

Cold’s gaze met mine. “Accordingly… meaning execution?”

“Yes, my Lord,” I said, “I made sure no one on this planet ever forgets who sits above the Saiyans.”

A low hum vibrated from Cold’s chest.

Not anger.

Not amusement.

Approval.

I didn’t relax—not even a centimeter.

The old blue lady eyed me like a schoolteacher grading a failing student.

“Well, that is certainly… decisive of you.”

“It was necessary,” I said.

Frieza snorted. “Oh spare me. Your species only understands violence. You probably couldn’t wait to knock each other around.”

Ah, there it was.

The racist comment… that is, quite factual… huh, does that make it not racist?

Questions for later.

Frieza tilted his head, grinning. “Though I must say, how embarrassing for King Vegeta. To be killed by one of his own kind. By someone younger.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.

He looked like chewed bubblegum.

He was lucky I kept that comment inside my skull. Well, I was lucky I kept it there, but still.

Cold finally spoke again.

“And by Saiyan law, you became King, am I right?”

“Indeed, my Lord,” I answered. “The old king challenged me. I defeated him. That makes me king.”

Cold nodded once.

“If Lord Beerus was truly insulted… then you were right to act.”

Frieza’s eyes flicked toward him, curious.

Cold continued, “Beerus is… unpredictable. Irrational at times. If he had chosen to visit in person and discovered that insult still unpunished—this planet would be space dust.”

Frieza’s tail curled inward.

The old blue lady pressed her lips into a thin, sour line.

Everyone clearly hated that this subject even existed.

I stayed silent and let them think what they wanted.

Cold straightened his posture, cloak shifting behind him.

“Well then,” he said. “It appears we will be conducting business with a new king.”

Frieza looked at me again—longer this time.

“My, my… a change in management,” he said. “How delightful. Saiyans killing Saiyans. I suppose this saves me a great deal of trouble.”

He smiled wide.

Too wide.

“Well, Escarot… King Escarot… I do hope you’re more cooperative than your predecessor. He had a very frustrating habit of pretending his race mattered.”

The insult slid off me.

I had other things to worry about.

Like staying alive.

Cold clasped his hands behind him.

“Very well then,” he said. “Shall we discuss the new terms of our arrangement?”

And there it was.

The moment I’d been dreading.

I bowed—not too low, not too stiff.

“I’m at your service, Lord Cold.”

Frieza chuckled.

King Cold didn’t waste time.

The moment I finished bowing, he stepped forward.

“Well then,” he said, folding his hands behind his back, “let us move on to business.”

Behind me, the Saiyan guards tightened up. Their ki felt jumpy. They were terrified of messing up in front of the Cold Clan.

Cold continued, tone polite enough to feel threatening.

“Planet Vegeta will now transition to working under my son, Frieza.”

He gestured toward his son.

Frieza smiled—slow, pleased, arrogant.

“Indeed. I will now be overseeing you,” he said. “Your missions. Your quotas. Your war operations. Everything.”

He spread his arms out slightly like he was presenting a gift.

“To put it simply: you obey, and I allow you to continue existing.”

He giggled.

I inhaled slowly to keep my expression steady.

Frieza raised a hand, signaling to the soldiers behind him. Three of them marched forward with large metal crates, dropping them in front of us with heavy thuds that echoed across the platform.

Inside were scouters—sleek, polished white and silver models—and compact plasma rifles. High-end tech. Surveillance tools disguised as gifts.

Frieza tapped the top crate with one finger.

“New scouters for your primitive kind. And new weapons. Do try not to break them.”

Then he paused.

His eyes slid back to me.

The smile he made was the kind someone wears when they decide to poke an animal with a stick just to see what sound it makes.

“Before we proceed, I find myself… quite curious.”

He reached into the crate and plucked out a scouter, lifting it delicately like he was handling a piece of candy.

He examined it for a second, then—without breaking eye contact—fitted it onto his face.

“Let’s see what kind of power our… ‘new king of all monkeys’ possesses.”

I could feel the entire platoon behind me tense up. Hopefully keeping it as low as I was keeping it, would satisfy them.

Frieza tilted his head.

The scouter beeped.

Once…

Twice…

Then rapidly, as it adjusted.

Finally:

[28,519]

Frieza blinked.

A small “oh?” slipped out of him.

Then he chuckled—much quieter this time.

“Well now… that’s higher than I expected.”

Cold’s eyes shifted slightly. The old blue lady raised her brows.

Frieza leaned in just a little, scanning me again to be sure.

“28,519,” he repeated. “Considerably above King Vegeta’s last recorded level.”

Behind me, several Saiyans exhaled, shocked—not at my strength, but at the revelation about Vegeta.

Frieza hummed thoughtfully.

Not shocked.

But not dismissive either.

Just… mildly impressed.

And then the smile returned.

Smug.

Mocking.

Demeaning.

“Oh, don’t misunderstand,” he added quickly, waving his hand. “You’re still a monkey. Stronger than the previous monkey in charge, yes—but a monkey nonetheless.”

I kept my expression neutral.

Frieza flicked his tail, amused.

“Still… what a surprise. King Vegeta couldn’t keep his throne from someone not even into the hundred-thousand range. Pathetic. Embarrassing, really.” He chuckled. “Father, can you imagine? Losing to someone with that number?”

Cold gave no visible reaction, but he did study me longer than before.

The old blue lady scribbled something on a tiny device. 

Frieza clicked the scouter off and tossed it carelessly back into the crate.

“Well,” he said, dusting off his hands, “you’re not entirely useless. Consider me… mildly entertained.”

I bowed just enough to show respect without groveling.

“I accept the new equipment, Lord Frieza. It will be put to proper use.”

Frieza grinned wide, pleased by my compliance.

“Oh good. The previous king was always so annoying about receiving orders. You, however, seem to know your place.”

King Cold stepped forward again.

“Your efficiency will be monitored more closely now,” he said. “Ensure your people meet their quotas. Failure will not be tolerated.”

I bowed again.

“I understand, my Lord.”

Frieza’s tail swung lazily behind him.

“See? This is already going better than I expected.” He chuckled. “Your predecessor really was such a headache. You’re far more polite.”

I didn’t respond.

Cold nodded toward the crates.

“Distribute the equipment. From now on, your army functions within Frieza’s command structure.”

Saiyan guards moved slowly, hesitantly, toward the crates. They avoided eye contact with the Cold Clan’s soldiers. They took the scouters like they were accepting cursed objects.

Frieza watched, amused.

Cold turned back to me.

“One more matter, King Escarot.”

I straightened.

“Yes, my Lord?”

Cold’s gaze sharpened just slightly.

“You removed your predecessor because he insulted Lord Beerus. For that, you have my personal gratitude.”

Frieza stiffened. 

Beerus’ name had that effect. A universal “shut up and be careful” button.

I bowed slightly.

“I would never allow disrespect toward Lord Beerus on this planet.”

Cold nodded once.

“Good. Then I expect you will not disappoint.”

My pulse spiked for a second.

Just one second.

Then I bowed again.

“I would never dare.”

Frieza regained his smug posture, arms behind his back, smiling like he was already imagining ways to use me as a paperweight.

“Well,” he said, “This has been amusing. But we have better things to do.”

Cold gestured for his entourage to withdraw.

The soldiers followed.

Frieza turned last, giving me one more look.

A curious one.

“Well then, little king,” he said, “let’s see if you can make your kind behave better than the last one.”

He stepped inside the ship.

The doors hissed.

Locked.

And just like that, the pressure softened—barely—but enough to breathe again.

The guards behind me exhaled in shaky waves behind me.

I didn’t let myself.

Not yet.

Instead, I turned to them and said:

“Take the scouters to the armory. Inventory everything. Report back when finished.”

“Yes, my King!”

They scattered like startled animals.

Finally…

I exhaled.

Today was going to kill me long before Cold or Frieza did.

That said, this had gone better than I expected.

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[POWER LEVEL SECTION]