I Got My System Late, But I'll Become Beastgod-Chapter 126: The General’s Last Stand

The battlefield simmered with smoke and silence. The corpses of the corrupted monsters twitched no more, cut down by Haider Ali’s unrelenting blade.

He stood alone amidst the carnage — shoulders broad, blood streaming from his wounds, sword dripping with black filth. His armor was cracked and torn in places, revealing bruised skin and seared flesh.

But his eyes...

They still burned with the fire of a warrior who refused to yield.

From the smoke, Zorwath emerged — unhurried, unbothered, as if he were walking through a graveyard of his own making.

"That sword of yours..." Zorwath said, his voice calm and cruel, "quite the legacy. But even legacies fall. And yours ends tonight."

Haider’s eyes didn’t flinch. But deep inside, the memories of fallen comrades passed through him like ghosts — brothers-in-arms lost to time, warriors who stood with him when Aryavrata was nothing but scattered clans.

"Their legacies live through me," he murmured under his breath. "And tonight, I live through them."

"So... Talk less. Fight more."

Zorwath grinned like a serpent.

"As you wish."

The air grew heavy, warping around Zorwath as he raised his right hand.

The ground beneath him blackened.

Then — a swirling vortex of crimson and violet energy erupted in his palm. Like molten lava turning to steel, it solidified into a massive jagged blade, curved and chaotic, as if forged from the rage of forgotten gods.

The shadows howled as he gripped it.

"This is no ordinary sword. It’s my essence. My will. My curse."

Zorwath’s aura thickened, like the breath of a collapsing world. The shadows bent to him, not as servants, but as worshippers. His very presence poisoned the air.

"Even your gods would kneel, if they still dared walk this plane," he said.

He pointed it at Haider.

"Let me show you how despair is carved into history."

Meanwhile, on the distant edge of the battlefield...

Aamir, bloodied and barely conscious, was being carried swiftly through the debris-strewn field by Aryavratan soldiers. Seenu, face torn between worry and fury, walked beside him, dragging his shattered arm but refusing to leave his brother’s side.

Aamir’s eyes flickered open for a moment.

Then... his expression changed.

He couldn’t speak, but he felt it —

a thread inside his chest, a connection... beginning to fray.

Something sacred was being severed.

His breath caught.

"Master..." he murmured faintly, eyes glazing as the bond wavered like a dying flame. Memories flashed before his eyes like pictures.

The room was suffocating — gravity turned into an invisible beast pressing down with unrelenting weight. Inside, Aamir stumbled to his knees, sweat dripping from his brow, arms shaking.

Beside him, Seenu gasped, clutching his ribs, struggling just to breathe.

Haider Ali stood tall. Unmoved. Untouched.

"Stand up, both of you." His voice echoed like thunder. "The battlefield won’t lower its weight for your comfort."

You think pain is your enemy," Haider barked. "But pain is just proof you’re alive. Weakness... now that is what kills."

Seenu collapsed again. Blood trickled from his nose. Aamir turned toward him, but Haider stepped between.

"No help. No mercy."

His eyes drilled into theirs.

"Out there, no one’s coming. You either get up... or you die lying down."

"Sir... my ribs..." Aamir groaned.

"Will heal," Haider replied sharply. "But your spirit? That doesn’t grow back."

Seenu, jaw clenched, pushed himself up, his eyes burning with pain and pride.

From outside the glass observation platform, Afreen watched them — expression tight, arms folded.

King Veerendra appeared beside her. His brows furrowed as he watched the boys collapse and rise, again and again.

"They’re still kids, Haider," he muttered under his breath.

Haider didn’t even glance back.

"One is a storm waiting to be shaped..." he said quietly. "...and the other is fire yet to realize it can burn the sky."

Back to the present...

CLAAAANG!

A thunderous collision shook the earth as Haider parried the first strike from Zorwath’s newly forged blade. Sparks exploded like fireworks, and Haider was hurled back — tumbling across stone and ash.

But he didn’t stay down.

He rose. Again. And again.

His breathing ragged, his stance firm.

Zorwath dashed forward — a blur of malice and motion, launching a storm of savage slashes.

Haider blocked. Dodged. Countered.

Each blow shook his bones.

Each strike carved deeper into his armor and flesh.

But he endured — not as a man, but as a wall.

"The blade of kings. The wrath of the righteous."

Haider’s voice was calm, reverent.

"If my ancestors are watching... let them guide my hand."

"Zulfikar’s Judgement."

Haider whispered the words like a prayer, then crossed his twin blades together. A radiant light surged from their edges, forming the outline of a double-edged spiritual sword over his own — glowing with crimson fire and golden integrity.

A symbol of divine justice.

He swung.

The light screamed as it cleaved through air — and Zorwath was forced to block with both hands, the ground behind him splitting like a canyon.

"Tch... impressive."

Blood trickled from Zorwath’s lip. His first expression of pain.

Haider looked up his eyes gleaming with memories of past.

Aamir and Seenu sat on a stone bench after hours of relentless sparring — faces bruised, knuckles split, muscles burning.

Haider knelt in front of them.

"I never play favorites," he said quietly.

Aamir looked up, surprised.

"I never treat one student better than another." His voice was low, firm. "But that doesn’t mean I treat all of you the same."

"You two? You don’t need my mercy. You need my truth."

He placed his palm against Aamir’s chest.

"There will be a day when I’m not standing in front of you."

He tapped Seenu’s head.

"When that day comes... your heart will have to decide what to protect—"

"—and your mind will have to choose how to strike."

He turned to leave, his voice barely a whisper:

"The weight I bear... someday, it will be yours."

Back to the battlefield...

Haider stepped forward, eyes unshaken.

"You’re not the first to call yourself a god. I’ve broken tyrants bigger than you."

"You think immortality makes you divine?"

Haider spat blood and wiped his face.

"All I see is a scared god, hiding behind borrowed power."

He raised his blade again.

"And I’ll do it again."

Zorwath roared in anger, black chains of void energy erupting around him, hurtling toward Haider.

"Drown in your honor, fool!"

"Dragon Vein Surge: Second Flow!"

Veins of light burst across Haider’s arms and chest like lightning caught beneath skin. His body surged with ancestral power — not summoned, but awakened.

The earth trembled beneath his feet.

Haider’s chest glowed as he invoked his inner core. A pulse of pure life force shattered the chains midair.

Then—he vanished.

A blink.

A slash.

Zorwath howled as a deep cut tore across his chest.

Another blink.

Another cut.

Haider reappeared above.

"Lion Fang Descent!"

His blade came crashing down like a divine meteor —

BOOOOM!

Zorwath was slammed into the ground, half-buried in a crater.

But Haider stumbled. His arms trembled.

Blood poured freely now from wounds old and new. His breath was a wheeze. His legs buckled—

—but he stood again.

Like a dying mountain still holding the sky.

Zorwath rose. Slowly.

Cracks ran across his body. Rage burned in his eyes.

"You dare... humiliate me?"

He struck back — fast, furious, savage.

Blade to blade. Power to power. Mortal grit against immortal evil.

Far away...

Aamir gasped again, blood from his lips as he gripped a soldier’s arm.

"Stop—!"

His hand went limp.

And then—he felt it.

A single thread... snapped.

He didn’t need to see it. He knew.

The world suddenly felt colder. Like someone had turned off the sun.

He gritted his teeth as his heart screamed — louder than the battlefield

A void opened in his chest.

He knew.

"Haider... sir..."

A tear slid from the corner of his eye, mixing with dust and blood.

The night had been quiet. Too quiet. The kind of silence that comes after a thousand battles and a thousand regrets.

"You don’t talk about your legacy much," Afreen had said. "Are you afraid?"

Haider had stared at the flames. "I’m not afraid of being forgotten," he replied. "I’m afraid of being remembered for the wrong things."

Afreen once asked, as Haider poured tea into two cups beside the fire,

"Do you really believe those boys can carry your burden?"

Haider looked up, his eyes reflecting the flames.

"No."

"I believe they’ll carry their own... and choose to carry mine."

Final Moments

Haider was now on one knee, sword cracked, vision fading.

But Zorwath had wounds too. Deep, cursed, and eternal.

Haider raised his head one last time.

"My body may fall... but my will is carved into every warrior I’ve trained... and every enemy I’ve slain."

He gripped the hilt of his shattered blade.

"Remember this, Zorwath."

"Even in death—

I. Do. Not. Bow."

Zorwath raised his sword for the final strike.

And just before it fell—

Haider flung his sword upward, one final, reckless arc of defiance—

CLAAAAANG!

The blades met.

The impact shattered Haider’s weapon completely.

And then—

Silence.

Zorwath’s sword drove down.

Right through the chest of the last standing general of Aryavrata.

The clouds above split.

A quiet wind swept through the field.

Haider Ali’s eyes stared into the storm... until they saw no more.

And yet...

The enemy took a step back.

For even as his heart stopped, Haider’s body remained upright — eyes open, face fierce, still kneeling but unbroken.

Like a statue left behind by the gods.

This content is taken from fr(e)ewebn(o)vel.𝓬𝓸𝓶