Starting Out As The God of Beasts

The moment General Trojan gave the order was the end of the Troll King’s legacy.

The March had already begun.

The earth beneath the western plains of the Hudeii Desert did not merely shake; it groaned under the rhythmic, terrifying thunder of thousands of steel-shod boots.

The grand vanguard of the Holy Kingdom of Varania was on the march.

Hundreds of heavily armored beastmen moved in flawless, terrifying synchronization, a living sea of muscle, fur, scales, and feathers.

"For the glory of the God of Beast"

"For the glory of the God of Beast"

"For the glory of the God of Beast"

"For the glory of the God of Beast"

"Praise him"

"Praise him"

"Praise Lord Varanus"

"Praise Lord Varanus"

"Praise the God of Beast"

"Praise the God of Beast"

They chanted as they marched. In unison, they sang praise to the God of Beast.

For the first time in desert history, the ancestral rivalries of the tribes were entirely erased, forged into a singular weapon of absolute conquest under the banner of the God of Beasts.

The sheer diversity of the legion was breathtaking.

Sleek Fox-kin scouts darted along the flanks, their ears twitching as they mapped the terrain.

Dense phalanxes of heavy-set Hyena-kin and battle-hardened Wolf-kin formed the main infantry lines, their armor plates clanking in rhythm.

Proud Sun Tiger-kin warriors, radiating natural heat, led the elite offensive blocks, while agile Rabbit-kin skirmishers and poison-tipped Frog-kin auxiliary units secured the vanguard’s support lines.

Towering, monolithic Rhino-kin stood like walking fortresses at the center, flanked by savage Jackal-kin, sharp-eyed Hawk-kin soaring through the clouds, and lethal Leopard-kin vanguard elites.

Every single warrior bore weapons that gleamed with a predatory, deep-metallic luster.

They wielded massive broadswords, barbed spears, devastating battle-axes, and dense arrows forged entirely from Varanium steel—the ultra-dense alloy capable of cleaving clean through concrete and sundering high-tier defensive mana.

Serving as battalion captains were formidable Martial Warriors.

They rode atop dozens of tamed Beast-stage F-class Abominations of horrendous forms and mutated shapes—colossal, multi-legged sand-crawlers, armored drakes with dripping mandibles, and tusked behemoths used as terrifying living battering rams for the frontline forces.

For two days, the army executed a relentless, calculated march.

They did not rush blindly into the jaws of the west.

Acting in perfect alignment with the military, hidden Mandraxx agents slipped ahead into the shadows of the valleys, systematically dismantling Norona’s outer sensory arrays, assassinating scouts, and mapping the structural vulnerabilities of the city’s crumbling defenses.

The logistical network, fully sustained by the three internal seas, kept the troops perfectly hydrated and hyper-lethal.

On the dawn of the third day, the dark, jagged silhouette of Norona City finally loomed on the horizon.

There was no negotiation.

There was no hesitation.

With a deafening, unified roar that shattered the icy stagnation of the western air, the legion erupted into a full-scale charge.

The massive beasts tore forward, kicking up a cataclysmic storm of dust, as the battalion captains unsheathed their Varanium blades.

Above the roaring sea of iron, the grand flags of the Holy Kingdom of Varania caught the desert wind, snapping violently as the second invasion of Norona officially crashed through their gates.

"KILL THEM ALL!" they screamed out their lungs.

The second invasion of Norona City has begun.

When the Varanian vanguard collided with the defensive lines, it wasn’t a standard battle—it was a calculated, industrial slaughter.

The years of oppression, slavery, and fear the beastmen had suffered under the rule of the western monsters exploded into a wave of unadulterated, predatory fury.

The battlefield became a chaotic, screaming meat-grinder.

Towering Rhino-kin, their massive bodies encased in thick plates of Varanium armor, charged like roaring mountains through the city gates.

They slammed directly into the defensive phalanxes of heavy Orcs, the sheer kinetic force violently breaking bones and shattering shields into splinters.

"Those damn Tempest bastards, they really did it" a wounded Orc growled, he swung his battle axe but was immediately sliced in half by a Wolf-man.

"It’s Varania, you savage creature" the Wolf-man growled, another Orc attacked and the Orc died as well.

Beheaded in a matter of seconds.

Before the Orcs could recover, packs of Wolf-kin and Jackal-kin swarmed over the breaches, their Varanium steel blades flashing with a cold, lethal light as they cleanly lopped off green-skinned heads and carved through iron armor.

The Trolls, relying on their legendary, rapid cellular regeneration, attempted to hold the secondary streets.

But the Varanian battalion captains had come prepared.

"Burn them down! Leave nothing to heal!" a Sun Tiger-kin captain roared, unleashing a wave of roaring, fire-infused mana from his broadsword.

Varanite fire-arrows and flasks of volatile oil rained down on the Troll lines.

As the buildings around them caught fire, the air became thick with the suffocating, rancid stench of burning Troll flesh.

"Kill the invaders..."

"Kill them...all"

Trolls screamed in pure agony as the searing heat cauterized their wounds mid-battle, rendering their regeneration completely useless.

While they writhed in the flames, Leopard-kin elites leaped from the rooftops, driving dual Varanium daggers directly into the eyes and throats of the giant brutes.

The Goblins, completely terrified by the overwhelming military discipline of the beastmen, broke formation entirely.

They scurried into the narrow alleyways and subterranean tunnels, trying to escape the carnage.

But there was no hiding from the shadows.

Poison-tipped spears from the Frog-kin auxiliary forces pinned them to the stone walls, the fast-acting spatial neurotoxins turning their veins black in seconds.

Mandraxx agents materialized seamlessly within the dark corners, their phantom blades slicing through the throats of entire Goblin squads before they could even utter a warning shriek.

Even the remnants of the heavy Ogre divisions, left leaderless after Ryokan’s death, were systematically hunted down.

A monolithic Ogre swung a massive spiked club, crushing a single beastman warrior, but ten more instantly took his place.

Hyena-kin infantrymen locked their shields around the giant, while agile Rabbit-kin skirmishers darted beneath its heavy swings, severing its hamstrings with razor-sharp Varanium shortswords.

As the massive Ogre crashed to its knees, a battalion captain rode his tusked behemoth directly over its torso, crushing it into the stone floor.

As the army pushed deeper into the heart of Norona, the destruction was absolute.

The beastmen ruthlessly slaughtered every Orc, Troll, Goblin, and Ogre they could lay their eyes on, showing the exact same mercy the west had shown Tempest in the past: none.

Massive siege beasts tore down the dark obsidian pillars of the outer districts, while fire-corps units systematically tossed torches into the structures, burning entire barracks and supply hubs to ash.

The sky above Norona turned a violent, bruised crimson, choked with black smoke and ashes, reflecting the absolute annihilation of the old desert order.

Under the snapping flags of Varania, the western region was being violently erased, one bloodline at a time.