Starting Out As The God of Beasts

The warm, golden twilight of the Varanial Region filtered through the towering arched windows of the grand sanctuary chambers.

Inside, Roy stood motionless in his majestic Crimson Wolf-man form.

His broad, furred shoulders were draped in the heavy folds of his gold-embroidered cloak, his clawed hands resting casually upon the marble sill as he looked out over the thriving Holy City below.

From this lofty vantage point, the capital was a breath-taking spectacle.

Wide, pristine stone avenues bustled with thousands of beastmen—families walking together, merchants calling out their wares, and children laughing beneath the newly erected banners of the Beastlighter Royal Family.

Water from the divine aquifers sparkled like liquid gems in the canals, feeding lush gardens that had replaced the once-dead desert sands.

It was a kingdom forged entirely in his own image and likeness.

He was the God of Beasts, the absolute origin of their strength, and every soul walking those streets below was his devout subject.

Yet, as he watched the peaceful city, a quiet, heavy thought lingered in his mind.

He was still trying to grasp, to truly comprehend, what it meant to be a True God.

It would be a lie to claim he felt no temptation.

With every passing day, as the collective faith, prayers, and divine worship of over a hundred thousand beastmen surged into his soul, the pull toward absolute ascension grew stronger.

The power to shatter the mortal shell, discard his physical constraints, and ascend into the divine realm as an immutable, immortal entity sat right at his fingertips.

Yet, Roy held it in.

He suppressed the divine urge with unyielding mental discipline.

Ascending now would be premature.

He still remembers his promise to the God of Information, Telvanus.

There was still far too much work to be done on the mortal plane.

He knew the brutal reality of the universe—the moment a realm lacked absolute mortal guardians, it became prey for neighboring empires and ancient cultivation sects.

Roy would only be satisfied, only feel truly secure in leaving the mortal plane behind, once Varania possessed at least one Martial Demigod within its own ranks.

His mind turned to his most loyal pillars.

He had already marked two potential candidates for this divine elevation: Pope Croak and Grand Chancellor Manuses.

If he could nurture either the Pope or the Grand Chancellor into a true Martial Demigod, the defensive and offensive stability of Varania would be absolute.

With a Demigod anchoring the realm, the kingdom’s territorial expansion could accelerate exponentially, sweeping beyond the isolated borders and carving a massive empire out across the Ten Continents.

The grand conquest of the Ten Continents was not a mere dream—it was a meticulously plotted blueprint in Roy’s mind.

And the first step of that grand strategy would begin today, right in the heart of the Jura Eastern Continent.

Knock. Knock.

The soft, measured sound of knuckles against the heavy oak door shattered the quiet reflection in the chamber.

"It’s me, Lord Jarden," a sharp, familiar voice called out from the hallway.

"Come in," Roy responded, his deep voice calm and resonant.

The heavy door swung inward, and Duchess Eurenia stepped into the chamber.

A lofty, confident smile rested upon her stunning face.

She stood fully geared for war, clad in a sleek, custom-fitted battle suit forged from highest-grade Varanium steel.

The dark, polished metal armor hugged her frame seamlessly, reinforced with glowing runic engravings that pulsed with dormant mana.

With every bloodline evolution and stage of cultivation she underwent, Eurenia’s unique, wild beauty was brought forth to its absolute maximum level.

Her slender, athletic waist, towering posture, and striking, voluptuous curves presented an intoxicating contrast to the lethal, bloodthirsty aura of a master warrior—an enticing sight capable of mesmerizing any mortal man.

Her full combat gear was the ultimate proof: the time for waiting had ended.

Eurenia stepped forward, placing her right hand over her armored chest, and bowed her head in deep, solemn reverence before the Apostle.

"Greetings, Lord Jarden," Eurenia intoned, her eyes shining with cold determination as she raised her head.

"I am fully prepared for the expedition."

Roy turned slightly, his gold-crimson flecked eyes sweeping over her battle-ready form.

He gave a single, satisfied nod.

"And Alisa?" Roy asked smoothly. "Is the shadow network ready?"

"Duchess Alisa is fully prepared as well," Eurenia reported, her voice laced with sharp pride. "Her intelligence network has successfully mapped a completely unmonitored spatial tear directly into the outer province of the Jura Eastern Continent.

The sleeper cells hidden within Kaelos City and the surrounding human territories have received their preliminary orders. They remain completely undetected, awaiting your divine command."

"Good," Roy murmured.

He turned back toward the open window, taking a slow, deep breath of the cool evening air.

The wind ruffled his crimson fur and swept through the gold trim of his cloak.

Below, the golden lamps of the Holy City began to ignite one by one, illuminating the vast, peaceful capital like a sea of stars.

A cold, dangerous smile spread across Roy’s sharp face, his bared fangs glinting softly in the twilight.

"It is time," Roy spoke, his voice carrying an unshakeable, terrifying weight that vibrated through the stone floor of the chamber.

"It is time to explore what the Ten Continents truly hold... and we will ruthlessly crush anyone who dares lay a hand upon our kin."

***

In the Jura Eastern Continent.

A few hundred miles beyond the borderlands of the Varanial Region, where the arid sands gave way to jagged, mist-shrouded peaks, the quiet of the mountain range was shattered by screams.

Dozens of gray Sheep-men and women ran frantically through the sharp, stony ravines, their hooves slipping on loose gravel, their ragged clothes torn by thorns.

Panic choked their lungs as they pushed forward, desperate to reach the thick mountain fog ahead.

"Faster! Keep moving!" an elderly Sheep-man cried out, ushering young children through a narrow pass.

SWOOSH!

A blur of blue energy flashed through the mist.

Before the old man could react, a heavy, iron-tipped spear pierced his chest, pinning him instantly to the granite cliffside.

Blood sprayed over the grey rocks, and the fleeing group came to a screeching, terrified halt.

"Scatter! Run!" someone shrieked, but it was already too late.

Swarming down from the high ledges like vultures came a squad of thirty armed human mercenaries.

Their bodies hummed with the distinct, pulsing aura of the Martial Warrior realm.

With their physically amplified speed, they closed the distance in mere seconds, leaping over boulders and cutting off every escape route.

"Surround them!" a mercenary barked, drawing a heavy steel saber. "Remember the Mayor’s orders—damage the limbs if you must, but keep the young ones alive! Broken bones heal, dead cattle don’t sell!"

A young Sheep-kin youth screamed, brandishing a broken wooden stick in a desperate attempt to protect his younger sister.

A human Martial Warrior sneered, casually stepping inside the boy’s reach and delivering a brutal kick to his ribs.

CRACK!

The boy collapsed into the dirt, clutching his side in agony as a heavy iron collar was slammed around his neck, its suppression runes flaring to life and draining his strength.

Those who dared to draw blades or fight back were cut down without mercy.

Cold steel flashed, severing limbs and piercing hearts.

The stone ground ran slick with crimson as the corpses of the fallen Sheep-kin were callously hooked with iron chains and dragged through the dirt like slaughtered game, leaving long, bloody trails across the mountain path.

"Bind their arms! Group them in tens!"

As the bloody hunt reached its chaotic climax, heavy, measured footsteps echoed from a high ledge above the ravine.

A powerful, suffocating pressure descended upon the trapped beastmen.

The ambient mana in the air grew heavy, forcing the weeping captives down onto their knees.

A middle-aged man with coarse, brown hair stepped into view.

Draped in high-grade leather armor reinforced with steel plates, he looked down at the humiliating sight of beastmen being beaten, collared, and dragged across the dirt with a wide, cruel grin stretching across his face.

He was a Martial Master—the commander of the regional hunting vanguard.

"Well done, boys," the brown-haired man chuckled, his deep voice carrying casually down the ravine as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Not a single one escaped. Mayor Vance will be pleased with this haul.

A fresh stock of Sheep-kin will command a fine price among the local alchemy halls and labor markets."

He stepped off the ledge, landing silently on the blood-stained earth below.

He walked up to a weeping Sheep-woman, using the tip of his boot to turn her bruised face upward, evaluating her like livestock before casually kicking her aside.

"Don’t celebrate just yet," the Martial Master commanded, his smile turning sharp and greedy. "This is only the morning round. Drag these slaves into the iron cages and load the corpses onto the transport wagons.

Get the suppression formations prepped for tonight’s hunt."

He turned his gaze deeper into the mountain range, pointing toward a distant, forest-covered valley.

"Our scouts just located a hidden enclave," the brown-haired commander declared, his eyes gleaming with bloodlust.

"Our next target... are the Crimson-Spotted Leopard-kin."