Starting Out As The God of Beasts

The metallic reek of fresh human blood washed over the cave entrance, turning the soil into a slick, crimson mud.

Yet, despite seeing fifty of their comrades instantly obliterated into a horrific paste by Agrea’s single spear thrust, the oncoming wave of hunters did not falter.

Their eyes remained wide, bloodshot, and frantic. In the brutal social order of Kaelos City, hatred for beastmen was not merely an opinion—it was an indoctrinated obsession, a deep-seated bigotry fed by generations of conflict and promises of immense wealth.

Their hatred for beastmen burned far brighter than the primal fear they held for the strong.

"KILL THEM! CLEANSE THE MONSTERS!"

"FOR KAELOS CITY! CLAIM THEIR PELTS!"

The human soldiers screamed, their voices cracking with hysterical fury as they scrambled over the severed limbs of the dead, surging deeper into the subterranean hall.

Tribe Leader Agrea stepped back into the central cavern, lowering his double-headed spear.

He did not strike again.

Instead, he watched the oncoming wave with a nonchalant, ice-cold gaze. His sharp, feline eyes were completely void of emotion, resembling deep, stagnant pools of dark water.

Agrea had lived through decades of human encroachment.

He had seen his kin hunted like wild game, his tribe forced into hiding, and his ancestors’ lands stolen under the banner of human civilization.

He had grown to hate humans with every fiber of his being—a deep, quiet, unyielding hatred for the endless, hypocritical atrocities they committed against beastmen while preaching righteousness.

"Defend the core!" an elder roared, stepping to the front.

The Crimson Spotted Leopard-Kin tribe was an A-class force for a reason.

Besides Agrea and the four tribe elders, the clan boasted more than twenty-five seasoned Martial Warriors, each possessing refined muscular strength and iron discipline.

With the four elders—all powerful Martial Masters capable of projecting their internal mana outward—taking the lead, a brutal meat grinder commenced within the narrow tunnels.

SLASH! CRACK! BANG!

The elders moved like blurred shadows of silver and red.

Curved blades severed heads; heavy iron claws crushed throat cartilage; dense bursts of projected mana blew human soldiers against the jagged stone walls, shattering their ribs upon impact.

The mundane hunters, despite their overwhelming numbers, stood no chance in close-quarters combat against martial artists who had mastered their internal cores.

It did not take long for the entire vanguard of mundane human hunters to be crushed.

Within fifteen minutes, the cave entrance was silent once more, littered with hundreds of human corpses.

The ground was painted dark red, and the air was thick with the steam of hot blood mingling with the cold mountain drafts.

The younger Leopard-kin warriors let out ragged breaths, their chests heaving as they wiped blood from their eyes.

A few of the younger ones began to raise their weapons in a brief, desperate show of triumph.

"Do not celebrate!" Agrea’s booming voice cut through the cavern, sharp and absolute.

The young warriors froze, looking toward their leader.

Agrea took a deep, heavy breath, his sharp gaze sweeping over his bloody tribesmen.

"This was not a true battle. Kaelos City sent these men here merely to test our positions, wear down our arms, and gauge our defensive line. They have a vast army under their command... more than a thousand armed soldiers surround this mountain peak right now. Stay sharp. Be ready for the true nightmare."

Agrea turned his back on the central cavern and began walking steadily toward the mouth of the cave, stepping right past the pile of human corpses.

"Tribe Leader!"

Elder Vahn, the oldest of the four Martial Masters, took a rapid step forward, his hand outstretched in desperate protest. "Tribe Leader Agrea, stop! Where are you going? You cannot step outside alone! If you walk out into the open mountain, you may never return alive!"

Agrea paused at the threshold, the dim moonlight catching the edge of his silver chestplate and the dark blood staining his fur.

He turned his head slightly, offering his old comrade a faint, serene smile—a smile laden with the quiet weight of a martyr.

"I know that very well, Vahn," Agrea replied softly, his voice carrying no fear. "I am fully aware of what awaits me out there."

He tightened his grip on his heavy spear. "But I must confirm the identity and strength of this Martial General Kaelos City brought with them.

I need to know if our people stand even a fraction of a chance to survive this night. To know our enemy... I am more than ready to put my life on the line for the tribe."

Without waiting for another plea, Agrea stepped out of the cave entrance, striding into the open air of the cliffside.

The cold mountain wind howled across the crags, carrying the scent of pine and burning oil.

As Agrea emerged onto the wide, rocky ledge outside the cave, his breath hitched slightly.

The sight before him was far worse than he had calculated.

Scattered across the rocky slopes, rising up the treacherous mountain pathways, were hundreds upon hundreds of heavily armed combatants.

The torches they carried illuminated the dark crags like a sea of burning eyes.

Agrea’s sharp perception swept over the host, instantly evaluating the enemy’s hierarchy:

• Plain, mundane archers and foot soldiers numbered in the hundreds.

• Hidden among the ranks were dozens of Martial Warriors, their bodies pulsating with refined physical strength.

• Worse yet, standing at the head of the forward platoons were ten Martial Masters, their oppressive mana atmospheres overlapping to form a suffocating wall of pressure.

With a single, comprehensive glance, Tribe Leader Agrea confirmed the absolute, tragic reality: the situation was completely dire.

The Leopard-kin tribe was hopelessly outmatched in numbers, rank, and tactical position.

Yet, as the leader who carried the bloodline of his ancestors, Agrea refused to bow his head.

Even if he had to bleed out on this mountain, even if his heart stopped beating before the sun rose, he would do whatever it took to carve a path of survival for his people.

Agrea planted his double-headed spear into the solid bedrock, sending spiderweb cracks through the stone.

He threw his head back and let out a terrifying, roaring challenge that echoed across the entire mountain range!

"HEAR ME, HUMAN DOGS!" Agrea’s voice boomed like rolling thunder, shaking the dust off the surrounding cliffs. "I AM AGREA, LEADER OF THE CRIMSON SPOTTED LEOPARD-KIN! IF YOU CARRY THE PRIDE OF CULTIVATORS, THEN STEP FORWARD! CALL OUT THAT COWARDLY MARTIAL GENERAL HIDDEN IN YOUR RANKS! FACE ME IN OPEN COMBAT LIKE A TRUE WARRIOR!"

His voice faded into the echoing valleys.

Silence followed.

There was no grandiose reply.

No noble cultivator stepped forward to accept the duel.

Standing amidst the middle ranks of the army, clad in a Kaelos City hunter uniform that barely concealed his grand robes, stood the elder from the Glorious Mythical Sect.

His face was hidden beneath a low hood, but a lopsided, thoroughly amused grin was plastered across his lips.

’How foolish,’ the elder thought, his dark eyes flickering with contempt. ’A beastman screaming for honor... as if I am bound to treat a beast as an equal. I am an elder of a grand sect, not a foolish knight. Why on earth would I grant a dying monster his glorious final duel?’

Seeing that the hidden Martial General had no intention of revealing himself or answering the provocation, the human lead commander—a grim-faced Martial Master leading the hunting coalition—raised his right hand high into the air.

"Archers!" the commander ordered, his voice cold and detached. "Form ranks! Target the entrance!"

Behind the front line of shield-bearers, three hundred specialized archers stepped forward, their heavy compound bows drawn to maximum tension.

The iron tips of their arrows blazed with bright, persistent fire.

The lead commander stared at Agrea standing alone on the cliffside, his hand dropping down in a swift, merciless motion.

"FIRE!"

THWIP-THWIP-THWIP-THWIP-THWIP!

A deafening roar ripped through the night air as a massive, sky-blotting rain of blazing arrows arced high over the mountain crags, descending straight toward Agrea and the cavern mouth like a falling shower of fiery meteors.

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