Starting Out As The God of Beasts

Yaller stood at the edge of the smoldering glass crater, her breath hitching in her throat as the cold night wind carried the bitter scent of ash.

She turned her trembling gaze away from the ruined horizon, looking up at the silver-haired general with wide, unsettled eyes.

"The power of your god?" Yaller asked, her voice cracking under the lingering pressure in the atmosphere. "Who is this god? What entity possesses such horrifying, absolute wrath?"

Alisa inhaled deeply, her emerald eyes shining with a serene, radiant clarity despite the apocalyptic destruction stretching out behind them.

"We serve Lord Varanus," Alisa answered softly, her voice melodic yet ringing with absolute conviction.

"He is the supreme God of Beasts and Men. It was by His divine decree and explicit order that we crossed the distant borders to come to this wretched land."

She turned her head, offering Yaller and the stunned scouts a warm, reassuring smile.

"We are here to liberate our brethren—every single beastman who has suffered tirelessly, bled in dark chains, and wept under the cruel whips of those arrogant humans," Alisa explained smoothly.

Before Yaller could digest the weight of those words, Eurenia stepped forward.

With a low, ambient hum of mana, the illusion surrounding Eurenia’s frame dissolved completely.

Her height expanded, thick dark crimson fur erupted across her skin, and her sleek wolf ears twitched against the cool breeze.

Her long, magnificent crimson tail swept behind her as she fully embraced her true form—a majestic, imposing wolf-woman of the primordial S-class lineage.

The young Leopard and Falcon scouts shrank back slightly, overwhelmed by her fierce, predatory grace.

"Listen well, young ones," Eurenia announced, her deep, commanding voice echoing through the quiet forest canopy. "The freed beastmen will remain hidden here within the Nosa Forest for a short time.

You will wait until the vanguard of our Holy Crusade arrives to safely escort every last one of you back to our homeland."

Agos, the Grey Falcon youth, took a hesitant step forward.

He clutched his stolen bow against his chest, his eyes burning with a mixture of hope and intense curiosity.

"Homeland?" Agos asked quietly. "Where... where is home? We have spent our entire lives fleeing from human hunting parties in these border lands. Is there truly a place where our kind can live without chains?"

Eurenia’s lips curved into a confident, razor-sharp grin.

"Home is Varania," Eurenia declared proudly.

"Our glorious kingdom and the holy ground of the God of Beasts. It is the absolute domain of beastmen, built by our hands and protected by divine grace."

She paused, her emerald eyes narrowing slightly as her tone shifted into something solemn and deeply devout.

"However... for you and your people to be truly welcomed into the divine heart of Varania, you must become true followers of the God of Beasts," Eurenia explained, crossing her muscular arms.

"That is the singular expectation. But fear not—we do not force faith upon the broken. We are giving you the opportunity to see with your own eyes how magnificent our kingdom truly is."

She stepped closer, resting a massive, furred hand on Agos’s shoulder.

"Whether you choose to bow your heads, pray to our God, and walk His path is entirely up to your own souls," Eurenia added, her expression softening into a warm smile.

"Just know this: once you step across our borders, you are safe. No human will ever put a chain around your necks again."

Both Yaller and Agos let out long, collective sighs of relief, their tense shoulders finally relaxing.

Varania...

It was a name they had never heard in all their years of suffering.

A sovereign kingdom created solely for beastmen, ruled by an S-class general and protected by a god who could erase a human city with a flick of his wrist? It sounded like an impossible fable.

Yet, looking at the glowing glass crater behind them and the mighty wolf-woman standing before them, curiosity and a desperate, burning hope bloomed within their hearts.

They were eager—desperate, even—to see this sanctuary with their own eyes.

***

Meanwhile... hundreds of miles away from the smoldering ruins of Kaelos City.

Rising high above the clouds in the southern reaches of the treacherous Northern Hashian Mountain Range sat the grand, ancient domain of the Glorious Mythical Sect.

Perched atop a gigantic, snow-capped peak that pierced the heavens, the sect’s sprawling complexes of white marble, golden roofs, and soaring training plazas overlooked the world below.

Thousands of human disciples dressed in uniform pale-gold robes loitered across the vast stone courtyards, their voices echoing into the thin air as they practiced high-tier mana manipulation techniques, sword arrays, and body-tempering arts.

The overwhelming majority of these disciples were Martial Warriors, striving tirelessly to break through their physical limiters.

Above them stood a few hundred elite disciples who had successfully attained the realm of Martial Masters.

In the absence of the Sect Elders, who rarely interfered in the daily affairs of the lower yards, these so-called elite disciples functioned not as noble mentors, but as tyrannical bullies.

They formed powerful, oppressive gangs within the sect walls, using their superior cultivation ranks to exploit, beat, and rob their junior disciples of valuable pills and mana stones to solidify their absolute dominance.

Yet today, the arrogant laughter and clashing training blades in the main courtyards were completely ignored by the sect’s true rulers.

Deep within the inner sanctuary, inside the grand official Grand Council Hall, a heavy, suffocating silence hung in the air.

High-ranking Sect Elders had gathered in haste, answering the urgent, mandatory summoning bell sounded by their Sect Leader.

Surrounding a massive, floating mahogany table were the sect’s core pillars.

The Glorious Mythical Sect boasted a formidable council of eight Elders—every single one of them a bonafide, fearsome cultivator of the Martial General realm.

And seated upon the high dragon throne at the head of the hall was the Sect Leader himself, a terrifying figure whose radiating aura distorted the very air around him.

A supreme Martial Lord.

The atmosphere inside the hall was darker than pitch.

In the center of the chamber, resting upon a floating stone altar, was a row of nine delicate, glass life-lanterns, each burning with an immortal, blue soul-flame representing the life essence of the sect’s core leaders.

Or rather... there had been nine.

Now, the fifth lantern lay completely shattered into fine powder upon the altar.

Its blue soul-flame was extinguished, leaving behind only a cold, wispy trace of black smoke.

It was the life-lantern belonging to the Silver Lotus Elder.

The Sect Leader slowly opened his eyes, two beams of suffocating, golden pressure sweeping across the council room.

"Silver Lotus is dead," the Sect Leader spoke, his voice vibrating like thunder through the stone hall. "Speak. Who dared slay an Elder of our Glorious Mythical Sect?"

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