Starting Out As The God of Beasts

”You speak of liberating my people so freely in my presence. How bold,” the old man laughed.

The old Frogman cultivator didn’t move a single muscle, but the air inside the flooded chamber turned instantly thick, heavy, and suffocating.

”You set them free, Mr. Jarden?” The old man’s deep, croaking voice didn’t just echo—it vibrated through the water, sending sharp ripples cutting across the pool.

”A mysterious wolf-man pulling the strings and even controlling the Great Luna Pack, fracturing the mid-rings, and tracking my hidden sanctum... You speak of liberation, boy” the old cultivator’s eyes narrowed.

”But all I smell on you is the calculated scent of a brand-new master trying to claim a set of old tools.”

The bulbous eyes of the old cultivator flashed with a sudden, blinding emerald light.

Boom!

The passive, still air erupted.

The immense, crushing spiritual pressure of a Martial General’s realm third mana core slammed downward like a collapsing mountain.

The shallow water beneath Roy’s boots violently depressed, forcing a massive, perfectly circular hollow into the pool as the sheer gravity of the old man’s aura tried to force Roy to his knees.

While evolved Martial Warriors possess a single mana core which produces unfiltered mana. Cultivating their mana into a powerful weapon.

Evolved Martial Masters awakens a dual mana cores. The first still acting as a mana generator and the second, an augumenter, fueling the cultivator’s physique to a certain extent, increasing their latent battle strength by ten folds.

Martial General’s realm is truly when cultivators begin to grasp the true concept of mana.

The awakened third mana core resonates with nature itself.

Granting the Martial General an elemental type skill.

This is also the reason why the old Frogman cultivator could transform his mana directly into natural water.

But even his water could decimate an army.

The moss-covered stone walls groaned under the sudden spike of power.

It was an aura cultivated through over a century of survival—heavy, unyielding, and sharp enough to crush a lower-tier Martial Master into a bloody paste within seconds.

Yet, Roy didn’t even flinch.

His tailored black coat barely rippled against the sudden gale of spiritual energy. He stood perfectly upright at the center of the crushing gravity well, his hands casually remaining in his pockets.

His dual-colored golden-crimson eyes gleamed in the dark, entirely unfazed. With a gentle tilt of his wrist, a soft, localized hum of golden-crimson mana particles swirled around his ankles, effortlessly neutralizing the Martial General’s pressure before it could even touch his boots.

”An impressive display, Elder,” Roy spoke smoothly, his voice completely level. ”But if I wanted to claim tools, I would have let the Tiger Lord’s vanguard do the heavy lifting for me.” he paused for a second.

”I gave your people a path out. What you do with your strength now determines whether your tribe survives the coming dawn.”

The old Frogman’s eyes narrowed, the heavy emerald pressure slowly receding back into his frail body like a falling tide.

A look of profound, solemn realization settled into the deep wrinkles of his face.

”To stand unbothered beneath the weight of a General... you are a monster masquerading in a mortal hide,” the old man murmured, his shoulders sinking as he let out a long, wheezing sigh. ”Perhaps... perhaps the prophecy of the shifting tides wasn’t a lie after all.”

”You’ve been hiding your true cultivation realm for a long time,” Roy noted, taking a slow, unhurried step forward across the now-still water.

”A Martial General could have easily taken a section of this city for his people. Why play the part of a helpless slave in the lower trenches?”

The old Frogman let out a bitter, raspy chuckle, his webbed fingers tightening slightly against his tattered robes.

”Because Tiger Lord Manuses is not the true master of this cage, boy,” the Elder said, his voice dropping into a hushed, shadowed whisper. ”You think the Tiger Lord locks this city down because he fears a slave revolt? He fears the west. He fears the Troll King.”

The old man leaned forward, the emerald light in his eyes dimming into a cold, haunting focus.

”Years ago, I felt the pulse of the deeper earth beneath the volcanic palace. The Troll King isn’t just demanding sacrifices to build a simple army—he is using Manuses to harvest the blood and mana cores of the beastmen to feed a massive, dormant divine array buried right underneath his city’s foundations.”

He pointed a shaking, wrinkled finger toward the ceiling, referencing the mountain above them.

”The Troll King’s true goal is to create a divine body, one perfect enough to host the consciousness of a True God.” he paused for a moment.

”Manuses knows he is holding a tiger by the tail. He hoards low-level Cultivators and sacrifices the weak because he believes that if he feeds the altar enough blood, the Troll King will spare his royal lineage when the God of Misfortune descends.”

”The God of Misfortune?” Roy’s eyes narrowed, ”Is that who the Trolls serve?” he asked.

”Hmph. You didn’t even know?” The old Frogman looked up at Roy, his expression dark with centuries of accumulated dread. ”If I had revealed my strength, the Troll King’s messengers would have targeted my tribe first.

The old man sighed deeply, ”A Martial General’s blood is worth a thousand common slaves to that altar. I chose to become a ghost so my people could simply breathe.”

Roy stood at the edge of the boulder, his predatory smile widening in the dim green glow of the cavern as the final pieces of the city’s hidden layout clicked perfectly into his system knowledge.

”A dormant divine array fueled by the blood of beastmen, huh?” Roy murmured, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, divine light.

”Manuses hoards his strength to buy time, while the Trolls prep the knife. The board is even more beautiful than I imagined.”

He extended a hand toward the ancient cultivator.

”The Tiger Lord has chosen to sit tight and observe the chaos,” Roy stated calmly. ”I’ll destroy the Troll King. This is the will of my god,” Roy stated.

”Your god?” The old Frogman cultivator asked. ”Yes,” Roy smiled, ”I serve the father of all beastmen.”

”The God of Beasts, Lord Varanus!”

”Lord Varanus?” The old Frogman cultivator asked, ”Why haven’t I heard of him if he’s truly the father of all beastmen?” he asked.

”Well,” Roy stepped forward, ”That’s because my god is an ancient primordial who has just woken up from his thousands of years slumber.”

”Lord Varanus is enraged, he has marked the Troll King for death and as his dedicated follower—” Roy paused, ”I’ll be the one who brings that tyrant down,” he declared.

”The only question left, Elder... is if you’re going to keep hiding in this hole, or if you’re ready to help me tear the altar down.”

”I wished I could,” the old Frogman cultivator sighed, ”The Troll King might be a Martial General like me, but he is guided by a True God.”

”He’s beyond my capabilities.”

”Is that so?”

A lopsided grin appeared on Jarden’s lips, ”If you’re weak, then accept Varanus into your heart.”

”The God of Beasts is the father of all beastmen. Any beastman who prays to him shall receive his love.”

”Pray to the God of Beasts, Varanus, and he shall grant you a blessing powerful enough to destroy even the Troll King!”