Starting Out As The God of Beasts

Far to the frozen, jagged west of the Hudeii Desert lay Norona City.

It was a dreadful, sprawling industrial scar upon the earth, pinned against bleak volcanic peaks that bled black smoke into a perennially bruised purple sky.

Unlike the newly born green marble paradise of Tempest City, Norona was a metropolis built entirely on misery, iron, and a total, crushing disregard for life.

The city was a desolate, uncaring labyrinth of soot-caked stone and rusted iron smelting yards.

The stench of stale blood and burning marrow hung so heavily over the muddy streets that it felt like a physical weight in the lungs.

Giant, thick-skulled Ogres paraded through the alleyways, dragging heavy iron clubs that left dark streaks in the muck, while gangs of cruel, sharp-toothed Goblins scurried over the roofs, chucking broken bones and hot slag at the populace below.

Massive, battle-scarred Orcs dominated the central thoroughfares, their guttural laughter echoing as they beat their heavy breastplates in drunken brawls.

And beneath them all were the slaves.

Thousands of ragged, skeletal beastmen—Frog-kin with torn webbing, starved Wolf-kin missing patches of fur, and broken Tiger-kin infantry—were dragged through the filth in heavy, neck-snapping iron chain gangs.

They were nothing more than fuel for the city’s endless forge lines and food for the northern beasts, their hollow eyes staring blankly at the blood-stained mud as they waited for the inevitably fatal whip of their overseers.

At the absolute apex of this nightmare sat the Obsidian Citadel, the grim palace of the Troll King.

Inside the cavernous, magnanimous throne room, the air was freezing and dead.

The pillars holding up the massive ceiling were carved from the bones of conquered desert behemoths, and the floor was a jagged mosaic of cracked, soul-binding mana cores.

The heavy iron doors groaned open, and a terrified Goblin servant scrambled into the sanctum, hitting the freezing stone floor flat on his stomach.

He slid forward, his body trembling violently as he approached the towering dais.

”Speak,” a voice rumbled from the shadows above.

It was a sound like two massive icebergs grinding together, carrying a heavy, suffocating mana pressure that made the Goblin’s ears leak dark blood.

”M-Great King!” the servant gasped, his voice a frantic, high-pitched squeak. ”A messenger from the vanguard borders! The B-class, stone-skinned Orc General Yvoda... he has officially mobilized!”

He gulped hard, swallowing his saliva ”He is marching toward the northern plains with an army of three thousand elite Orc and Ogres ironclads!

They are marching to reclaim the fallen altar and crush the rebels of Tempest City!”

The towering figure on the throne did not move.

”Let him go. If the old tiger has grown claws, Yvoda’s steel will blunt them before the main host arrives.”

The servant did not wait to be dismissed.

He scrambled backward at an frantic pace, desperate to escape the suffocating aura of the chamber.

The heavy iron doors clanged shut, leaving the sovereign alone in the freezing dimness.

The Troll King’s eyes slowly opened, glowing with a terrifying, malicious purple fire that pierced the gloom.

He was a monster of absolute, tyrannical majesty.

Standing nearly four meters tall even while seated, his massive, corded muscles were a deep, moss-green color, crisscrossed by glowing purple ritual tattoos that pulsed in rhythm with his core.

He had stepped fully into the Peak-enlightened stage of the Martial General realm, a terrifying boundary of power that allowed his sheer presence to distort the ambient mana around him into a freezing, toxic miasma.

Two massive, jagged obsidian tusks protruded upward from his lower jaw, and his long, wild mane of black hair was braided with the shattered mana cores of the kings he had personally executed.

Slowly, the tyrant closed his glowing eyes and folded his massive, clawed hands over his lap.

Sitting upon his throne of skulls, he began to chant an ancient, forbidden Lydorian prayer, sending his dark consciousness straight into the void to commune with his patron deity—the God of Misfortune.

”Blessed hath thou O Great Eternal One,” the Troll King murmured, his deep voice vibrating through the very marrow of the bone pillars.

Deep within his mana cores, a cold, black divine energy began to swirl, responding to his absolute devotion.

”Thy name, Damacus, shall make this world bleed.”

The purple tattoos on his flesh flared violently, burning with a frosty, necrotic light that turned the air around the throne into crystalline ice.

”You are the Great Tyrant of the Unfortunate.”

The ambient gravity in the throne room plummeted, a dark, heavy despair settling over the citadel like a physical shroud.

”You are the God of Misfortune”

”You are the Herald of Death.”

The Troll King went completely still, his breath freezing into thick white plumes as he waited for the familiar, comforting chill of his god’s acknowledgment.

But the darkness did not bring its usual cold embrace. Instead, a sudden, blinding flash of absolute divine terror violently fractured his consciousness.

Boom!

The Troll King’s eyes snapped wide open as a divine revelation was forcefully burned directly into his mind.

The dark veil of his god split apart, revealing a vision of the northern desert.

He didn’t see a desolate wasteland.

He saw a massive, self-supporting geodesic dome of white-gold and glass rising to the heavens.

He saw a pristine, crystal-clean inland sea filled with life where there should have been only salt and death.

And standing at the center of that paradise, he felt the awakening of a divine power—a terrifying, all-devouring presence that completely swallowed the misfortune energy his god had planted in the south.

”Destroy the Church of Varanus”

The vision snapped, leaving the Troll King gasping for air on his throne, his massive fist slamming into the armrest with enough kinetic force to shatter the solid bone structure into splinters.

The casual, arrogant indifference of a Martial General was completely gone, replaced by a dark, fanatical fury.

”Hahahahahaha destroy the Church of Varanus?......” the King growled, his purple eyes burning with an unholy, apocalyptic light.

”With pleasure my god” the atmosphere tensed up.

”You think a new god can save your wretched hides? I will march my armies to your gates myself.”

”And I will turn your green marble paradise into a graveyard of ice.”

***

Upon receiving reports that her scattered people were discovered across the east and the south.

Alpha Eurenia mobilized the crusade.

She had taken permission from Roy before embarking on the journey of uniting her people and completing the task given to her by Lord Varanus.

Roy stood atop Saint Jarden’s Cathedral. He exhaled a deep sigh, ”The Troll King has finally made his move” his lips curled faintly.

Roy had anticipated this.

He was waiting for the Troll King’s movements, because of that. He hasn’t paid the Divine Market a visit, he still lacked the funds.

But his Church is growing and would grow bigger soon.

Other Cities are currently hesitant to join hands with Tempest City because they fear the Troll King.

Regardless of a new religion that favors the beastmen. They won’t give up their lives so easily.

Roy expected this so he needed to show everyone across the Hudeii Desert that the Church of Varanus is powerful.

Crushing the marching army would be the beginning of the Church’s meteoric rise.

And he needed to accumulate more Faith Points in order to purchase many mortal level treasures in bulk.

He needed to show these people that Lord Varanus is a generous god who blesses those who are hardworking and loyal to his name.

”Master Jarden”

Roy turned his gaze to see the High Priest Croak standing behind him, Elder Croak was draped in crimson robe.

A symbol of his position as the High Priest of the Church.

”What’s the news?” Roy asked.

”We’ve confirmed your suspicions” the High Priest smiled, ”A total of three thousand soldiers are marching towards our city”

”And they’re led by General Yvoda” High Priest Croak reported.

”General Yvoda?” Roy asked.

”He’s a B-class stone-skinned Orc who serves as a General to the Troll King, he’s also one of the wielders of the God of Misfortune’s blessings”

”He is a Martial Master but with his divine blessing. He can challenge Martial Generals” High Priest Croak explained.

”I see” Roy’s eyes narrowed, ”Can you kill him?” he asked.

”Master” High Priest Croak bowed his head, ”I am a blessed Martial Lord, killing that man will be easy”

”All I need is an order from you” the High Priest smiled.

”Hmmm” Roy’s eyes flickered, ”You are the High Priest of the Church, if we must prove to the entirety of the Hudeii Desert that the Church is beyond the Troll King”

”We should show off the High Priest’s battle strength correct?” Roy asked, ”That is correct, Master Jarden” High Priest Croak answered.

”Very well then, under my permission Alpha Eurenia and the Crusade have gone to unite her scattered people”

”To bring them under the banner of Lord Varanus” he slightly turned his head, staring at the High Priest.

”Only you should be enough to lay waste to an army of three thousand”

”Wipe them all out!”