Starting Out As The God of Beasts

To understand the cruelty that reigned over the northern frontier of the Jura Eastern Continent, one must look upon the vast, jagged expanse of the Northern Hashian Mountains.

Sprawling across tens of thousands of miles, this treacherous mountain range hosted over ten thousand isolated villages and more than a thousand sprawling cities.

It was a region built upon rugged cliffs, iron mines, and deep, mist-shrouded valleys.

Yet, despite its vast population, the entire mountain range operated under a brutal, unyielding hierarchy dictated by a single governing entity:

the Glorious Mythical Sect.

Under the supervisor eyes of the Sect, life in the Hashian Mountains was cheap.

Cities waged bloody territorial wars against neighboring cities; warlords slaughtered entire villages for farmland or mineral deposits.

Yet, through all the carnage and destruction, the Glorious Mythical Sect remained entirely indifferent.

They turned a blind eye to massacres, betrayals, and the destruction of mortal settlements.

As long as the tribute of resources was delivered on time, no sect laws were broken.

The only threshold that could ever rouse the sect’s terrifying intervention was a violation of the Cultivation Quota.

To maintain absolute, unquestioned dominance over the Jura Eastern Continent, the ancient sects strictly monopolized the secrets and resources of cultivation.

Within the Hashian Region, every village and city was assigned a hard limit on the number of cultivators permitted within its borders.

Cultivators were intentionally kept rare.

In the human territories, for every single cultivator born, there existed more than ten thousand mundane mortals who lived and died without ever feeling a single strand of ambient mana.

This artificial scarcity ensured that cultivators were treated not merely as warriors, but as living demigods who commanded absolute, unquestioned reverence from the mortal masses.

When it came to martial ascension, the human body possessed an extraordinary, terrifying advantage over other races.

Humans were born as clean slates—their meridians were naturally malleable and adaptable, making them uniquely suited to absorb diverse elemental manas.

However, nature demanded balance.

Every single cultivation realm was barred by a massive, near-insurmountable bottleneck—a spiritual wall that halted millions in their tracks.

Only those blessed with exceptional talent, sect-grade manuals, or divine pill elixirs possessed the power to shatter these walls and advance into higher realms.

At the absolute geographic and economic center of the Northern Hashian Mountains sat Kaelos City.

Unlike the surrounding rural settlements, Kaelos City was a fortified fortress town favored by the Glorious Mythical Sect.

It held the highest concentration of sanctioned cultivators in the entire mountain province, boasting dozens of high-tier Martial Warriors and a solid core of Martial Masters.

At the apex of the city’s hierarchy stood its ruler:

Mayor Henar, the sole Martial General of the Hashian frontier.

Along the dusty, sun-baked trade roads surrounding Kaelos City, more than a thousand human travelers, merchants, and local villagers went about their daily routines.

The air was thick with the scent of dirt, iron, and fresh blood.

Down the main dirt highway came the return of the hunting vanguard.

A line of thirty armored Martial Warriors marched in disciplined formation, dragging long chains behind them.

Bound in heavy iron collars, dozens of newly captured Sheep-kin beastmen stumbled through the dust.

Their gray wool was matted with mud and gore; blood dripped continuously from open wounds, staining the dirt roads crimson.

The surrounding mortal villagers lowered their eyes in fearful silence.

No one dared to utter a word of protest.

In this region, challenging a hunter from Kaelos City was equivalent to signing one’s own death warrant.

At the head of the procession walked the brown-haired Martial Master, his heavy boots stepping casually over the blood-stained road.

He shrugged his shoulders, completely unbothered by the quiet, bitter glares cast toward him by the passing villagers.

To him, the opinions of mundane mortals were as irrelevant as the buzzing of flies.

Suddenly, his eyes caught a small group of human village children standing near an open trade stall.

The young boys held their fists tightly, their eyes wide with a mixture of raw terror and silent, burning resentment at the brutal spectacle unfolding before them.

The Martial Master stopped in his tracks.

A cold, arrogant sneer curled his lips.

He turned his gaze toward the line of captives behind him and pointed a thick finger at a young, weeping Sheep-kin girl dragged by a Martial Warrior.

”You,” the commander barked. ”Bring that one here.”

The Martial Warrior obeyed instantly, unlocking the girl’s chain and shoving her forward into his leader’s grasp.

The Martial Master reached out with his heavy, leather-gloved hand, catching the young Sheep-woman by the throat.

He lifted her slender frame off the dirt road, her hooves kicking helplessly in the air as she choked for breath.

Her tongue was cut off so she could not scream neither could she beg for mercy.

Carrying her like a ragdoll, the commander took slow, deliberate steps toward the terrified village children.

The surrounding mortals gasped, backing away in a panic, but the children remained frozen, paralyzed by the Martial Master’s suffocating aura.

”Look closely, you little brats!” the Martial Master shouted, his booming voice echoing across the market square for all to hear. ”I see the look in your eyes!

You think because you live under the shadow of Kaelos City, you can hold disgust for our work?”

His brown eyes gleamed with sadistic delight as he tightened his grip around the girl’s neck.

”Let this be an eternal lesson to anyone in these mountains who dares to harbor soft hearts or question the absolute authority of Kaelos City!” he declared arrogantly.

”This is the fate of cattle, and this is the fate of anyone who forgets their place!”

The moment his speech ended, the commander’s eyes flashed with dark mana.

He amplified his physical grip with a sudden surge of Martial Master aura.

CRACK-SPURT!

With a sickening crunch of breaking bone and tearing flesh, he completely crushed the young girl’s throat.

High-pressure crimson blood gushed instantly from her mouth and neck, spraying directly over his face, armor, and the dusty ground below.

The village children shrieked in terror, falling backward into the dirt.

The Martial Master laughed—a booming, grotesque sound that chilled the blood of everyone in the square.

He wasn’t done yet.

Grasping the lifeless corpse with both hands, he unleashed a violent burst of physical mana, brutally tearing the dead body apart and scattering the bloody remains directly across the dirt road before the wide, horrified eyes of the children.

Wiping a drop of blood from his cheek with a leather glove, the commander sneered at the weeping, trembling children.

”Clean this filth off the road,” he ordered his men casually, turning back toward the gates of Kaelos City.

”And get the iron cages ready. Tonight, we hunt the Leopards.”