Starting Out As The God of Beasts

High Priest Arnold froze in mid-air, the destructive golden holy light swirling around his fists instantly sputtering out.

His blue eyes widened as he stared at the hand clamped tightly around the Peerless Supreme Elder’s throat.

Arnold’s racing heart hammered against his ribs—not out of concern for the old man’s life, but because the aged elder was the single most vital piece in his plan to seize control of the Glorious Mythical Sect.

If the elder died here today, Arnold’s leverage over Sect Leader Mao would evaporate, and his months of careful political maneuvering would crumble into dust.

“Release him at once, heretic!” Arnold demanded, forcing his voice to remain steady as he took a cautious half-step back, his fingers trembling with suppressed fury.

“If you harm a single hair on his head, there is no place in these mountains where you can hide!”

Manuses’ lips curled into a dark, predatory grin behind Roy’s ear.

He didn’t loosen his grip even an inch.

Of course, Manuses was fully aware that the “helpless elder” held in his iron claw was actually his supreme master, Roy.

Every single action, every line of dialogue, and every subtle shift in posture had been thoroughly scripted in advance.

This hostaging performance was merely another layer of Roy’s grand plan to ignite a full-scale, bloody Religious War across Northern Hashian.

If Makane, the God of the Sky, and his hypocritical followers wished to wage war against the God of the Beast, Roy was more than happy to oblige.

But he wouldn’t just fight them—he would tear down their influence, butcher their vanguards, and annihilate the Church of the God of the Sky in the most heinous, humiliating manner possible.

Now back in absolute control of his emotions, High Priest Arnold narrowed his eyes, scrutinizing the golden-haired warrior holding the elder.

The sheer speed the man had displayed—moving so fast he had completely evaded a full-power strike from a Martial Lord—was terrifying.

He is no weaker than I am, Arnold realized, a cold bead of sweat trickling down his neck.

Another Martial Lord… lurking right in the heart of the province.

“Who are you truly?” Arnold asked, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous register as he calculated his chances of rescuing the elder without causing an instant fatality.

“A warrior of your caliber does not serve in the dark without a name.”

Manuses let out a soft, mocking sigh, his sun-bright golden eyes glaring at the cleric with absolute disdain.

“I have already told you, little priest,” Manuses spoke smoothly, his voice echoing across the silent, corpse-strewn ruins of the street.

“I am a humble servant of the God of Beast and Men.”

Arnold’s silver-red eyebrows furrowed into a tight knot.

“Are you… the Apostle?”

Manuses tilted his head and let out a short, melodic laugh, shaking his head gently.

“The Apostle? No. I am merely a blade moving under the Apostle’s direct command,” Manuses replied, his golden eyes flashing with a chilling light.

“Kaelos City was punished for its heinous sins against our divine lord, yet your holy church continues to march into our territory, butchering the weak and declaring war against our faith.”

Manuses leaned forward slightly, his sneer widening. “Tell me, high priest… is the Church of the God of the Sky truly so eager to die?”

The blatant insult sent a surge of hot rage through Arnold’s veins, but he grit his teeth and remained motionless, his eyes locked on the hand around Roy’s neck.

Manuses did not give him time to speak.

His lopsided grin vanished, replaced by an expression of cold, terrifying majesty.

His voice transformed, vibrating with a divine, ancient weight that made the very atmosphere of Oscros City tremble.

“Hear my words, servant of the Sky!” Manuses declared, his voice booming like thunder over the ruined city. “By the absolute Will of the God of Beast, I hereby declare Holy War upon the Church of the God of the Sky!”

The golden-haired warrior raised his free hand, pointing a finger directly at Arnold’s chest.

“Every soul that dares to challenge our church shall pay with their blood,” Manuses proclaimed, his voice laced with absolute, unyielding malice.

“You, your paladins, and your false god… you will all die a dog’s death in the dirt!”

Before High Priest Arnold could even channel his mana to launch a desperate rescue attempt—

SWISH!

Manuses simply vanished into thin air.

There was no spatial ripple, no residual burst of aura, and no trace of movement.

He was simply gone, leaving the Peerless Supreme Elder stumbling forward, clutching his throat and coughing raspy gasps into the dusty air.

High Priest Arnold’s gaze darkened to a pitch-black hue.

He stood completely frozen, his heart pounding in sheer, unadulterated shock.

He hadn’t been able to react to the heretic’s movement at all.

The speed, the mastery over spatial aura, and the terrifying composure of the beast follower shook his soul to its very core.

Standing amidst the severed heads of his paladins, Arnold realized the terrifying reality of his situation.

The days of quiet infiltration, subtle political pressure, and secret investigations were officially over.

The storm had broken. A brutal, unforgiving religious war had just begun.

Arnold forced his breathing to slow down as he stepped forward, rushing to the side of the bowed, trembling “elder.”

He reached out, placing a hand on Roy’s shoulder to steady him.

“Elder Peerless! Are you alright?” Arnold asked, his voice tight with lingering panic.

Roy, playing his role as an shaken, elderly cultivator to absolute perfection, raised a pale, trembling face.

He panted heavily, his eyes wide with artificial terror as he looked at the cleric.

“I… I am fine, High Priest…” Roy rasped nervously, his voice shaking as he touched his neck. “That monster… his strength was unfathomable…”

High Priest Arnold gnashed his teeth together so hard a faint crack echoed from his jaw.

Looking at the shaken elder, a dark, psychotic resolve hardened within the cleric’s heart.

He felt deeply humiliated, outmaneuvered, and pushed into a corner—and the only way out was total slaughter.

“Do not fear, Elder,” Arnold hissed, his blue eyes burning with an unholy, murderous fire as he squeezed Roy’s shoulder.

“I swear upon my soul and the radiant name of the Sky God… I will tear those damn beast-worshipping dogs apart piece by piece! I will flay their Apostle alive, even if I have to burn this entire mountain range to the ground and die in the process!”

Arnold turned toward the direction of the mountain peak, his white robes fluttering as he composed himself.

“We are returning to the Glorious Mythical Sect at once,” Arnold commanded coldly. “We must prepare the sect for total mobilization before Cardinal Ryoger arrives.”

“Understood… High Priest,” Roy stammered nervously, bowing his head in obedience as he fell in step behind the cleric.

As Arnold turned his back and took to the sky, Roy slowly raised his head.

Beneath his withered, elderly brow, his golden-crimson eyes gleamed with dark, divine amusement, and a cold, ruthless, and truly evil grin stretched across his face.