Starting Out As The God of Beasts

Hundreds of miles away from the smoke, ash, and screaming chaos of the Northern Hashian Mountains, the world changed entirely.

Here, in the Southern Hashian Mountains—a domain firmly under the quiet, ancient rule of the Emerald Purity Sect—the land knew nothing of divine fire or burning cities.

Nestled deep within this southern territory lay the Prismatic Forest, a vast, breathtaking expanse of multicolored flora that looked like a living painting under the soft starlight.

Trees with trunks of deep indigo and leaves of iridescent turquoise stretched high into the night sky, their canopies rustling softly in the cool mountain breeze.

Shimmering, bioluminescent moss covered the forest floor in hues of soft pink, emerald green, and radiant violet, glowing faintly underfoot with every gentle vibration of the earth.

Crystalline streams snaked through the vibrant foliage, their clear waters reflecting the shifting hues of the leaves above.

The mysterious creatures—small, harmless creatures with fur that glittered like powdered gold and birds with feathers of soft amber—roamed freely through the brush, filling the night air with peaceful, harmonious chirps and hums.

It was a paradise flourishing with raw, untamed life, completely unmarred by the blood and politics of mortal sects.

SWISH! SWISH!

The serene silence of the Prismatic Forest was suddenly shattered as space itself folded inward, distorting the vibrant air near a massive, turquoise-leafed ancient oak.

Two figures stumbled violently out of the spatial ripple, their heavy boots slamming hard against the soft, glowing moss.

Grand Chancellor Manuses and Pope Croak hit the ground, leaning heavily against the thick indigo trunk of the oak.

Both men were sweating profusely, their faces pale and their chests heaving in ragged, desperate gasps for air.

Thick drops of perspiration dripped off Manuses’ jaw, splashing onto the pink moss below, while Pope Croak gripped his dark clerical staff so tightly his knuckles turned entirely white.

They took long, greedy gulps of the crisp, clean southern air, trying to calm their hammering hearts.

They had barely escaped with their lives.

Had it not been for the subtle, brilliant diversion created by Roy—who had snapped his fingers, canceled the muted spatial barrier, and exposed the mutated proxy to the entire Glorious Mythical Sect.

The divine entity would have relentlessly pursued them across the province.

Roy’s strategic calculation had forced the Angel of Dawn to stop his pursuit, forcing the creature to stay behind and deliver a speech to calm the panicked sect elders.

That single window of distraction had allowed the two Martial Saints to tear open a long-distance spatial slip and escape the northern territory entirely.

As Manuses leaned his head back against the bark, his massive, hyper-muscular frame trembled slightly.

It was not a tremor of physical weakness, but a lingering, subconscious reaction to the sheer, existential horror they had just faced.

Beside him, Pope Croak’s narrow, reptilian eyes flickered with a rare, deep-seated terror.

They were Martial Saints—cultivators who could influence the laws of existence itself.

They had slaughtered armies, crushed rival sects, and looked down upon millions.

Yet, when facing that shirtless, cyclopean monstrosity hovering in the sky, they had felt like helpless infants standing before the collapse of the sky.

The raw, cold, and unyielding weight of that entity’s aura was something no mortal cultivation could ever hope to match.

They had to fight with their lives on the line, every mistake was detrimental.

Yet, despite their exhaustion, they hadn’t fled to this southern paradise out of pure panic.

The Prismatic Forest within the Emerald Purity Sect’s domain was their pre-designated rendezvous point—the exact location Roy had set hours before the infiltration began.

A few minutes passed in heavy, tense silence as the two Martial Saints slowly regained their breath and stabilized their surging mana.

FLICKER.

The air ten paces in front of them rippled smoothly, like a stone dropped into a calm pond.

Three figures stepped quietly out of the spatial distortion.

Standing at the front was Roy.

He was no longer wearing his obsidian trench coat, nor was he disguised as the aged Peerless Supreme Elder.

He maintained his true, breathtaking human form—his long, luxurious golden hair cascading all the way down past his waist like a river of spun light, his dark, hypnotic eyes glowing with a calm, ancient depth.

Flanking him on his left and right were Duchess Eurenia and Duchess Alisa.

The moment Eurenia saw the two Martial Saints leaning heavily against the tree, covered in sweat and dust, her eyes widened in deep concern.

She broke away from Roy’s side and rushed forward, her silver rapier clicking against her sheath.

“Grand Chancellor! Pope Croak!” Eurenia called out, her voice laced with genuine worry as her eyes swept over their battered physiques.

“Are you alright?! We felt the shockwave from the perimeter before the Apostle pulled us through space! We heard the explosion… did you sustain heavy injuries?!”

Manuses straightened his back, pushing himself off the indigo tree with a heavy grunt.

He raised his hand and dismissively waved her off, shrugging his massive shoulders as he forced his signature arrogant, tough-guy sneer back onto his face.

“Tsk! Do we look like we’re dying to you, girl?” Manuses grunted, dusting off his torn golden pauldrons, though the faint tremble in his hands betrayed him.

“That old High Priest Arnold was nothing more than a pathetic, hollow shell! He was hiding something truly heinous and foul inside his flesh—something powerful enough that we decided it was wiser to fall back and fight another day. We’re still breathing because we’re strong, simple as that!”

Eurenia let out a small sigh of relief, though her sharp eyes remained suspicious as she looked at Pope Croak, who merely remained silent, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

Slowly, the entire group turned their heads to face Roy, who stood quietly beneath the shade of a pink-leafed canopy, his hands tucked inside his sleeves, his long golden hair catching the ambient glow of the Prismatic Forest.

Pope Croak took a slow, deliberate step forward.

He raised his chin, his dark, narrow eyes locking onto Roy with a mix of deep reverence and intense, burning curiosity.

“Lord Apostle…” Pope Croak spoke, his voice low and solemn, echoing through the quiet, multicolored woods.

“We fought with everything we had, yet we could barely scratch that vessel. It possessed an aura that transcended mortal martial arts entirely… What exactly was that monstrosity we fought tonight?”

Eurenia and Alisa turned their gaze toward Roy as well, waiting in total silence for the answer.

Roy looked at his four dedicated followers.

He let out a long, quiet, and deep sigh that rustled the vibrant leaves around them.

He raised his dark eyes, his expression cold, unreadable, and absolute.

“That…” Roy answered smoothly, his voice carrying a weight that made the very air in the forest stand still,

“…was an Angel.”