Starting Out As The God of Beasts

Panic choked Kael’s lungs as he sprinted through the damp, jagged subterranean tunnels of the mountain cave.

Heavy, metallic-tasting blood soaked through his tunic, running warm against his chest—but it was not his own.

In his trembling arms, he cradled the limp, lifeless body of Yaller.

Along the wide cavern pathways, dozens of Crimson Spotted Leopard-kin stood frozen.

Their sleek, crimson-spotted fur bristled as they watched the young warrior race past, his face pale, his eyes wide and bloodshot with absolute despair.

No one stepped forward to block his path.

No one shouted at him to halt.

They merely lowered their eyes in a heavy, collective sorrow, their claws tightening around spears, bows, and iron blades.

They all knew. Yaller was not just a promising scout of their enclave; she was Kael’s betrothed.

To see her brought back as a cold, bleeding shell shattered the hearts of every warrior in the tribe.

Kael slammed his shoulder against the carved wooden barrier at the end of the central tunnel, barging directly into the Chamber of the Elders.

Inside, lighting the low-ceilinged hall with faint amber magic, four elderly Leopard-kin sat around a flat stone map.

At the head of the stone table stood Agrea, the supreme Tribe Leader and Yaller’s father.

Like the four elders surrounding him, Agrea was a veteran Martial Master, his crimson-spotted fur scarred from decades of brutal mountain skirmishes.

THUD!

Kael collapsed onto his knees at the center of the chamber, laying Yaller’s lifeless body onto the stone floor.

Tears streamed down his dirt-stained cheeks as he clutched her cold, limp hand.

”Elders... Leader Agrea...” Kael choked out, his chest heaving violently. ”I... I couldn’t save her...”

Agrea froze.

His amber eyes locked onto the motionless form of his daughter.

The color drained from his face, replaced instantly by a wave of raw, suffocating fury that caused the ambient mana in the sealed chamber to vibrate violently.

”Yaller...” Agrea’s voice trembled, dropping into a dangerous, guttural growl. He stepped forward, his heavy, clawed boots echoing off the stone floor. ”Kael! What is the meaning of this?! You two were assigned to scout the eastern ridge! Why have you brought my daughter back dead—and in such a ghastly state?!”

Kael wiped his face, his voice cracking amidst his tears. ”We were at the highest peak, masked by the mountain mist! We didn’t hear a footprint... we didn’t smell a single human!

Then... SNAP! Yaller just collapsed beside me. Her chest was pierced through before I even heard the air split! I searched the crags, but the attacker was nowhere to be found... It has to be them, Leader! It has to be the slaver squads from Kaelos City!”

One of the four tribe elders—an old, blind-eyed Martial Master named Elder Vahn—stepped forward.

He knelt beside Yaller’s corpse, placing two clawed fingers over the clean, fist-sized hole burned cleanly through her sternum.

He sniffed the faint, metallic smoke rising from the wound, his expression growing darker by the second.

Elder Vahn exhaled a long, heavy sigh, his blind eyes turning toward the ceiling.

”This was not the work of a common mercenary,” Elder Vahn stated coldly, his voice laced with grim certainty. ”It was executed by a high-tier human Cultivator utilizing a high-grade spatial bow... a master sniper. The shot came from over three miles away.”

The chamber fell into a suffocating silence.

Elder Vahn stood up slowly, leaning heavily on his wooden staff. ”Our location has been completely compromised, Leader Agrea. The human hunters know we are inside these caverns. We must prepare our warriors for an immediate, bloody invasion.”

Agrea’s fists clenched so tightly his claws drew blood from his own palms.

His eyes burned with an unstable, vengeful light. ”If our location was compromised, why haven’t they breached the gates?! Why pick off a single scout on the ridge instead of storming our tunnels with their army?!”

Elder Vahn turned his gaze toward the Tribe Leader, his voice dropping into a chilling, hopeless whisper.

”The answer is simple, Agrea,” Vahn answered softly. ”They do not wish to fight us inside our narrow subterranean tunnels where our agility gives us the advantage.

They killed your daughter to provoke us—to draw us out into the open. They want us to charge out in a blind rage so they can butcher those who resist... and drag the rest away in iron collars.”

Elder Vahn closed his eyes, sensing the heavy, artificial mana signatures warping the air far above the mountain peak.

”We are already surrounded.”

Elder Vahn’s warning was painfully accurate.

A few hundred yards beyond the hidden mouth of the cave, scattered across the rocky ridges and thick forest treelines, an absolute death trap had been sprung.

Dozens of human mercenaries, all armed with runic armor and high-grade steel weaponry, crouched silently behind boulders and high tree branches.

Every single one of them was a seasoned Martial Warrior, their eyes locked intently on the cave entrance below, ready to unleash a barrage of lethal martial arts the moment the Leopard-kin breached the surface.

Standing atop a high, secluded cliff overlooking the entire valley, three figures watched the scene unfold with crafty, triumphant grins.

Two were middle-aged men—one with long, silver-gray hair tied in a ponytail, the other with short, coarse brown hair.

Beside them stood a remarkably young, black-haired youth wrapped in high-grade leather armor, a massive, runic longbow strapped across his back.

All three were terrifying entities—Peak-Enlightened Martial Masters who stood at the absolute threshold of breaking through into the Martial General realm.

The gray-haired Martial Master stepped up to the edge of the cliff, crossing his arms as he let out a low, sinister chuckle.

”It’s about to start,” he purred, his sharp eyes scanning the quiet mountain path below.

The young, black-haired archer frowned slightly, adjusting the heavy leather strap across his chest.

He looked toward his gray-haired senior with a hint of doubt in his voice.

”Senior Brother... are you certain that single kill was enough?” the young archer asked softly.

”Will a simple bait truly draw the entire beastman tribe out of their rat holes? If they choose to barricade themselves inside the deep tunnels, clearing them out will cost us dozens of men.”

The gray-haired Martial Master sneered, a dark, arrogant glint flashing in his eyes.

”Have no fear, young one,” the senior answered smoothly. ”These beastmen are emotionally volatile creatures driven by primitive instincts. You struck down the daughter of their Tribe Leader.

Right now, their blood is boiling. They will believe they are merely fighting off a standard regional hunting party that has surrounded their perimeter.”

The gray-haired master leaned closer to the young archer, his smile turning sharp and mocking.

”Unbeknownst to those miserable beasts,” he whispered, gesturing subtly toward the heavy, silent mist hovering above the highest mountain peak, ”we are merely the beaters driving the cattle into the slaughterhouse.

They have no idea that a supreme Sect Elder—a true Martial General secretly deployed directly by the Glorious Mythical Sect—is hovering in the clouds above us, ready to crush their entire resistance into absolute dust.”

”When the dusk settles, our slaves should be ready for the ritual”