Starting Out As The God of Beasts

Roy cleared his throat softly, taking a brief moment to compose himself as every eye around the grand mahogany table locked onto his borrowed face.

A heavy, expectant silence settled over the council chamber.

He deliberately hesitated for two agonizing seconds, letting the tension in the room build to a razor-thin edge, before a subtle, confident smile carved its way across his stolen features.

”Sect Leader,” Roy spoke smoothly, using the exact, slightly raspy cadence of the Peerless Supreme Elder.

”Unlike my esteemed brothers, my time in Jayrel City was far from empty. I managed to locate direct, tangible traces of the culprit behind the fall of Kaelos and the death of Brother Silver Lotus.”

BANG!

Sect Leader Mao Zedion slammed his heavy palm against the armrest of his throne, the hall instantly growing so tense that the air felt thick enough to chew.

”Explain!” Mao Zedion demanded, his green eyes burning with intense, volatile expectation. ”Who dares lay hands upon my core Elders?!”

Roy remained completely unfazed by the outburst, leaning forward slightly with his hands folded casually over the table.

”Through meticulous interrogation of hidden underground networks, I uncovered that the culprit is indeed an Apostle—a direct, divine servant sent by an entity known as the God of Beasts,” Roy lied seamlessly, his tone laced with absolute gravitas.

”I attempted to trace the origin of this God of Beasts, searching for their cathedrals, their scriptures, or the location of their primary holy see, but my search yielded nothing. It is as if this divine realm materialized out of thin air.”

Roy paused, adjusting his dark-brown hood slightly as he delivered the forged punchline.

”Furthermore... based on the residual mana signatures and spatial distortions left behind at the culprit’s former hideout in Jayrel, I have deduced his power realm,” Roy stated calmly, his voice echoing into every corner of the silent hall.

”The Apostle is, at minimum, a Martial Saint. He departed the city roughly a day before my arrival, and while his exact coordinates remain unknown, one thing is absolute... he has not left the Northern Hashian Mountains.”

”A... a Martial Saint?!”

Sect Leader Mao Zedion bit his lower lip so hard a drop of blood nearly welled up.

His face twisted into a dark mask of sheer frustration and suppressed rage.

As a Martial Lord, he was a titan among ordinary mortals, but compared to a genuine Martial Saint—a terrifying existence capable of shattering mountains with a gesture—he was hopelessly weak.

Challenging a Martial Saint in open combat was nothing short of total, suicidal foolishness.

Panic sparked subtly among the seated Elders, their eyes darting nervously between one another.

Yet, amidst the rising wave of anxiety, Priest Arnold remained the sole beacon of absolute composure.

Stepping forward from the shadowy alcove behind the dragon throne, the red-haired priest began to clap his hands slowly, a soft, pleasant, and entirely serene smile gracing his handsome face.

”Magnificent work, Peerless Supreme Elder,” Priest Arnold praised, his rich, melodic voice cutting smoothly through the panicked murmurs of the council.

”Your diligence has saved your sect from marching blindly into a slaughter.”

Arnold turned his gaze toward the furious Sect Leader, placing a gentle, reassuring hand upon Mao Zedion’s tense shoulder.

”Calm yourself, Sect Leader Mao,” Priest Arnold instructed smoothly. ”A Martial Saint is indeed a formidable entity for a regional martial sect, but to the holy hierarchy of the Church of the God of the Sky, an Apostle of a nameless, backwater deity is merely a prominent target waiting for divine purification.

The Church shall intervene directly. We will mobilize our high-ranking holy inquisitors and bring down this mysterious killer before he can strike at your gates again.”

Sitting at the far end of the table, Roy laid back against his wooden chair, a faint, hidden grin touching his lips beneath his hood.

He knew the absolute truth behind the priest’s sudden generosity.

The Church of the God of the Sky cared nothing for the fallen Silver Lotus Elder; they were simply using this crisis as the perfect, righteous catalyst to expand their religious domain and solidify their absolute, permanent presence across the Northern Hashian Mountains.

A clever play, Roy thought inwardly, his golden-crimson eyes glinting with cold amusement beneath his disguise.

Unfortunately for you, little priest, I have no intention of letting your Church reap this harvest.

This entire territory belongs to Varania.

To claim the Northern Hashian Mountains, I will shatter your Glorious Mythical Sect from the inside... and then I will butcher your Holy Church.

Sect Leader Mao Zedion exhaled a long, heavy breath, visibly relaxing under Priest Arnold’s assurances.

He raised his hand, barking out new, swift commands to the assembly.

”The meeting is adjourned!” Mao Zedion declared.

”Starting immediately, every city, town, and trade route under our jurisdiction will be actively patrolled by our full martial forces.

You are to monitor every unusual movement, gather intelligence, and confirm the exact location of this monster before the Church’s reinforcements arrive! Dismissed!”

Night fell over the soaring mountain peaks of the sect.

Deep within the inner court of the grand complex, Roy sat quietly inside the luxurious, stone-carved private bedroom of the Peerless Supreme Elder.

Upon returning to the quarters, Roy had strictly avoided all of the real Elder’s personal disciples and attendants, dismissing them at the door under the pretense of entering secluded meditation to process his search findings.

He sat cross-legged on the silk-cushioned bed, the room illuminated only by the pale moonlight filtering through the high lattice windows. He was waiting.

FLICKER.

Suddenly, the ambient temperature in the bedroom dropped by several degrees.

The air directly behind Roy’s back rippled like water, and a faint, subtle vibration of ancient divine essence leaked into the quiet chamber.

Roy’s sharp eyebrows furrowed slightly before his lips curled into a broad, knowing grin.

He didn’t rush to draw a weapon, nor did he flare his divine essence. Instead, he slowly rotated his head, turning to face the empty air behind him.

”I knew you would come,” Roy whispered, his voice smooth and untroubled.

The spatial distortion resolved into a solid, shadowy form.

Stepping out from the folds of reality was a tall, ethereal figure wrapped in shimmering, starlight-embroidered robes, his features constantly shifting like turning pages in a book of secrets.

It was the avatar of Telvanus, the God of Information.

Telvanus looked down at Roy—who was still wearing the elderly, wrinkled visage of the Peerless Supreme Elder—and let out a soft, dry chuckle that sounded like rustling parchment.

”You wear that mortal skin remarkably well, Varanus,” Telvanus spoke, his voice echoing with the whispers of a thousand hidden truths.

”Though I suppose a grand stage demands a proper disguise.”