Starting Out As The God of Beasts

Roy’s expression remained utterly emotionless, devoid of any wariness or panic.

Without a single second of hesitation, he reached out and pulled open the heavy oak door.

The moment his borrowed eyes met the sharp, icy blue gaze of Priest Arnold, Roy’s wrinkled face relaxed into a warm, polite smile.

He stepped aside, gesturing gracefully into the dimly lit private chamber.

"Welcome, Priest Arnold," Roy spoke, his voice carrying the exact raspy, authoritative tone of the Peerless Supreme Elder.

"Please, step inside."

"Thank you for your gracious hospitality, Elder," Priest Arnold replied smoothly, his white-and-gold priestly robes rustling softly as he crossed the threshold.

Roy closed the door behind him, turning the heavy iron key in the lock with a distinct click before turning back to face his guest.

"There is no need for thanks, Priest," Roy said, adjusting his sleeves with quiet dignity. "You have traveled far to lend your divine holy strength to our Glorious Mythical Sect during this unprecedented crisis.

Why wouldn’t I be hospitable to an honored servant of the Almighty God?"

Roy walked over to a carved wooden table, placing a hand on the back of a chair as he looked at the cleric.

"Now, tell me... what brings you to my private quarters at such a late hour?"

Priest Arnold did not answer immediately.

He stood in the center of the room, his posture tall and straight, his cold gaze slowly scanning the Peerless Supreme Elder from head to toe.

For a long, suffocating minute, the priest judged every detail—the Elder’s posture, his spiritual breathing, his faint scent of wind-attributed mana, and the subtle lines of fatigue etched into his face.

Yet, no matter how deeply Priest Arnold probed with his refined Martial Lord perception, he could uncover nothing amiss.

The man standing before him possessed the exact soul core frequency, physical appearance, and stoic demeanor of the true Peerless Supreme Elder.

Satisfied, Priest Arnold inhaled deeply, his icy blue eyes darkening with grave concern.

"Elder... I came here tonight because this situation is far more severe than Sect Leader Mao or the council comprehends," Priest Arnold spoke, his rich voice dropping into an intense whisper.

"If a hidden deity has truly been angered by the actions of your sect, that divine entity will stop at nothing until every hall, every disciple, and every foundation of the Glorious Mythical Sect is reduced to absolute ash."

The priest took a step closer to Roy. "For your faction to survive this impending storm, you cannot afford half-measures. The sect must actively, completely, and unconditionally cooperate with the Church of the God of the Sky."

"I see," Roy murmured, nodding slowly with a look of heavy contemplation.

"You are the only core Elder who managed to locate direct, tangible traces of this mysterious Apostle," Priest Arnold continued, his tone turning persuasive.

"Therefore, I wish to work directly with you. Together, you and I shall uncover the true origin, the hidden arts, and the ultimate objective of this so-called divine enforcer."

Priest Arnold then turned his back to Roy, walking slowly toward the high lattice window.

He placed his hands behind his back, staring out over the silent, torchlit peaks of the Northern Hashian Mountains, a subtle, ambitious smile touching his handsome lips.

"Reinforcements from our holy see are already fast approaching," Priest Arnold explained softly, his reflection glinting in the dark window glass. "However, we cannot simply sit on our hands and wait for their arrival. We must act with ruthless speed to ensure this Apostle does not slip deeper into the mountain ranges and vanish into the shadows."

The priest let out a quiet, lingering sigh. "To guarantee our victory, I need complete, unrestricted access to every intelligence network, every scout report, and every regional movement within these mountains. I need to know everything that transpires across the Northern Hashian range."

Behind the priest’s back, Roy’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, a cold, dangerous light flashing briefly in his golden-crimson eyes beneath his disguise.

He wants total administrative control over the sect’s intelligence under the guise of an investigation, Roy recognized instantly.

A classic church play.

Without missing a single beat, Roy lowered his head, cupping his hands in a profound, reverent martial salute.

"Your divine wisdom is absolute, Priest Arnold," Roy declared, his raspy voice filled with deep, unwavering conviction.

"I pledge my full devotion, my networks, and my loyalty to the Holy Church and the Glorious Mythical Sect. Whatever you require of me shall be delivered without delay."

Priest Arnold turned his head slightly, looking over his shoulder at the bowing "Elder." His serene smile widened in total satisfaction.

"Your devotion does you great credit, Peerless Supreme Elder," Priest Arnold praised, his tone dripping with patronizing approval.

"The Church recognizes those who serve its higher purpose. Rest well tonight. Tomorrow, our real work begins."

With a graceful sweep of his white-and-gold robes, Priest Arnold walked past Roy, unlocked the heavy oak door, and stepped out into the quiet corridor, his faint, rhythmic footsteps fading into the distance.

Roy straightened his back, locking the door once more.

He stood alone in the center of the room, a slow, wicked grin carving its way across his stolen face as he looked toward the window.

***

Meanwhile, far beyond the high walls of the Glorious Mythical Sect...

High above the clouds, hovering silently in the upper atmosphere of the Northern Hashian Mountains, two terrifying, world-shaking presences materialized out of the empty night sky.

They moved with such absolute, flawless stealth that not a single mountain array, grand barrier, or patrolling cultivator detected their crossing of the border.

Surrounding their bodies was a dense, suffocating domain pressure that far surpassed the realm of Martial Generals or Martial Lords.

They were genuine, apex-tier powerhouses—Martial Saints.

The first figure was a tall, regal man clad in flowing, dark crimson robes embroidered with golden mane and dark tiger stripes.

His eyes burned like twin suns, his cold, calculating gaze sweeping over the vast mountain range below.

This was Grand Chancellor Manuses, one of the supreme strategic pillars of the Kingdom of Varania.

Standing beside him was a youthful elder with deeply lined features, wearing dense, battle-hardened obsidian exoskeleton armor that seemed to absorb the very light around him.

His hand rested casually on the pommel of a colossal Greatsword slung over his back.

This was Pope Croak, the holy leader of the Church of the Beast God Varanus.

"So this is the Northern Hashian range..." Grand Chancellor Manuses spoke, his voice vibrating through the upper winds like low thunder.

"A pathetic region who has bathed in the blood of our people."

Pope Croak’s eyes narrowed into sharp, lethal slits as he looked down toward the distant, smoldering valley where Kaelos City once stood.