Brand New Life Online: Rise Of The Goddess Of Harvest - Chapter 1840: The Holy War Begins

Chapter 1840: The Holy War Begins

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00:00, Tokyo, Japan.

The tranquil nights of Japan, where one could admire the beautiful full moon, were suddenly disturbed. Howls of wolves echoed across the rooftops.

“Awooooo!”

A band of half-wolf, half-men rushed through the buildings, charging and seizing monstrous Hollows and Yokai. They grasped them with sharp claws and tore them apart with powerful jaws.

A giant, muscular man in white pants, golden shoes, and a bright red-and-yellow Hawaiian shirt gazed into the distance, admiring tonight’s hunt.

While readjusting his yellow sunglasses and smoking a big habanero, the tall, hairy old man with long blonde hair and a matching beard smirked, revealing sharp teeth.

“Heh, looks like today’s a big hunt, eh? Somehow, it feels like there’s more of these things around…” He sighed. His hands glowed, sprouting blonde fur as his nails lengthened into razor-sharp claws. He stepped forward, swinging them with casual force.

SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! SLASH! SLASH!

Dozens of thunderous, explosive golden slashes ripped through hundreds of smaller Hollows and Yokai. Their bodies burst apart in blinding light as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.

“Hah, a bunch of small fry, though—hm?”

His sharp eyes gleamed. In the far distance, the Ley Lines of Tokyo began to stir. Large flows of Mana and Spirit Energy surged through several points.

“So it has begun… To think they would do it this early. Are they crazy or something? These damn Magus bastards…”

He shook his head with a sigh, then smirked again, excitement flickering in his gaze. “Let’s see what’s going to happen now… Who’s going to win and… who’s losing? Will the War end in another failure like it did thirty years ago, or… will there finally be a victor who can make his wish?”

As the man looked into the distance, thinking of his dear daughter, another thought crossed his mind—about one of his siblings who had deserted the clan recently due to differences in morals and viewpoints. “Wherever you are, I hope you’re alright, Ulric…”

.

.

.

The Ley Lines across Japan stirred violently. The flow of Mana and Spiritual Energy from the land suddenly converged on Tokyo. In a corner of Shibuya, a man gasped for air and vomited blood onto the ground. His eyes were bloodshot. Gray fur sprouted along his arms. His body, half-monstrous and covered in bruises, had been beaten nearly to death…

By his own brother.

“Hahah… you really don’t get it, do you? Beowulf…”

He collapsed to his knees, struggling for breath before falling fully to the floor. His claws slowly reached into his pocket, toward something that constantly reacted to the stirring Ley Lines. A powerful, ancient ritual was beginning to take shape.

“We’ll never reach the apex of this world if we don’t enter the Holy War… you foolish bastard…”

He smiled through the blood pouring from his mouth, clutching a small, golden statue of a black jackal. It looked ancient, coated in both blood and dust. He had stolen it from a powerful Magus Family. His brother had caught him in the act, beaten him savagely, and cast him out of the clan.

But he didn’t care.

“I finally have it… Humans aren’t the only ones who can become Masters after all…! Haha… Hahahahaha!”

Laughing viciously, he touched the ground. Using his own blood, he formed a large magic circle that gleamed with crimson runes of various shapes and colors. The half-wolf man obsessively consulted a magic book beside him, following every instruction with feverish precision.

“Now… at the core… the catalyst…!”

The Magic Formation linked directly to the Ley Lines. At the same moment, he placed the golden statue at the Formation’s center. It glowed with mysterious gold, red, and black light.

“Cast aside by my kin, denied the moon’s embrace, I stand alone in shadow. My blood, cursed and rejected, I spill freely upon this earth. Each drop is a howl, each line a scar, each circle a chain binding me to fate.

O Anubis, Jackal of the Dead, Guardian of the Scales, hear the cry of one abandoned. I offer not incense nor gold, but the marrow of my own life. I carve your name into my veins, I shape your visage in stone, and I call you forth through the crimson tide.

Judge me, weigh me, devour me if you must—but answer me! Let the rejected wolf become the hound of the underworld. Let my exile be my offering, my agony the key. Rise, Anubis, through this blood-born gate, and walk with me into the war of Grails!”

RUMBLE!

A tremendous tremor surged. Malefic, evil, ghostly energies gathered within the formation. A mass of darkness rose into the sky. The ground cracked open as the screams of countless specters echoed, beginning to shape into a tall being.

Darkness spread ferociously. Zombies, ghosts, and monsters formed, draining Ulric’s Mana and making him writhe in agony as he fell to his knees.

“A-Anubis! Lord Anubis! A God…! Even if only a small fragment of your power, please assist us in—”

ZAAAP!

“Guuaaah?!”

The Grail punished Ulric. A zapping, agonizing strike tore through his entire body. Any normal human would have died instantly, but he survived—his powerful werewolf nature kept him alive.

In that moment, a “Rule” resonated clearly within his mind.

“Gods cannot be summoned as Heroic Spirits.”

“No…! Wait…! I didn’t…!”

Ulric screamed in agony and stretched his hands toward the shadowy entity. Its red eyes narrowed, glaring at him with disdain before slowly fading away.

But instead of leaving nothing behind, someone stood there on the ground.

A gaunt man draped in ragged, blood-stained robes appeared. His body bore painful-looking scars. His hands were calloused, eternally stained blood-red.

He had hollow, dark, sunken eyes with a gaze that pierced like judgment yet offered no mercy. His expression was weary, bitter, and resigned—yet beneath it burned a quiet, simmering fury.

“Y-You…! Who the hell are you?” Ulric’s face twisted in anger as he realized no god stood before him, only a human.

“Are you… my master…?”

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