Chapter 141: King Allan von Beastlighter
The grand, white-stone doors of Saint Jarden’s Cathedral swung open with a deep, echoing rumble that resonated across the vast square.
Outside, a surging sea of beastmen erupted in joyful cheers.
Like a rising tide, thousands of citizens poured through the archways into the immense nave.
Built with spatial expansion arrays and soaring vaulted ceilings, the cathedral easily accommodated over a hundred thousand worshippers, its vast marble hall bathed in the warm light of golden mana lamps.
Throughout the capital and across every Duchy, the realm was locked down in a state of absolute, disciplined readiness.
Military officers in polished armor stood guard at every intersection, while hidden shadow agents of Mandraxx moved silently through the crowds, their sharp eyes monitoring every corner.
By supreme decree, not a single officer or agent was permitted to slack—security for the historic day was absolute.
Inside the sanctuary, thousands of beastmen dropped to their knees in synchronized reverence, their voices blending into a deep, rhythmic chant as they recited the ancient Lydorian honorifics of their Deity:
"Blessed art thou, O Great Eternal One."
"Thy name, Varanus, is the truth."
"You are the Great Primordial of the Feral Domain."
"You are the Principal of the Fractured Mind."
"You are the God of Beast and Men, Who Shall Devour All."
The chant swelled to a thunderous, earth-shaking climax:
"Praise be to the Father!"
"Praise be to Lord Varanus!"
"Glory to Varania!"
Standing upon the elevated marble altar, a black-spotted Frogman High Priest stepped forward, clad in rich, crimson priestly robes embroidered with gold runic thread.
He raised his hands, and the vast assembly fell into rapt silence as the sacred mass officially began.
In a deep, booming voice, the High Priest spoke of the grand history of the realm.
He recounted the dark days when the desert was ruled by tyranny, praising the absolute authority of the God of Beasts who shattered the evil hands of Razarak the Troll King and brought down the corrupt walls of Norona City.
He spoke passionately of the Father’s love for his children, recounting the initial divine revelation granted to his first devout follower—Duchess Eurenia—and hailing the strength of the Crusade, the supreme army of the Church.
"Look upon our land!" the High Priest proclaimed, pointing toward the high stained-glass windows. "Once, this was a barren, merciless desert where water was worth more than gold!
Today, by the miracle of Lord Varanus, water flows as our natural resource, our lakes overflow with life, and our warriors hunt F-class beast-stage abominations for sport!"
The crowd roared in ecstatic agreement.
"In the old days, a Cultivator was a legendary phenomenon!" the priest continued, his voice ringing with pride. "Yet today, under the grace of the God of Beasts, Varania stands protected by two mighty Martial Saints, a Martial Lord, and dozens of Martial Generals!"
The High Priest raised his arms high, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings:
"Glory to the God of Beasts!"
The hundred thousand worshippers inside the sanctuary cheered with feverish excitement, their voices shaking the cathedral’s foundation:
"GLORY TO THE GOD OF BEASTS!"
Within the main hall, distinct areas had been demarcated for the kingdom’s governance.
The noble families of the twenty Senators, along with County and Viscounty houses, stood in elevated, designated galleries overlooking the central aisle.
Directly adjacent to the grand altar sat an exclusive, heavily guarded tier reserved for the supreme rulers of the nation:
Grand Chancellor Manuses, Pope Croak, Duchess Brenda, Duke Attaris, Duchess Eurenia, Duchess Alisa, and General Trojan.
The High Priest—a high-tier Martial Master—bowed deeply, stepping down from the elevated platform.
In his place, Pope Croak ascended the steps of the main altar.
Draped in grand pontifical robes woven from golden silk, his massive, dark-skinned frame radiated the quiet, terrifying aura of a true Martial Saint.
He turned to face the vast sea of a hundred thousand beastmen, a serene, fatherly smile resting upon his face.
Pope Croak raised his clawed hand, and the roaring hall fell instantly, flawlessly silent.
"My children," Pope Croak spoke, his deep voice amplified by divine acoustics to reach every ear inside and outside the sanctuary.
"By the absolute grace, mercy, and will of our God, Lord Varanus..."
The Pope looked toward the central aisle, his eyes gleaming with sacred authority.
"...We shall now begin the crowning of our first King!"
A profound, breathless silence descended upon the vast, crowded sanctuary.
A hundred thousand worshippers stood frozen in place, their gazes fixed entirely upon the high marble altar where Pope Croak stood framed by towering golden banners.
Pope Croak swept his calm, fatherly gaze across the silent sea of citizens, noblemen, and high officials.
"My children," the Pope’s deep, resonant voice echoed off the white Varanite arches, carrying to the farthest corners of the cathedral.
"The creation of a kingdom is not merely an act of mortal politics—it is the alignment of divine order. When our divine master, Lord Varanus, decreed that a sovereign be appointed to guide the mortal realm of Varania, He commanded that the King be drawn from among the houses of nobility."
A subtle murmur of agreement passed through the noble galleries.
"Yet, our God sees not as mortals see," Pope Croak continued, his voice swelling with solemn reverence. "He looks not upon political weight, nor upon grand titles, but upon the purity, resilience, and honor of the soul. Thus, out of ninety noble candidates, the divine mandate fell upon a candidate from a house that formerly occupied a mere Barony—a humble family from the outer fringes of Fenrir."
The Pope gestured toward the gallery where the emotional leaders of House Frederek stood bowing their heads.
"By ducal decree, House Frederek has been rightfully elevated to a County," Pope Croak announced, his voice echoing with historical weight. "And let it be etched forever into the annals of our empire: it was House Frederek that produced the foundational bloodline of our first King!"
The crowd broke into a disciplined, respectful wave of applause, the noble houses bowing toward the elevated Frederek gallery in quiet acknowledgment.
Pope Croak raised a heavy hand, bringing the hall back to absolute quiet.
"By our newly established divine constitution," the Pope stated firmly, "a monarch who commands the armies, guides the ministers, and protects the realm must possess the martial strength required to bear such a crown.
The King of Varania must be a cultivator."
The Pope paused, a glowing, triumphant smile spreading across his broad face.
"When Allan was chosen, he was a mundane mortal, uninitiated in the arts of martial ascension," Pope Croak declared, his voice ringing out like a sacred gong. "Yet, through the direct grace, mercy, and miraculous blessings of the God of Beasts, our King was remade!
Today, he stands before us not as a mundane mortal... but as an elite Martial Master!"
The entire sanctuary erupted into a deafening roar of thunderous applause!
The citizens cheered with wild, ecstatic fervor, marvelling at the sheer speed of divine elevation.
To elevate a non-cultivator into a Martial Master in less than a week was a feat that only a True God could manifest.
Pope Croak stepped back, spreading his arms wide as two High Priests stepped forward bearing the velvet cushion upon which the heavy Varanium crown rested.
"Citizens of Varania! Nobles of the realm!" Pope Croak’s voice boomed across the sky above the capital. "Look upon your monarch! I present to you the sovereign of our realm...
King Allan von Beastlighter! Patriarch of the Beastlighter Royal Family and supreme King of Varania!"
The heavy mahogany doors at the rear of the grand altar swung open smoothly.
Allan stepped into the hall.
Instantly, the deafening cheers vanished.
The massive, hundred-thousand-strong crowd fell into a silence so absolute, so sudden, that the cathedral became as quiet as a sacred graveyard.
Allan walked with calm, measured, and effortlessly majestic steps across the white marble floor.
Clad in high-collared, gold-trimmed royal robes of deep midnight blue that swept behind him, his dark silk hair fell down past his waist.
His smooth gray fur caught the radiant sunlight filtering through the stained glass, and his glowing ruby eyes swept over the silent hall with profound, unshakeable authority.
From his frame radiated the terrifyingly refined, dense spiritual pressure of a true S-class Spirit Wolf—a Martial Master whose very presence made the ambient mana in the air vibrate with quiet reverence.
Not a single person breathed.
The commoners, the Senators, and even the high Dukes stared in absolute, stunned awe at the divine transformation of the monarch who now walked among them.