Chapter 140: Coronation [3]
The morning sun broke over the Holy City, painting the white Varanite spires in radiant shades of gold and amber.
Today, the air vibrated with a feverish, electric energy—the long-awaited day of the official coronation had finally arrived.
Across all six Duchies, the realm was swept into absolute jubilation.
Millions of citizens gathered in city squares, raising banners bearing the sacred emblem of the God of Beasts.
In the capital, the white-paved avenues leading to Saint Jarden’s Cathedral were packed to absolute capacity.
Thousands of commoners, citizens, and merchant guilds rushed toward the holy grounds, seeking entry into the sanctuary to offer prayers for the prosperous reign of their first sovereign.
With the rapid expansion of the Church, the theological hierarchy had officially evolved.
Duke Croak had been formally elevated to the supreme title of Pope of the Church of Varanus, taking his place as the living voice of the faith.
Beneath him, newly appointed High Priests and ordained clergymen led continuous, resonant masses across the capital, their harmonic chants praising the eternal glory of the God of Beasts.
Meanwhile, far from the roaring crowds of the Cathedral, a far more private, heavy meeting was convening inside the Beastlighter Royal Castle.
The massive double doors of the Grand Throne Room swung open.
The six ruling Dukes—Manuses, Brenda, Eurenia, Attaris, Alisa, and Pope Croak—marched into the hall alongside General Trojan.
Called to a mandatory private audience prior to the public ceremony, the kingdom’s highest leaders walked with crisp, disciplined steps.
As they crossed the polished obsidian floor, their eyes immediately locked onto the far end of the hall.
The high crimson throne remained empty. Standing at the base of the twenty marble steps were two figures, both with their backs turned toward the arriving council.
The first was undeniably Roy, his towering Crimson Wolf-man form wrapped in his iconic, gold-embroidered cloak.
Beside him stood an unfamiliar, intimidating stranger.
A Martial Master yet the aura he carried was something beyond their understanding.
The stranger was clad in a sleek, immaculate black silk robe that swept against the stone floor.
Long, luxurious dark hair cascaded down his back, reaching past his waist.
From his frame radiated a calm, profound, and exceptionally dense spiritual pressure—an aura so refined that it made the surrounding air hum with ambient mana.
"Who’s that?"
"I don’t know, don’t ask me"
The Dukes and General Trojan exchanged subtle, guarded glances.
Though curiosity and instinct urged them to brace for an anomaly, their absolute trust in the Apostle kept them silent and composed.
"You have arrived," Roy spoke smoothly without turning around, his deep voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings.
"Lord Jarden," Pope Croak bowed his heavy head, followed by the rest of the council. "The preparations at the Cathedral are complete. We await your word."
"Before the crown touches the brow of the King," Roy said, turning slowly to face them,
"you must greet your sovereign."
Beside him, the dark-robed stranger turned around.
"Wait a damn minute....He-He is Allan??" Duchess Eurenia gulped hard.
"How is this possible?" Duchess Brenda whispered.
The assembly of Dukes froze.
They were shocked, unable to control their faces.
The young man standing before them possessed long dark hair, a tall, powerfully built frame, and smooth metallic-gray fur that shimmered under the stained-glass light.
Sharp black claws tipped his fingers, and when he lifted his head, a pair of glowing, ruby-red eyes looked back at them with absolute, regal composure.
For a long, breathless second, silence reigned over the throne room.
"There’s no denying it....he is that child" Duke Croak mumbled, he was the first to do-ordinate himself.
Since the Apostle was the one who confirmed it.
He will accept that this man was his King.
That this man is Allan.
Yet, he bore virtually no physical resemblance to the timid, minor noble candidate from a week ago.
The weak, unrefined Crimson Wolf-man was gone; in his place stood a majestic, terrifyingly calm monarch who radiated the unquestioned, S-class aura of a Spirit Wolf.
Seeing the brief flicker of hesitation in their eyes, Allan offered a small, dignified smile.
He placed his hand flat over his chest and bowed his head slightly toward the council.
"Greetings, my Lords and Ladies," Allan’s voice echoed—no longer hesitant, but carrying a deep, melodic, and resonant authority.
"I welcome you to the royal house of Beastlighter."
The spell broke instantly.
Recognizing the unmistakable soul signature beneath the transformation, Grand Chancellor Manuses was the first to react.
Dropping to one knee, he pressed his right fist against his chest.
One by one, Pope Croak, General Trojan, Duchess Brenda, Duke Attaris, and Duchess Alisa followed suit, dropping onto their knees and bowing their heads before their monarch.
"Long live King Allan!" the Dukes declared in synchronized unison.
Only Duchess Eurenia of House Fenrir remained slightly breathless as she lowered her head.
As the ruler of the Duchy where the Frederek family originated, she knew Allan’s original physical traits better than anyone.
She could not hold back her shock.
"Your Majesty..." Eurenia spoke, her purple eyes wide as she looked up from her knee.
"Forgive my forwardness, but... your bloodline... your very essence has completely changed. You are no longer a Crimson Wolf-man.
How is such a divine miracle possible?"
Allan looked down at Eurenia, his ruby eyes glowing with a quiet, profound reverence.
"Calm your heart, Duchess Eurenia," Allan answered smoothly, glancing sideways toward the silent, towering Apostle beside him.
"I am what I am today because I have been remade. This form, this strength, and this bloodline are the direct, eternal blessings of Lord Varanus."
Hearing the name of their Deity, the Dukes pressed their heads even lower toward the stone floor, any lingering doubts instantly crushed beneath absolute faith.
Roy stepped forward, his golden-crimson flecked eyes sweeping over the kneeling leaders of the realm.
"The King is ready," Roy declared, his voice booming through the silent hall like rolling thunder.
"Open the grand gates of the Cathedral. It is time to show the world the true monarch of Varania!"