Chapter 142: First King of Varania
The silence stretched over the vast, white-stone cathedral, hanging heavy and motionless for several long minutes.
Throughout the sanctuary, a wave of profound shock and deep confusion rippled through the hundred thousand worshippers.
The commoners, the lower officers, the visiting county lords, and even the family members of House Frederek stood with wide, disbelieving eyes.
They had all come expecting to witness a familiar Crimson Wolf-man take the throne—a youth from the northern baronies whose face was known to his kin.
Instead, the figure walking toward the altar was completely unrecognizable.
Quiet, breathless whispers began to break out among the crowded galleries like the rustle of dry leaves.
"Is that truly Allan?"
"Where is his red fur? Why is his coat like metallic silver?"
"Look at his eyes... they shine like liquid rubies! What kind of Wolf-man is he?"
Even the patriarch of House Frederek leaned forward over the gallery railing, his knuckles white as he stared in utter bewilderment at his own lineage.
Only the Dukes of the Supreme Assembly remained perfectly calm, their expressions serene, for they had already witnessed the divine miracle within the private walls of the royal castle.
At the center of the elevated altar, King Allan listened to the growing murmurs of his people.
A faint, calm smile touched his lips.
He did not show irritation, nor did he rush to silence them with force.
Pope Croak took two measured steps back into the shadow of the golden banners, yielding the absolute stage to the sovereign.
Allan stepped up to the edge of the marble altar.
He took a slow, deep breath, channeling a thin thread of ambient mana into his throat.
With a silent command, he activated his newly awakened innate trait:
Spirit Spellcraft
"Greetings, people of Varania."
Allan’s voice did not merely ring through the air—it rippled out as a hypnotic, crystal-clear wave of spiritual resonance.
The sound felt like a smooth, ancient enchantment, beautiful and serene, yet carrying an underlying, terrifying weight that bypassed physical ears and resonated directly within the souls of everyone present.
Instantly, every whisper ceased.
The hundred thousand onlookers fell into a spellbound, absolute quiet.
"I stand before you today not as a distant conqueror, nor as a lord born upon a mountain of gold," Allan spoke, his ruby eyes reflecting the warm light of the cathedral lamps.
"Many of you ask who I am. I am Allan. Few months ago, I was nothing more than a lost, terrified beastman child, locked behind the iron bars of Norona City, awaiting a miserable death at the hands of human slavers."
The crowd stirred softly, many former refugees nodding with deep, shared pain.
"I was liberated on the day the walls of Norona crumbled," Allan continued, his voice carrying a warm, comforting cadence. "From that moment on, my life belonged entirely to the faith and glory of the God of Beasts.
When House Frederek was granted a noble Barony, I believed luck had granted me a peaceful life. I never dreamed, nor dared to covet, the absolute seat of a kingdom.
Yet, the divine will of Lord Varanus called upon my humble name, and I bow before His grace without hesitation."
Allan raised his hands slightly, his long, dark silk hair shifting over his midnight-blue robes.
"A King is not a master over his people," Allan declared, his words echoing off the soaring vaulted ceiling. "A true King is the chief servant of his realm. My life, my strength, and my reign belong to the security, prosperity, and happiness of every beastman who calls Varania home."
He gestured gracefully toward his altered form, addressing the lingering doubt in their hearts.
"You look upon my gray fur, my ruby eyes, and my changed presence with confusion," Allan said softly. "One week ago, I was a weak, unrefined boy unable to gather a single drop of mana.
But through the infinite, miraculous mercy of Lord Varanus, my bloodline was recreated! My former frame was burned away, and I was reborn into the first S-class Spirit Wolf."
He turned his gaze toward the noble galleries, his voice taking on an unshakeable, royal firmness.
"From this day forth, this bloodline shall stand as the unique, eternal mark of the Beastlighter Royal Family. And let this vow be etched into the stone beneath our feet: I do not stand here to utter hollow promises while living a life of greed, corruption, and self-indulgence.
Should I ever turn my back on my people, should I ever succumb to wickedness or betray the trust of the faith... may the God of Beasts strike me down, and may I die a miserable, forgotten death at His divine hands!"
The sheer sincerity and raw, spiritual authority of his oath struck the heart of every soul in the sanctuary.
Any remaining doubt or confusion melted away into a surge of overwhelming emotion.
Allan lifted his right clawed fist high into the air, his voice booming like thunder:
"To the birth of Varania! To our eternal future!"
The hundred thousand worshippers erupted into a deafening, euphoric roar!
"LONG LIVE KING ALLAN!"
"GLORY TO VARANIA!"
"PRAISE LORD VARANUS!"
High above the roaring crowd, resting silently on a decorative marble ledge near the cathedral ceiling, sat a tiny, golden-winged Sun-fly.
Through the compound eyes of the tiny insect, Roy watched the roaring masses below with a cold, highly satisfied gleam.
He had intentionally chosen not to appear in his majestic Apostle form today.
The people of Varania did not need to see their Apostle every day—his identity was best kept as a mysterious, divine legend.
They only needed to know his name, respect his authority, and bow to the divine order he had established.
Down on the altar, Pope Croak stepped forward once more, raising his heavy hands to gently bring the roaring crowd down to a breathless, expectant hush.
"Allan von Beastlighter," Pope Croak intoned solemnly. "Kneel before the altar of the Father."
King Allan obeyed without a second’s delay.
He dropped gracefully onto both knees, bowing his head toward the central emblem of the God of Beasts engraved upon the stone floor.
The hall became as quiet as a graveyard once again.
Smiles of pride and tears of joy marked the faces of the onlookers as they watched the sacred moment unfold.
Two High Priests walked onto the elevated altar with slow, synchronized steps.
Between them, they carried a velvet cushion bearing the newly forged Crown of Varania.
The royal circlet was a masterpiece of ethereal craftsmanship, forged from the highest grade of gleaming, polished Varanium ore.
Embedded along its front crest were three perfectly polished, glowing mana cores harvested from high-tier Beast-stage F-class abominations, radiating a mesmerizing, starry light.
Pope Croak stepped up to the cushion.
With slow, reverent hands, he lifted the heavy Varanium crown into the air.
He closed his eyes, his deep voice carrying a sacred, resonant prayer:
"O Eternal Father, Lord Varanus... look down upon your humble servant. Bless this crown, bless this realm, and grant your grace to rest eternally upon the land of Varania.
Grant our King the wisdom to rule, the strength to protect, and the courage to lead your children into an era of unshakeable prosperity."
Pope Croak opened his eyes, stepping directly in front of the kneeling monarch.
Slowly, steadily, he lowered the shimmering circlet down, placing the crown firmly upon the head of King Allan von Beastlighter.
The Pope turned toward the vast, crowded cathedral, his voice booming across the entire Holy City:
"By the grace of the God of Beasts, I declare Allan von Beastlighter... the First King of Varania!"