Starting Out As The God of Beasts

Silence.

Absolute, suffocating silence slammed down upon the central plaza of the Holy City.

For a long, agonizing moment, no one moved.

The hundreds of thousands of citizens packed into the square froze in place, their eyes wide with sheer disbelief.

The ninety noble candidates standing upon the marble steps stood paralyzed, their breaths catching in their throats.

Roy noticed the look of anger written on the faces of the Duchy candidates, they were extremely disappointed by the result.

It was not Manuel of House Ryodor.

It was not Heto of House Mydar, nor any of the heralded heirs from the six high Duchies.

The Apostle had bypassed the grandest power blocs in the realm and plucked a total unknown from the lowest tier of nobility—a candidate from a humble Barony.

Up on the high balcony overlooking the plaza, the atmosphere among the realm’s rulers was equally taut.

Grand Chancellor Manuses leaned over the stone railing, his sharp eyebrows furrowing as his mind rapidly combed through every noble ledger in his administrative binders.

His heart grew heavy.

Even though the candidate wasn’t from his household. He didn’t want to bow to a rude, crazy and obnoxious king.

So he needed a king who knew what he was doing.

”Allan de Frederek?” Manuses muttered, his voice cold with confusion. ”Who is that? From which duchy does this child emerge?”

Beside him, Duchess Eurenia of House Fenrir let out a long, heavy breath, her purple eyes fixed on the distant, crimson-furred youth standing near the back of the candidate lineup.

”Frederek is a minor noble house I established as a Barony within my Duchy,” Eurenia revealed, her tone laced with a mix of awe and lingering shock. ”They govern a small, rugged border territory on our outer fringes... To think their candidate was the one chosen by our God.”

”Quite lucky are you?” Duchess Brenda grinned.

To her right, High Priest Croak stood towering and serene, his expression remaining completely neutral.

He slowly folded his hands within his ceremonial robes.

”May the will of Lord Varanus be done,” Croak declared, his deep voice carrying an unshakeable, solemn weight. ”It is perhaps unfortunate in the eyes of worldly politics that the King came not from our Duchies.

Yet, our God has his divine reasons for why that child was chosen above all others.”

Croak turned his head slightly, his gaze sweeping over the gathered Dukes and Duchesses.

”Now Varania has a true King, and a new Royal Family whom we must serve without hesitation.

The royal lineage shall spring from the bloodline of a Crimson Wolf-man, and that is only natural.

After all, they were the very first followers the God of Beasts gained after his awakening from ancient slumber.”

The Dukes and Duchesses looked at one another, the quiet logic of the High Priest settling deep into their minds.

Not a single one among them held the audacity to question or defile the decree of their Deity.

According to the constitution designed by Roy.

Any act of treason against Varania means death.

Whatever political ambitions they harbored were instantly subordinated to divine mandate.

”Praise be to the God of Beasts,” Manuses murmured, lowering his head.

”Glory to Varania,” Alisa and Attaris added in unison, their hands crossing over their chests in absolute reverence.

Down on the marble dais, after minutes of stunned, breathless quiet, the spell broke.

A single cheer erupted from the edge of the crowd, and within seconds, it detonated into a deafening, thunderous roar that shook the very foundations of the Cathedral.

Thousands of voices joined together in a wild, ecstatic chant that echoed off the white stone walls:

”KING ALLAN!”

”KING ALLAN!”

”KING ALLAN!”

Upon the steps, nineteen-year-old Allan de Frederek stood completely frozen, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.

He stared blankly at his own hands, his mind struggling to process the reality of the moment.

He, a minor Baron’s son from the outer fringes of Fenrir, had been chosen to wear the absolute crown of the empire.

”Allan de Frederek,” Roy’s deep, resonant voice cut through the ringing in the young man’s ears.

”Step forward.”

Shaking off his paralysis, Allan drew a sharp breath.

He straightened his back, adjusted his simple white robe, and stepped out from the rows of candidates.

With measured, humble steps, he walked to the front of the elevated dais, facing the vast, cheering ocean of Varania’s citizens.

Roy stepped beside him, his massive Crimson Wolf-man form looming like a protective mountain.

Roy raised a single, clawed hand into the air.

Instantly, the roaring cheers died down, and absolute quiet reigned over the plaza once more.

”Today is a memorable day for our realm,” Roy declared, his golden-flecked eyes sweeping over the crowd with unquestioned majesty.

”Today, Varania receives its first crowned King!”

Roy placed a firm, clawed hand onto Allan’s shoulder.

”Our King may be a mundane mortal for now,” Roy spoke, his voice echoing across every corner of the capital. ”But through the direct aid, grace, and blessings of our God, he shall rise swiftly into a cultivation realm befitting of his exalted status!

His descendants shall form the absolute Royal Family of Varania!”

Roy looked down at the young Wolf-man, then turned his gaze back to the people, delivering the core ethos of the crown:

”You are the masters, and he is your servant!

He is King not to rule over you with tyranny, but to serve the people of Varania with absolute devotion!

He shall walk the path of chivalry, justice, and honor!”

Roy crossed his right arm over his chest, his voice booming out like thunder:

”Praise be to the God of Beasts!”

The massive crowd erupted into a feverish, synchronized scream that roared across the sky:

”PRAISE BE TO THE GOD OF BEASTS!”

Roy swept his golden eyes across the sea of citizens, crossing his arms firmly as he delivered the final, legendary salute of the realm:

”Glory to Varania!”

And the entire capital answered in a singular, earth-shattering roar:

”GLORY TO VARANIA!”