I Got My System Late, But I'll Become Beastgod-Chapter 75: Audience with the King
Chapter 75: Audience with the King
The portal’s glow dimmed behind them, leaving Aamir and his friends standing on a stone podium, the surface cool beneath their boots. Around them rose towering walls of grey stone, ancient and unwavering, the battlements catching the dying sunlight.
Four guards encircled them, their armor shimmering in the golden hue of evening — a gleam of gold interlaced with streaks of silver. Each bore a heavy cloak, the fabric shifting gently with the breeze, emblazoned with a crest: a blazing sun pierced by a vertical sword.
Standing ahead of the guards was a man clad not in armor but in richly embroidered robes — authority radiated from his stance. His sharp eyes studied the newcomers before he stepped forward.
"Welcome, students of Nalanda," he said, voice firm yet respectful. "We have been expecting you. I am Rajesh, Commander of the Royal Guard."
Aamir stepped forward, the sunlight catching the edge of his uniform. His voice rang clear.
"If His Majesty wishes to see us, how could we refuse?"
Then, with a respectful nod, Aamir began introducing his group. "I am Aamir Singh, son of Karn Singh."
The name dropped into the air like a stone into still water. Rajesh’s eyes widened.
"You’re his son?" he exclaimed, stepping closer. "No wonder His Majesty called for you."
"You knew my father?" Aamir asked, a frown tightening on his brow.
Rajesh smiled faintly, a touch of reverence in his expression.
"Knew him? In all my years, only one man ever bested me — Karn Singh."
Aamir inclined his head, feeling the weight of expectation settle on his shoulders.
"Allow me to finish," he said. "To my left: Kunal Singhania. This is Seenu Khokhar. And Raj Shekhawat."
Raj lifted a hand in greeting.
"And I’m Riya Kapoor," Riya added, her voice soft but steady.
"I’m Meera Gouri," Meera said, her gaze sharp and assessing.
As each name fell from their lips, Rajesh’s expression shifted. A spark of recognition — and alarm — flickered across his face.
Gouri. Shekhawat. Singhania. Khokhar... And Kapoor... Where have I heard that name?
But he masked his thoughts quickly, offering a respectful nod.
"An honor to meet you all. But we mustn’t keep His Majesty waiting."
They fell in line behind him. Their boots clicked softly against the polished stone as they crossed a courtyard lined with trimmed hedges and statues of warriors past. A long carpet, deep crimson, led the way toward a massive doorway adorned with golden vines.
Raj leaned toward Meera, whispering, "That must be the King’s audience chamber."
Meera nodded, her gaze never leaving the grand doors. "I think so too."
The doors creaked open, the heavy groan echoing through the hall.
Inside, the air changed — carrying a rich, sharp scent of incense, something earthy and unfamiliar. The chamber was vast, paintings of past kings and battles adorning the stone walls. A thick, crimson carpet rolled down the center, leading to a magnificent chair — not a throne in the traditional sense, but regal and commanding.
Yet it was empty.
Rajesh’s mouth tightened. Where is His Majesty?
Before he could utter a word, the very atmosphere thickened.
A crushing force pressed down on them — heavy, suffocating, relentless.
Riya gasped, her hands flying up as she conjured a shimmering magical shield. Sparks crackled around her as she gritted her teeth, holding the shield against the unseen weight.
Aamir, Seenu, Meera, Kunal, and Raj instinctively channeled energy through their bodies, adrenaline surging like molten fire under their skin. Their muscles strained, sweat pouring down their faces as they struggled to stay upright.
A voice, smooth and amused, slithered through the air.
"Oh? You can handle this much pressure?"
The weight intensified.
The floor felt miles away.
One by one, knees buckled. The six students collapsed onto the carpet, their bodies trembling under the immense pressure.
In front of Aamir, his system screen flickered to life, jagged and urgent:
Warning!
Survive! Survive! Survive!
What the hell is this?! Aamir’s mind raced, his vision blurring at the edges.
A deep, rich laugh thundered across the chamber.
As suddenly as it had come, the pressure vanished — leaving only the sound of their ragged breathing in its wake.
Their clothes clung to their sweat-drenched bodies. Limbs numb, lungs burning, they fought to push themselves back onto their feet.
From the shadows, a figure emerged.
Dressed in a robe of deep crimson and gold, he carried himself with effortless authority. His black hair, streaked lightly with silver, was tied neatly behind his head. He looked to be in his fifties — but his presence alone made it clear he was anything but frail.
He walked calmly to the throne and sat, hands resting lightly on the armrests.
This is him, Aamir realized. The man who summoned us... The King.
Every instinct screamed for respect. Together, they bowed low, their voices steady despite their exhaustion.
"Your Majesty... It is our honor to stand in your presence."
The King rose from his seat, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
"Raise your heads," he commanded. "You’ve impressed me. To endure such pressure at your age... It is beyond remarkable."
His words, heavy with meaning, filled the hall.
A chorus of voices rose, respectful yet almost bashful.
"Your Majesty, you’re too generous. We’re truly honored."
King Veerendra chuckled, a deep, rolling sound that echoed gently through the high-ceilinged chamber. The warmth in his voice was unmistakable, a contrast to the immense pressure they’d just endured.
"No, no—you’re all being too modest now," he said, eyes twinkling with amusement. freёnovelkiss.com
"I am Veerendra, seventeenth ruler of Aryavrata. I summoned you not to intimidate, but to reward. I have seen your potential... and greatness deserves to be nurtured."
He turned to Rajesh. "Bring them forward."
Rajesh gave a firm nod. "As you command, My Liege."
He clapped once—sharp and precise. The doors at the rear creaked open, and a lone guard stepped inside. His armored boots thudded softly against the stone floor as he approached, both hands cradling a long, silver tray draped with deep blue velvet. A faint shimmer of energy danced beneath the fabric.
The King’s eyes glinted as the guard reached the dais. With practiced grace, the cloth was pulled away, revealing six books resting atop the polished metal—each bound in leather that pulsed faintly with arcane glow, their covers etched with runes and intricate patterns of silver and gold.
An air of reverence filled the room.
"These," the King began, his voice solemn now, "are Rank A Adreno Arts Techniques... and Rank A Magic Spells. Each one crafted and refined by our greatest masters. They are not mere gifts — they are investments in your future."
The room held its breath.
"I offer these because I believe in the strength I saw in each of you."
For a heartbeat, none of them moved. The weight of the King’s words wrapped around them, heavier than any pressure they had faced earlier. Aamir felt his throat tighten — this wasn’t just a reward; it was a responsibility. Around him, his friends exchanged quick, uncertain glances, their faces a mixture of awe and disbelief. In that moment, the room seemed to shrink, the books on the silver tray glowing brighter, as if calling out to them.
Aamir stepped forward slowly, unease flickering in his gaze. He bowed deeply, voice low and uncertain. "Your Majesty... this is too much. How can we accept such treasures?"
The King raised a brow, lips curving into a sly grin. "Are you refusing the gift of a king?"
Before Aamir could answer, Seenu moved beside him. Placing a hand on Aamir’s shoulder, he bowed sharply, voice steady.
"Never, Your Majesty. We would not dare. We accept with the deepest gratitude. It is an honor beyond words."
Aamir glanced at Seenu, then quickly lowered his head again. "Yes, forgive me for speaking out of turn, Your Majesty. I meant no disrespect."
Veerendra laughed, the sound vibrant and full of life. "You two really are Karn Singh’s students — bold and polite in equal measure. I like that."
He waved a hand. "Now, let us begin."
He beckoned Aamir forward with a slight tilt of his head. Aamir stepped up, the weight of the moment pressing against his chest.
The King lifted one of the books with both hands, its leather warm and thrumming with restrained energy. Runes shimmered faintly along its spine.
"This one is for you, Aamir," Veerendra said. "It’s called Vital Air Punch — a Rank A technique that targets vital organs through external force. With mastery, a single strike could even stop a heart."
A gasp rose behind him.
"But use it wisely," the King added, tone lowering. "In untrained hands, it could do more harm than intended. Never employ it in friendly sparring until you’re confident in your control."
Aamir accepted the book reverently, cradling it like a sacred artifact. His fingers tingled where they touched the glowing cover.
"I understand, Your Majesty. I’ll use it with the respect it deserves."
The King nodded in approval, then turned his gaze to the others.
"Now... who’s next?"
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