Chapter 117: Chapter 115: Crowning The King Devaratha...

(A/N):

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Guys with this Volume 6 is compleated. From tomorrow New Volume will begin...

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As Devara entered trough the royal gate of the arena.

The reaction from the crowd became explosive.

The arena erupted into deafening screams, cheers, chants, and applause all at once.

"DEVARA!"

"HARA HARA MAHADEV!"1

"LONG LIVE THE KING!"

Flower petals immediately began raining down from the upper sections of the arena like colorful storms descending from the skies themselves.

Jasmine. Rose petals. Marigolds. Lotus flowers.

Thousands upon thousands of petals drifted through the sunlight while the people shouted his name with overwhelming excitement.

Meanwhile Devara walked forward calmly through the central ceremonial path.

Today, unlike during festivals or battlefields—He looked every bit a king.

His royal attire carried the identity of Trivenivrata itself.

Dark regal fabrics lined with gold.

The crowned lion emblem embroidered proudly across his ceremonial mantle.

Rudraksha ornaments still remained upon him subtly, honoring the divine connection people now associated with him after the Tandava.

His presence alone dominated the arena naturally.

Not forced. Not theatrical.

Simply overwhelming. And as he advanced—The armies responded one by one.

The infantry divisions slammed their spears downward in perfect synchronization.

-THOOM!

The archers lowered their bows respectfully.

The cavalry warriors raised their weapons high while their horses stamped proudly.

The gaja armies lifted their trunks thunderously toward the sky.

Each division performed the royal salute the moment Devara passed before them.

The sound alone shook the arena repeatedly.

-THOOM! -THOOM!

-THOOM!...

The combined military honor display left many visiting rulers visibly stunned.

Because the loyalty shown by the armies did not resemble mere discipline.

It resembled belief.

Meanwhile Devara continued walking steadily beneath the endless rain of flower petals while the chants of the public grew louder and louder around him.

Even many sages seated near the sacred yagnas quietly observed him with thoughtful expressions.

Because despite his youth—The aura surrounding him no longer felt like that of a rising prince.

It felt established already.

As though the kingdom itself had already accepted him long before the crown would touch his head.

Meanwhile within the royal section, Gandhari watched him approach with visible pride shining in her eyes.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Nearby, Bhishma silently observed the crowd’s reaction carefully.

Even he could tell now.

This coronation would not simply create a king.

It would create a symbol.

And step by step—Beneath roaring drums, sacred chants, military salutes, and the endless cries of the people—Devara walked toward the throne awaiting him at the center of the arena.

Behind Devara, walking with unwavering focus and discipline, followed Ashwatthama.

Unlike the roaring excitement surrounding the arena,

Ashwatthama’s expression remained calm and sharp, his warrior instincts constantly scanning the surroundings even amidst the ceremony.

"...."

The sight of him following directly behind Devara did not go unnoticed by the gathered rulers and sages.

Because everyone understood what it symbolized.

Trust.

Not temporary political trust.

But the kind forged through years.

The kind that placed a warrior beside a king at the most important moment of his life.

Meanwhile the drums across the arena slowly changed rhythm.

The earlier thunderous war beats softened into deeper ceremonial echoes as Devara approached the massive staircase leading toward the elevated royal throne platform.

At the very top—The throne awaited.

The royal throne of Trivenivrata.

Forged grandly with carved lions, sacred symbols, flowing river engravings, and golden artistry representing the kingdom’s birth.

The sunlight itself reflected beautifully across its surface.

For a brief moment, the entire arena seemed to grow quieter instinctively.

Even the cheering crowd slowly softened.

Because everyone understood the significance of what was about to happen.

Step by step—Devara began ascending.

Each footstep echoed clearly through the massive arena.

The flower petals continued drifting slowly around him while the sacred fires burned steadily nearby.

The sages maintained their chants.

The armies remained standing in disciplined silence.

And thousands upon thousands of eyes followed him upward without blinking.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Some among the crowd folded their hands emotionally.

Others whispered prayers beneath their breath.

Children stared in complete awe.

Meanwhile several visiting rulers silently measured the young man climbing toward the throne.

And many of them reached the same conclusion.

This kingdom would not remain small for long.

Finally—Devara reached the top.

The wind suddenly swept powerfully through the open arena at that exact moment, causing the massive banners of Trivenivrata to flutter violently while his royal mantle moved sharply behind him.

For one breathtaking instant—He stood before the throne in complete silence.

"...."

The entire arena held its breath.

Then slowly—Devara reached forward and touched the throne respectfully.

Not casually. Not arrogantly.

But with acknowledgment.

As if understanding fully the burden, responsibility, and destiny attached to it.

Then he turned.

The wind continued passing through the elevated platform dramatically while his robes fluttered behind him beneath the sunlight.

From below, the image looked almost unreal to many witnessing it.

A young king standing before his throne while sacred chants echoed around him and flower petals drifted through the air like blessings from the heavens.

Then finally—Devara sat upon the throne of Trivenivrata.

"...."

The moment he settled onto the throne—The entire arena exploded.

-CHEEERSSS!!!

The drums roared. Conches echoed thunderously.

The armies slammed their spears against the earth.

-THOOOOOM!

The war elephants raised their trunks loudly toward the sky as they lifted their two front paw on the air.

The public erupted into deafening cheers.

"HARA HARA MAHADEV!"1

"LONG LIVE KING DEVARATHA!"

"GLORY TO TRIVENIVRATA!"

Even the sages intensified their chanting while the sacred yagnas blazed brighter beneath the wind.

And seated upon the throne now—Devara no longer looked merely like the founder of a kingdom.

He looked exactly what the people had already begun believing him to be.

Their king.

The roar of the arena continued shaking the skies even after Devara seated himself upon the throne of Trivenivrata.

The crowned lion banners fluttered wildly in the wind.

The sacred yagnas burned fiercely.

And beneath the sunlight pouring into the colossal arena, the kingdom seemed to stand at the edge of a new era.

Slowly, however, the ceremonial drums softened once more.

The cheering crowd gradually quieted.

Because the most sacred part of the coronation still remained.

The king’s oath.

From beside the sacred fires, the chief priest slowly approached carrying the ceremonial golden plate upon which rested the royal crown.

The crown itself gleamed magnificently beneath the sunlight and sacred firelight combined.

A symbol not merely of authority—But responsibility. Burden. Protection. Sacrifice.

Walking beside the priest now came Bhishma himself.

The entire arena visibly straightened at his approach.

Because today, among all gathered elders and rulers,

Bhishma had been granted the honor of crowning the king.

The sight itself carried enormous significance.

The greatest elder of the Kuru lineage personally acknowledging the rise of Trivenivrata’s ruler before kingdoms and sages alike.

Meanwhile the priest reached the throne platform and respectfully extended a ceremonial scroll toward Devara.

Upon it was written the formal royal pledge traditionally recited by kings during coronation.

The arena fell silent.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Thousands waited for this moment.

The priest spoke respectfully.

"My king... the oath."

Devara looked at the scroll quietly.

For a brief moment, many assumed he would simply read the prepared royal pledge aloud like generations before him.

But then—He did something unexpected.

Slowly, Devara pushed the scroll back gently toward the priest.

The movement itself immediately created visible confusion across parts of the arena.

Even some visiting rulers frowned slightly in surprise.

But Devara calmly rose from the throne once more.

Then he stepped forward toward the edge of the platform.

Toward the people. Toward the soldiers.

Toward the kingdom itself.

And instead of reading written words—He spoke directly from his heart.

"I do not wish to rule this kingdom through fear."

The words echoed powerfully through the silent arena.

Many in the crowd immediately looked stunned.

Devara continued calmly.

"A throne is not meant to stand above the people ...it is meant to stand for them."

The silence deepened hearing his words.

Even the wind itself seemed quieter.

"I cannot promise a world without hardship. I cannot promise that sorrow will never touch this land."

"But I swear this before gods, sages, ancestors, and all of you..."

His voice strengthened now.

"As long as I sit upon this throne... I will never abandon the people of Trivenivrata."

The crowd visibly reacted instantly.

Emotion spread rapidly through the arena.

Devara continued without hesitation.

"The hungry shall not be ignored. The weak shall not be trampled."

"The talented shall not be buried beneath birth or status."

"I will protect this kingdom not as property ...but as family."

The words struck deeply.

Especially the common people.

Farmers. Workers. Soldiers. Merchants.

Ordinary citizens who rarely heard kings speak about them directly.

Meanwhile the allied rulers and ministers watched with increasingly serious expressions.

Because this was not sounding like ceremonial politics anymore.

This sounded personal.

Real.

Devara’s gaze swept across the assembled armies now.

"And to those who raise weapons for this kingdom... I swear your loyalty will never be wasted carelessly."

The soldiers reacted immediately.

Their expressions hardened proudly.

Many straightened instinctively.

"You are not tools to me."

"You are the shield standing between this land and chaos."

That sentence shattered the final restraint holding back the arena’s emotions.

Suddenly—The soldiers slammed their weapons against the ground.

-THOOM!

Then another line answered.

-THOOM!

Then another. And another.

Soon the entire arena thundered endlessly with the sound of soldiers striking spear, shield, and sword against the earth in support.

The public erupted too. Cheering. Crying.

Shouting his name.

"HAIL KING DEVARATHA!"

"LONG LIVE THE KING!" 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

"HARA HARA MAHADEV!"1

Some ordinary citizens even visibly wiped tears from their eyes hearing the sincerity in his voice.

Because for many—This no longer felt like watching a distant ruler ascend power.

It felt like witnessing someone genuinely accepting responsibility for them.

Even Bhishma himself stood silently watching Devara with deep eyes.

And somewhere within the grand elder’s heart—A rare feeling surfaced.

Relief.

Because for the first time in many years...

He felt he was witnessing the rise of a king who truly understood the weight of a throne.

The thunderous cheers of the people still echoed across the massive royal arena even after Devara finished his oath.

The soldiers continued striking their weapons proudly against the ground.

-THOOM!

-THOOM!

-THOOM!

The sacred fires burned fiercely beneath the wind while flower petals continued drifting endlessly through the sunlight like blessings falling from the heavens themselves.

And amidst it all—Bhishma stepped forward once more.

The atmosphere shifted immediately.

Because everyone understood now.

The final moment had arrived.

The grand elder slowly lifted the royal crown from the golden ceremonial plate held by the priest.

The crown gleamed brilliantly beneath the sunlight.

Gold. Gems. Sacred engravings.

The symbol of Trivenivrata’s sovereignty itself.

Bhishma raised it high enough for the entire arena to witness clearly.

The crowd exploded into cheers again.

"DEVARATHA!"

"LONG LIVE THE KING!"

"HARA HARA MAHADEV!"1

The sound rolled like thunder across the kingdom.

Meanwhile Bhishma looked toward Devara quietly.

For one brief moment—The arena disappeared around them.

No armies. No politics. No cheering crowds.

"...."

"...."

"...."

Only two men one sitting on the throne and another is standing before him at the turning point of history.

Bhishma slowly stepped closer toward the throne.

Then in a low voice heard only by Devara himself, he spoke.

"Never forget dharma1."

The words carried no grand speech.

No dramatic weight.

Only truth.

The same truth Bhishma himself had carried painfully throughout his entire life.

Because kingdoms rose and fell.

Power changed hands.

Victory and defeat never lasted forever.

But dharma—That alone determined whether history remembered a ruler with reverence or regret.

Devara looked toward Bhishma quietly.

And then—He smiled.

Not arrogantly. Not proudly.

But warmly.

As a younger brother acknowledging the guidance of an elder he respected deeply.

Slowly, he nodded.

-Nod!

"I won’t."

That simple answer made Bhishma’s eyes soften almost invisibly.

Then finally—The grand elder placed the crown upon Devara’s head.

At that exact moment—

The entire arena erupted beyond control.

The conches roared. The drums thundered violently.

The soldiers slammed their weapons against the earth with overwhelming force.

-THOOOOOOOM!

The war elephants raised their trunks toward the sky.

The sages intensified their chants around the sacred yagnas.

And the people—The people completely lost themselves in celebration.

Flower petals rained endlessly from above.

Citizens screamed in joy.

Warriors shouted proudly.

Women raised victory ululations across the arena.

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(Author note:)

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Guys I have a new fic which named: Karuppan: King of Openings.

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