Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 240: The Holy Land of Ferderica (3)

Riltara flinched despite herself. The place Ketal had been held was the deepest cell in Ferderica’s holy land, a prison reserved for the most dangerous criminals, fortified by powerful holy magic. Yet Ketal bent the iron bars as if they were nothing at all. He could have left at any time—he’d simply chosen not to.

“W-wait! If you break out like that, the alarm will—”

“It’s fine,” Ketal said calmly.

With a quick punch, he sent a blast of force across the cell, smashing the alarm device to pieces. Riltara fell silent, unable to find her voice.

“Let’s get going, shall we?” Ketal said with a relaxed smile as he strolled out of the cell. Riltara quietly followed, a storm of questions in her mind.

“You’re wondering whether the Saint and the Elders truly live by Ferderica’s teachings, aren’t you?”

“Yes...,” Riltara admitted with a slow nod.

Just as the faithful were forced to live in deprivation, she wondered if the clergy had suffered as well. She questioned whether they truly lived according to Ferderica’s values.

“Let’s find out for ourselves,” Ketal said, striding confidently down the hallway. Riltara, startled by his assurance, hurried to catch up.

“I know a few places that seem suspicious. Maybe we could—”

“No need,” Ketal replied. “I already know where to go.”

Riltara looked at him, wide-eyed. “You do?”

Without hesitation, Ketal led the way to a church on the outskirts of the holy land. He entered the confessional and began tapping the floor.

A rumbling filled the air. The floor slid open, revealing a staircase leading underground.

“Here it is.”

Riltara stared in disbelief. “Have you... have you been here before?”

His actions were too confident; he moved as though he already knew about the secret passage.

“No, this is my first time.”

“Then how...?”

“I expanded my senses. That’s how I found it.”

Riltara gaped at him. The fact that he had sensed a hidden passage beneath an ordinary church on the edge of the holy land was unbelievable.

However, Ketal was just as surprised. Normally, he would never have been able to pinpoint something like this so easily. In the past, it would have taken him hours of searching. But now, his senses had grown sharper, and the reason was obvious. It was Myst.

The gift he’d received from the Elder Dragon Ignisia, the restless beast inside him, was heightening his perception. Even though Ketal hadn’t fully tapped into that power, its influence was making itself known.

“This is strange,” Ketal murmured.

His strength had been stagnant for so long; he’d reached a plateau he couldn’t break. Now, little by little, that barrier was crumbling.

“Well, let’s head down.”

“Alright,” Riltara replied.

They descended the stairs into a narrow corridor. After a while, they reached a small room with two doors.

“Let’s start here.”

Ketal opened the door on the left. An icy gust swept over Riltara, making her shiver. Inside, her eyes widened in shock.

Meats of every kind, marbled and red, filled the shelves. Fresh fish lay packed on beds of ice. There were jars of honey and piles of ripe fruit, expensive wines, rare spices—enough food to stock a royal palace. The attached kitchen gleamed with polished copper and silver utensils.

Riltara’s face twisted in anguish. All of this was abundance, plain and simple. It was the very thing their faith was meant to reject. Ketal picked up a slab of meat and bit into it raw.

“High quality. This one piece costs more than a hundred servings of your jerky.”

Riltara stood in stricken silence.

Ketal moved on to the next door, and Riltara followed numbly.

The second room was a banquet hall, adorned with sparkling chandeliers and lush carpets. There was even a lavish bath tucked into one corner. Riltara groaned.

Ketal knelt and inspected the carpet. “There are fresh marks. This was used recently.”

Just then, someone approached. Riltara’s body moved on instinct, and she grabbed the intruder. The person yelped in fear, falling to the floor.

“Ahh!”

“Who are you?” Riltara demanded.

She had never seen this person before. Growing up in the holy land, she knew every resident’s face. This person was an outsider.

“Wh-who are you? Why are you here?” Riltara asked him again.

“I’m a servant,” the stranger replied, trembling. “I came to clean.”

Riltara considered for a moment, then pressed further. “Do you know what this place is for? Who uses it?”

The servant hesitated. As Riltara studied him more closely, she realized there was a magical restriction at work, a powerful binding, designed to prevent the servant from speaking about certain things. Only someone who worshipped the same god could break such a restriction.

“Break,” Riltara commanded.

A shrill ringing filled the air. The restriction shattered.

“Now, tell me. Who uses this place? For what purpose?”

The servant’s eyes darted nervously. “The Saint and the Elders. Sometimes they hold banquets here.”

“And the food in the other room... Is it used for these feasts?”

“Yes...”

Riltara’s expression crumpled. She waved the servant away. “You may go.”

“T-thank you. Are you here to arrange the next banquet?”

“No, I’m just checking on things. There’s nothing you need to worry about.”

“Alright, then.” The servant hurried away.

The door closed behind them, and Ketal spoke. “Pretending to be humble and restrained is exhausting. I guess this is how they relieve the pressure.”

Riltara let out a long, broken sigh, as if the world were ending.

“How could this happen? Why would they—how could such sin exist in our holy land?”

The Saint and Elders of Ferderica’s Church were living in secret luxury, committing the very sins they condemned.

Ketal wasn’t surprised. The same was true of Kalosia’s Church. The priests of Kalosia no longer upheld the values of lies and deception. It was denying the will of its god. And yet, even as Kalosia pitied them, the god made no move to correct the faithful. Even if it meant the church’s eventual collapse, the god had already accepted the outcome.

To the gods, churches were like wayward children; they wouldn’t always intervene, even if their followers lost their way.

“Riltara, can the Saint and Elders still use the holy scripture?” Ketal asked her

“Yes, they all can,” she answered.

“That’s a key difference,” Ketal observed. In Kalosia’s faith, only the Saintess who truly upheld the god’s value could use the scripture. The rest were denied the power.

So why is it different here? Ketal thought for a moment, then shrugged. He’d get his answers soon enough. As an outsider, the inner workings of the church weren’t his problem. However, for Riltara, it was different.

She had dedicated her life to Ferderica’s values. Learning the truth about her faith was like watching her world collapse.

Ketal waited in silence. Riltara hung her head for a long time before finally speaking.

“Even so, I am still a believer in Lady Ferderica,” Riltara said. Even if she recognized the contradiction, even if she knew the truth, she couldn’t simply abandon the life she had always known. “There must be some reason. Maybe they were tempted for a moment. If I can talk to them, if I can help them realize their mistakes... Maybe things can change.”

Her words rang hollow, as if she couldn’t believe them herself. Ketal smiled gently.

“So this is how true believers react. Fascinating.”

“I’m sorry, Ketal,” she whispered.

No one else had brought him here; it was she who had done it, following what she thought was a divine message. Now, she wasn’t even sure she could trust the Saint. Riltara could sense no falsehood, but doubt gnawed at her.

“I’ll find a way to help you escape. I’ll talk to the Saint and try to make them see reason.”

“No need,” Ketal replied. “I’ve seen all I needed to see.”

“What...?”

Riltara froze. Ketal’s expression had changed. He now wore the look of someone preparing for the final act, waiting for the climax.

“But Riltara, I have one favor to ask.”

“...What is it?”

“Tomorrow, do nothing. No matter what happens, stay out of it. Be yourself and just observe. Don’t get involved. Can you do that?”

Riltara blinked in confusion, but nodded anyway. “Yes, I understand.”

Ketal grinned, satisfied. “Good. Then, let’s get started.”

Everything was in place. The audience was gathered. All that remained was to see the show through.

***

The next day, the holy knights came to fetch Ketal from his cell. They seemed puzzled by the intact iron bars, but quickly chained him and led him away.

They took him to the center of the holy land. There, the Saint, the Elders, and every last one of Ferderica’s faithful were waiting—including Riltara.

“Oooooooh!”

“Ferderica! Accept our offering!”

“Grant your blessing to your servants who follow your revelation!”

The crowd screamed, their voices wild with fanatic devotion. Riltara stood among them, her face clouded with sadness. Ketal saw her and gave a reassuring smile. At the center stood an altar.

“What’s that?” Ketal asked.

“That is the altar on which you’ll be offered to Ferderica,” the Saint explained coolly. “Your body will be burned, and your soul will be sent to their realm. As a sinner, you should be honored to meet them face-to-face.”

“So basically, you’re planning to kill me,” Ketal said, gazing up at the sky above the altar. “And what if I refuse to participate? If I don’t go up on the altar, what then?”

“Then we will have no choice but to force you,” the Saint replied. “Kostia!”

“Yes,” the Chief Inquisitor answered.

Kostia and his men grabbed Ketal, trying to drag him toward the altar.

However, no matter how hard they pulled, Ketal wouldn’t budge. It was like trying to uproot an ancient tree. Kostia grunted and strained, but it was useless.

“Kostia, what are you doing?” the Saint demanded.

“Give me a moment. Move!” Kostia wreathed himself in holy power and tried to shove Ketal with all his might. However, it was Kostia who tumbled to the ground, thrown back by the force.

The Saint’s face hardened, suspicion darkening his features. Something was wrong. The ceremony, which should have gone like clockwork, had never been working in the first place.

“Unfortunately, I’m not quite ready to die yet,” Ketal murmured lazily. “And I have no more business with you.”

Until now, Ketal hadn’t resisted, obeying every order. He’d been genuinely curious to see what they would do. He’d even enjoyed the process, in his own way. However, now, he’d seen all there was to see. There was nothing left to wait for.

“If you want something from me, you’ll have to come get it yourself. I’m not going anywhere,” Ketal said. He raised his eyes to the sky, meeting the gaze of something watching from above. His hands tensed.

Crash!

The chains shattered. The Saint recoiled in horror as Ketal raised his fist.

“If you have complaints, come down here and face me yourself,” Ketal said, looking at the sky. He swung, sending a blast of force hurtling toward the altar.

“Ferderica!” the Saint shouted. He scrambled to raise a barrier of holy power, trying to shield the altar from Ketal’s attack.

However, it was pointless. The blast tore through the barrier like a runaway wagon smashing a rotting fence, losing none of its strength as it crashed into the altar.

The altar exploded. The offering they’d prepared for nights and days was reduced to rubble in an instant. Screams filled the air. In a heartbeat, the holy land, once a scene of frenzied worship, descended into chaos.

Ketal stood in the middle of it all, clenching his fist in satisfaction.

“Ah! That’s better. The sweetest fruit is always at the end of the wait,” he said, his laughter echoing across the shattered altar. “At last, it’s harvest time.”