Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 243: Ferderica (2)

“Hmmm...” The Tower Master stood on the rooftop, silent and still as a statue, eyes fixed on the distant horizon. His gaze was unwavering, piercing through clouds and sunlight toward a place beyond sight, the holy land of Ferderica.

He had been up here a while, unmoving, his robes fluttering in the faint breeze that curled around the spires and domes of the Mage Tower. The sky was impossibly wide. Far away, just beyond the curve of the earth, was the stronghold of a god.

“You’re still worried about them?” The voice came from behind him, a crisp, young man’s voice, familiar and edged with dry amusement. “If you’re that anxious, why not go yourself instead of just sending messages of regret?”

It was Elian, his best disciple, the one he trusted most. The Tower Master gave a weary smile and answered with a ripple of thought, “You know I would, if it were possible.”

Elian nodded, acknowledging the truth. After all, there were rules, binding even for the greatest mage on the continent. The Tower Master’s true self was here, anchored to the Mage Tower. However, across the continent, hundreds of his avatars moved ceaselessly, righting wrongs, putting out fires, keeping chaos at bay wherever they could. If not for his intervention, the land would be twice as wild, twice as broken. He might have seemed idle now, but his hands, through magic, were everywhere.

“So why not stop watching and just let it go?” Elian said with a sigh. “Didn’t you already decide there wouldn’t be a problem? You’re starting to sound like an anxious old man who can’t leave his grandchild alone at the riverside.”

“Watch your tongue, young one. But...” The Tower Master laughed a little, but there was truth in Elian’s words.

If it were Ketal, he would get out, one way or another. If he ran, or fought, he’d do it in his own way, and things wouldn’t get out of hand for the outside world. That was Ketal’s nature. The Tower Master had weighed all the possibilities and convinced himself there was nothing to fear.

However, still, something felt off. There was a warning, deep in his bones. A prickle of unease he couldn’t quite shake.

Is it really okay to just watch from afar? The Tower Master’s intuition whispered that something was coming, something he shouldn’t ignore. Maybe I should go check for myself.

He was just about to give the order, to set his magic in motion and see with his own eyes, when the world shook. It started as a ripple on the edge of vision, a disturbance so profound it seemed the earth itself had skipped a heartbeat. Something, far away, had stirred.

On the distant horizon, a wave of power surged. It rolled outward, a tidal wave of force so great it seemed to bend the world itself. Most mortals would never even know it had happened, as the sensation was beyond what any normal human could perceive.

Only Heroes, who could shape reality with their will, could sense what had just unfolded.

The Tower Master and Elian both staggered, eyes wide.

“What the...?”

“Wait. This is...”

The Tower Master’s mind whirled, ancient and sharp. He’d spent decades studying every phenomenon the world had to offer, but nothing like this had happened in living memory.

A portal had opened; not just any portal, but one to a higher realm. The connection between worlds, torn open by a power so vast the fabric of reality itself trembled.

“S-sir? What is going on?”

“This is insane...” the Tower Master stammered.

For the first time in years, the Tower Master cursed aloud, the word tasting strange on his tongue. He had every right

“A path to the heavens... It’s been opened.”

***

“Aaaahhhh!”

“Oooooh! Ooooooooh!”

All across the fields outside Ferderica’s holy land, the faithful wept and prostrated themselves, clutching at the earth, tears streaming down their faces.

The flood of feeling was overwhelming: ecstasy, awe, utter terror. Some clawed at their own faces, howling Ferderica’s name, unable to contain the sheer force of devotion now boiling in their minds. Their faith, already teetering on the edge of madness, had snapped beneath the strain of the divine.

This was the only correct response. If any had dared to raise their eyes and look upon the unveiled god, their minds would have burned to ash.

Riltara, too, was undone. Her pupils shook and darted, the world gone out of focus. The heavens were open. There, above the broken holy land, a rift had been torn, and through it gazed Ferderica’s true self.

For a moment, the entire world seemed ready to surrender. Every living thing shuddered, bowing down, not from fear but in pure, instinctive reverence. Even the wicked, even those who denied all gods, would have felt that pressure, that urge to kneel.

It was the gaze of the God of Hunger. Where Ferderica’s sight fell, everything withered. Buildings corroded, stone turning to powder. Foundations remained, but twisted and unstable, no longer fit for human life.

The earth itself began to rot, rendered barren for centuries, though Ferderica left just enough for life to cling on by its fingernails. Even the air became thin, only barely enough to sustain breath.

Under that world-devouring gaze, Ketal alone stood unbowed. He stared upward, tears streaming silently down his cheeks. Above, through the torn sky, the realm of the gods was laid bare, heaven itself.

And there, gazing down on him, was something as vast as the universe, a being beyond comprehension: Federica.

Ketal had once prayed every night, back when he’d been on Earth. He’d begged for a miracle, for the impossible, to be whisked away to a world of fantasy, of wonder, of gods and magic. His prayers had been answered—distorted, perhaps, but answered all the same. The meaning of godhood had been imprinted on his heart, deeper than he’d realized.

Now, finally, he looked on the face of a god.

Tears of gratitude slid down his cheeks as he whispered, “Thank you. Truly.”

Ferderica saw it, and in that instant, they understood. Ketal was not afraid. He was not bracing for battle against a great enemy. He was overcome, moved to tears simply by witnessing their true form.

“Such broken thing...,” Ferderica said, voice dripping with contempt. “I will erase you.”

Ketal looked up, eyes shining. "If it’s your request, I want to grant it, no matter what... but that, I cannot do."

Federica’s will solidified. There would be no hesitation. They would kill Ketal. Even the heavens obeyed their command.

A pillar of pure blackness fell from the sky, roaring down toward Ketal, heavy with the very concept of hunger. It was a power too immense for the world to contain, so as it descended, it began to unravel, thinning, losing force, yet even in this degraded state, it was still the power of a god.

Ketal raised his axe. The black beam crashed into his weapon, driving him into the earth. The ground cracked, swallowing his legs, pressing him so deep his knees nearly buckled.

“Rrrgh!” He gritted his teeth and heaved upward with all his might.

Clang!

The pillar was flung aside, shattered by force of will. Ketal shook his arm, laughing a wild, exhilarated sound. “You’re strong.”

For a moment, he had almost gone down to one knee. That had never happened before, not even in the worst battles of his life. However, it wasn’t raw power that had done it. The moment the pillar touched him, it drained him, left him exhausted as though he’d run for days. That was Ferderica’s power, the gnawing of deprivation, the stripping away of vitality.

So they really can interfere with my body at this level... Even the Elder Dragon or named demons couldn’t do that, Ketal thought.

And this, Ketal realized, was only a fraction of Ferderica’s might. Even though the pillar was degraded by its descent to earth, it was enough to shake him. This was what it meant to face a god.

“Die.” Ferderica’s will became action. Again and again, pillars of darkness hammered down, shattering the land, each one more furious than the last.

Ketal dodged, darting left and right. Some he blocked, some he simply had to absorb, each one eating away at his strength. With each impact, he could feel himself weakening. Muscle and bone, spirit and will—all eroding, bit by bit, under the assault of the god’s hunger.

Ferderica remained aloft, unassailable, striking from the safety of the heavens. Ketal, for the first time since emerging from the White Snowfield, found himself truly on the defensive, unable to retaliate, forced to endure. It was, frankly, infuriating.

“You’re smiling...,” Ferderica murmured, almost in disbelief.

Ketal, despite everything, grinned from ear to ear. “Ha! This is great!”

He was in mortal danger, for sure, but he was not afraid. He had risked death more times than he could count, fighting for his freedom, battling his way out of the White Snowfield. However, fear of death had never stopped him.

What had terrified him, once, was the thought of never escaping, never seeing this world, never having a chance at the life he’d dreamed of. Now he was here. Now he was fighting a god, living a story greater than any he could have imagined. He could be nothing but overjoyed.

It’s not like I haven’t seen this kind of power before, Ketal thought.

Ferderica scowled, clearly displeased by Ketal’s enthusiasm. “If you’re so delighted, then die happy.”

A fresh wave of power gathered above. Stronger than anything before, a beam that could annihilate even the soul.

Now... What should I do? Ketal thought.

He considered his options, mind racing even as power battered him. He was burning through his strength faster than he could recover. He couldn’t keep this up forever.

Ketal looked up at the heavens. The gate to heaven was collapsing at an alarming speed, its radiant frame shuddering, shimmering, then visibly crumbling away. Ferderica’s authority strained to hold it together, but the cracks were spreading, the destruction accelerating, like a dam about to burst.

It was clear the act of opening this passage in the first place had been a tremendous burden even for a god. For Ferderica, it was a race against time. They needed to kill Ketal before the gateway completely fell apart.

Everything now came down to whether Ketal could withstand their onslaught just a little longer. For anyone else, the answer would have been obvious: defend, endure, survive until the door shut. However, Ketal was not anyone else. He had no intention of merely enduring.

That’s boring, he thought.

Sure, holding out against a god’s attacks was a thrill in itself, but it wasn’t his style to just take a beating and wait for it to end.

I want to land at least one real hit. But how?

A dozen ideas flickered through his mind, some drawn from old battles, some from memories of escaping the White Snowfield. He could try the tricks he used back then. However, as Ketal weighed his options, a rumbling growl echoed from deep within.

It was the Myst still slumbering inside him. From the very moment the battle with Ferderica began, it had grown restless, responding instinctively to Ferderica’s hostility and overwhelming power. It longed to rise, to meet Ferderica’s force head-on, to show its fangs at last.

The Myst inside him growled again, frustrated, as if the fact Ketal was getting pummeled by the god itself was unacceptable. Usually a sullen, standoffish presence, it was now like a guard dog suddenly alert, hackles raised, ready to leap for the throat of any intruder.

If Ketal gave it the word, the beast would burst forth in an instant, taking over the fight.

No, Ketal told it, pressing the wild force back down. It’s not your turn yet. Later, maybe. Not now.

The beast let out one last grumble of protest, then quieted, lowering its head and going still.

Breathing deeply, Ketal spent a moment checking the state of his body. His muscles ached from the repeated waves of Ferderica’s authority, exhaustion heavy in every limb. Yet, even so, much of his strength had already returned.

This should be enough, he thought as he tightened his grip on his axe.

Muscles bulged as he flexed, veins swelling, sinews thickening until it looked as though his skin might split. This wasn’t just brute force—this was all of him, spirit and body, focused and honed beyond all limits.

The air warped around him, distorting as his power surged. For just a moment, Ferderica was on edge. They could sense the gathering threat, the magnitude of the strength collecting in Ketal’s arm.

This is dangerous, they thought. Quickly, Ferderica began gathering their own power, consolidating all authority.

“Let hunger be made manifest in the world,” Ferderica said, their voice echoed across the sky.

A colossal pillar of pitch-black light descended, a purer, deeper force than any they’d used so far. This was no ordinary attack. It was the full might of Ferderica, the very power that had erased the values and existences of countless demons throughout the ages. With the right intent, it could pierce straight to the heart of a planet.

However, Ketal didn’t hesitate. He simply did what came naturally.

“Heup!” He hurled his axe with everything he had.

The weapon spun end-over-end, thrown with such force that it seemed to scream through the air. It flew straight into the descending black pillar and shattered it.

The god’s authority broke apart like glass, shards of light and shadow scattering in every direction. The axe didn’t just break through; it kept rising, climbing higher and higher, shooting toward the far-off heavens.

Ferderica instantly threw up a barrier, layers of divine protection. The axe and the barrier met with a resonant, bone-deep hum.

The impact sent shockwaves racing across the sky. Clouds scattered, shredded by the force. The holy land below was rocked; trees were uprooted, buildings creaked and groaned, and the faithful, still clinging to prayer, were sent tumbling with cries of shock and awe.

Slowly, the axe began to fall back to earth. Ketal reached out, snatching it with his other hand, and glanced down at his arm.

His throwing arm was a mess, muscles twisted, veins ruptured, and blood seeping out, skin torn. He’d pushed his body past its breaking point. Yet, Ketal only grinned, rolling his shoulder with satisfaction.

“Still working just fine,” he murmured.

The injury was already healing, flesh knitting back together at a speed only possible for someone like him. For such an extreme feat, this was a small price to pay.

“It’s been a while since I had to use everything I had. Perfect control, too.” Content with his effort, Ketal lifted his gaze to the sky. He let out a low whistle, eyes following the cracks that now marred the barrier above. “Whew.”

It was the realm of the gods, heaven itself, now bearing a fracture across its surface. Ferderica’s barrier, conjured to defend their true self, had been pierced. The crack was tiny, almost nothing compared to Ferderica’s vastness. It was a mere speck on a universe-sized body. Even so, it was real.

It was a wound.

A fragment broke free, tumbling down through the air toward the earth. It was a piece of Ferderica.

Ketal caught it in his palm, marveling at the pulsing energy it gave off. “So, this is a piece of a god. I’ll take good care of it.”

“You...” Ferderica’s voice trembled with emotion, but before they could finish, the celestial gate above shuddered, then slammed shut.

They’d barely held it together, and now, after that last collision, it could no longer bear the strain.

Ketal looked away from the sky, turning his gaze to the Saint, the vessel through which Ferderica had descended.

“You’re still holding on, huh? But I can see even you’re reaching your limits.”

The aura of the god, possessing the Saint’s body, was fading fast. Soon, not even this vessel would be able to contain them.

“It was a hell of a fight. Thank you,” Ketal said.

“To think you could achieve so much even in a state of deprivation... How...” Ferderica’s voice grew thin, a whisper as they weakened. “You... you should not exist on this earth... The defeated must remain forever in the prison of eternity...”

“I don’t know about the past. But right now, you’re the one who lost.” Ketal smiled, the edge of triumph unmistakable. “And for what it’s worth, I really do love this world. I promise you, the disaster you fear isn’t going to happen.”

He drew back his fist, channeling all his remaining strength.

“So don’t interfere anymore. Just get out.”

He swung his fist. A final burst of force, pure and irresistible, washing over the Saint’s body. The last vestiges of Ferderica’s presence were swept away, torn from their mortal host. The Saint dropped to the ground, limbs loose and lifeless, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Ketal stretched, his body finally relaxing, as if shaking off the last tension of the battle. In one hand, he still held his axe; in the other, the fragment of a god.

The fight was finished, and the gate to the heavens was closed. For now, the earth was silent once more.