Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 250: The Fortress of Evil (3)

“What? This can’t be happening!” Carbarax finally snapped out of his daze.

Even as he spat curses and disbelief, his hands flew into action, weaving a complex series of spells in the air. The shattered fortress wall immediately began to reassemble itself, black stones flying back into place as if time itself was being reversed.

“Enclose it! Now!” he shouted.

A new barrage of magical energy exploded through the earth. The wall not only restored itself but grew taller and even thicker, more heavily reinforced than before. This was Carbarax’s full defensive power, his absolute best. He was pouring all his energy into maintaining the fortress’s integrity.

However, even this proved meaningless.

A thunderous boom echoed across the land as Ketal swung his fist again. The newly restored wall crumbled under his blow just as easily as before. Stones shattered and dust flew. Ketal offered a slight, almost mischievous grin.

“It’s definitely a little tougher now,” he remarked, rolling his shoulder as if testing the weight of the air. “But that’s about it.”

Those watching were left speechless, their awe and fear warring on their faces. Reverence for the impossible was written in their wide eyes.

“Unbelievable...”

“How could anyone possess such strength...?”

The power of those called Heroes was always said to be beyond the grasp of common understanding. Most people accepted the tales, believing in the legend without ever expecting to witness such force for themselves. In truth, few had ever seen a Hero truly fight, for the world had not faced a crisis great enough to warrant their intervention—until now.

That unspoken boundary in their hearts had been shattered. The limits they had once imagined for human strength were gone.

“So this is the true power of a Hero,” someone whispered. The crowd could only watch in astonishment as Ketal’s might was made plain before them.

Carbarax let out a scream, equal parts panic and fury, as he continued to conjure wall after wall, summoning layer after layer of magical stone. Each one was instantly smashed to rubble by Ketal’s relentless fists. The sequence repeated over and over, almost like a fever dream.

It took several such cycles before the onlookers realized something strange was happening. The walls kept repairing themselves, but with increasing speed. At first, Carbarax had seemed overwhelmed by panic, his spells sluggish and delayed.

Now, with his mind clear and his fear forced down, he restored each wall instantly—sometimes even before the rubble from the previous one had finished falling. Every section of the wall, every siege engine mounted atop it, was rebuilt to flawless perfection.

There was no pause, no sign of strain. The fortress did not seem to be losing any energy at all.

The Archbishop, watching with a furrowed brow, finally realized the reason. He muttered under his breath, “Why isn’t Ketal using any Myst?”

***

Ketal returned from battering the fortress, his body completely unharmed. Not even a scratch marred his skin or armor. He shrugged, a touch of amusement in his tone.

“So, it’s possible to break it, but it doesn’t really mean much,” he said.

“That’s because you’re only using brute force,” the Archbishop replied, shaking his head.

The reason Carbarax could restore the wall so effortlessly, without any loss of power or delay, was simple. Ketal was relying solely on raw strength—pure physical force.

Evil, after all, was not a native force in this world. Against demons, only attacks imbued with the holy power or Myst could have any true effect. This fortress, steeped in evil, had become a sanctuary of darkness. Here, ordinary physical power was as useless as a child’s blow.

“In this place, you cannot harm them unless you use Myst or holy magic,” the Archbishop explained. “Anything else is meaningless.”

“Is there a reason you’re not using Myst?” he asked Ketal, trying not to sound accusatory. He couldn’t imagine that someone of Ketal’s strength would be unable to wield such power.

Ketal answered plainly, “I can’t use Myst.”

“...What?”

“Excuse me?”

A stunned silence fell over the assembly. Even the Mercenary King’s eyes grew wide.

“Are you saying you really can’t use Myst?” the Mercenary King asked him, disbelief in his voice.

“That’s right. Think of it as a quirk of my body. I possess Myst, but I don’t know how to control it.”

The Mercenary King gaped in disbelief. When Ketal had fought the dragon, he hadn’t used any Myst either. The Mercenary King had assumed he simply didn’t need it. However, now, the truth dawned—he actually could not use it at all.

“That’s... that’s unthinkable...”

For the strongest of the strong to lack such a fundamental skill, it seemed impossible. However, Ketal had no reason to lie.

Only Kain, standing to the side, looked oddly unsurprised. He remembered when he had first met Ketal—how ignorant the man had been about the very concept of Myst. Ketal couldn’t even sense it at the time, much less wield it. He had gained some ability since then, but it was clear he still had not mastered the art.

The Archbishop’s mind raced as he pieced the facts together.

Wait a minute, he thought, his face growing pale. Then all that strength, everything we just saw, was accomplished with nothing but his raw body?

He shivered. Goosebumps rose on his skin as the truth sank in. However, that wasn’t the most important issue now.

On the other side of the battlefield, inside the corrupted holy land, Carbarax was struggling to keep calm. Sweat beaded on his brow as he tried to steady his racing heart.

“So that’s how it is,” Carbarax said to himself. “That barbarian can’t use Myst.”

He had known this from earlier records, but the sheer spectacle had made him forget for a moment. Now, as he remembered, he bared his teeth in a grimace.

“In that case, nothing he does here matters!”

The Archbishop’s voice was tight with concern. “Then... your strength is useless, Ketal.”

“Is it really so bad?” Ketal asked him.

“Yes. If this were a normal fortress, brute force might be enough. They could have exhausted the demon’s power and eventually prevailed. But this place is different. The land itself has been soaked in evil. Any attack without Myst or holy force is pointless.”

Ketal listened, curious. “It’s like creating their own domain, then?”

Demons had the ability to create their own domain. Once a demon achieved it, only attacks empowered by the divine or Myst could touch them. The Archbishop shook his head.

“Not quite. This is more about drawing strength from the fallen holy land and amplifying their defenses. Myst still works here, but simple physical strength cannot leave a mark.”

Ketal could rampage all he liked, smashing and destroying everything in sight, but none of it would matter. He wouldn’t even tire out Carbarax. At most, he might kill a few dark mages, but the fortress and the demon itself would remain untouched.

It was like trying to cut water with a blade—the surface would ripple, but it would always return to its original state. No matter how hard he tried, the fortress would rebuild itself endlessly. For all intents and purposes, his strength was rendered meaningless here.

Yet, Ketal only smiled, as if he found the situation amusing.

“As expected. Myst is pretty important after all,” he mused.

The Archbishop’s desperation mounted. “Is there truly nothing we can do?”

Ketal gazed at the fortress, his eyes thoughtful. If he truly tried to destroy the wall, perhaps he could break through. He had shattered magic-woven spells before with nothing but sincerity and willpower. It was possible that a genuine attack, one made with his whole heart, might be able to breach even this enchanted wall.

Yet, he hesitated to do so. It was a problem of the heart. He couldn’t bring himself to muster that kind of seriousness for something that felt so much like a game. This fortress, for all its power, simply didn’t inspire him to give his all. He shook his head, a rare note of regret in his voice.

“Is there truly no solution...?” the Archbishop murmured, a look of despair settling over his face.

It was impossible to simply support Ketal from behind—Carbarax’s power was too overwhelming for that to work. Kalosia’s holy relics would be of little help here. They were completely stuck. However, Ketal only smiled more widely.

“There’s no need to worry,” he said. “I can’t use Myst yet. That just means it’s time for me to learn.”

“What?” The Archbishop was caught off guard by his words.

“I never met the requirements to learn before. But just recently, I gained the qualifications I needed,” Ketal explained. “If I start learning now, do you think I could use Myst in this battle?”

The Mercenary King paused, pondering the question. Given Ketal’s strength, it was strange he hadn’t mastered Myst already. Still, it made sense that, once he learned, he’d be able to wield it right away.

“From what I can sense, your Myst is already on par with Advanced warriors. I don’t know why you haven’t figured it out yet, but there’s no reason you shouldn’t be able to use Myst if you’re taught,” the Mercenary King said.

Ketal’s eyes sparkled with excitement.

“Thank goodness...” The Archbishop let out a long sigh of relief.

Now, all they needed was someone to teach Ketal. Given that his abilities were centered on the physical, it was obvious he’d need to learn Aura manipulation rather than magic. Instinctively, all eyes turned to the Mercenary King, renowned as a master of Aura.

After all, the Mercenary King was one of the greatest practitioners alive. If anyone could teach Ketal, it would be him. Everyone seemed to expect the Mercenary King to accept the role. Even he himself assumed that he would be asked to teach.

Then, to everyone’s shock, Ketal strode directly over to Kain, who had been standing silently at the edge of the group.

“Kain, I’ll be counting on you!” Ketal declared, clapping the startled Swordmaster on the shoulder.

“W-what?” Kain stammered, completely blindsided. “You want me to teach you Myst?”

“Of course. Is there a problem?” Ketal asked him, smiling.

Of course, there is a problem. Kain’s mind raced. He glanced desperately at the Mercenary King, searching for an out.

“There’s someone here who’s much stronger than me! Wouldn’t you rather learn from him?” Kain protested, gesturing at the Mercenary King.

Kain was barely considered a Transcendent. In comparison, the Mercenary King was a legend. Surely it made more sense to learn from the best.

“You were the first one to teach me about Myst,” he explained, shaking his head. “You showed me the basics, tested my body, and even gave me my first lessons in swordsmanship.”

For Ketal, Kain was his original teacher, the one who had guided him when he knew nothing. There was no question in his mind about who he wanted to learn from. For Kain, though, this was a disaster.

Why me? he wailed internally.

The first time he had explained Myst to Ketal, it had been a simple introduction—just basic theory. Now, he was being asked to teach a true Hero in front of everyone. The idea was mortifying. It felt like being told to teach the Tower Master how to cast spells. Just thinking about it made Kain’s stomach churn. He wanted nothing more than to refuse. He glanced around in desperation, hoping someone would intervene and save him.

However, all he found was indifference or, worse, encouragement.

“Well, if that’s what Ketal wants, I see no problem,” the Mercenary King said with a mild nod.

“If the man wants to learn from you, who are we to stop him?” the Archbishop added, his tone supportive.

Everyone had already decided that Kain was the one to do it. Kain’s last hope was the Mercenary King, yet even he offered no help.

“It’s not a bad idea,” the Mercenary King said. “I’ve never taken a disciple before, and my swordsmanship is something I’ve honed in the heat of battle. I’m not much for teaching others. But Kain, you have students, don’t you?”

“I... I do,” Kain admitted reluctantly, “Some of them are here with us, actually.”

“Oh, does that mean I have senior brothers?” Ketal said with a broad grin. Kain’s heart twisted painfully in his chest.

“Since you already have disciples, I’m sure you’ll be a good teacher. You’re a fine Swordmaster, Kain. I’m sure you’ll do just fine,” the Mercenary King said, his words both reassuring and final.

In truth, the Mercenary King felt no urge to become Ketal’s teacher. The idea of instructing someone so much stronger than himself was absurd—a prospect that would unsettle anyone. To him, it was nothing short of ridiculous.

So, by unspoken agreement, the responsibility settled on Kain’s shoulders. He let out a groan of pure misery.

“Ah... this can’t be happening...,” Kain murmured.

“If you teach me now, you’ll go from being a teacher in my heart to being my teacher in truth,” Ketal said warmly as he clapped him on the back, eyes bright with anticipation.

He had always thought of Kain as a mentor, someone who had shaped him in his early days. Now, he could finally make it official.

“Then please, teach me well... Master,” he said, bowing his head with sincere respect.

Kain nearly doubled over at the words, his stomach twisting with embarrassment and anxiety.