Chapter 237: To Ferderica’s Holy Land (4)

They did not encounter any bandits on the road. There were no desperate villages blocking their path, no unexpected disasters. Without any trouble, Ketal’s group reached the outskirts of Ferderica’s holy land.

“It went smoother than I thought,” Ketal remarked, looking over the last hills.

“We’re almost there,” Riltara replied quietly.

By tomorrow, they would arrive at the sanctuary. With that, she believed, this ordeal, this constant stream of temptations, would finally end. That should have been a relief. Yet, some small part of her felt strangely regretful. Riltara stubbornly pushed that feeling aside.

As if he could sense her wavering, Ketal gave her a sly smile and asked her, “So, how was it?”

He was asking about all the temptations, all the comforts and pleasures he’d shown her on the journey. Riltara answered him in a clear voice.

“I am a follower of Ferderica. Your temptations were powerful, yes, but they could not corrupt me.”

She spoke as if steeling herself for a lifetime of foul-smelling water and dry, rancid jerky. That was her life as a devotee. She had accepted it. She was ready to endure it again.

Seeing the resolve in her stance, Ketal offered a nod of genuine admiration. “I imagine you were tempted many times, but you endured it all. That’s impressive.”

He meant it. It was not a challenge or a taunt. For someone who had tasted sweetness and satisfaction to turn away from it took remarkable will. Ketal found himself genuinely admiring Riltara’s strength.

That acknowledgment, coming from the very

sinner

she’d been sent to capture, filled Riltara with pride. Ketal was admitting that her faith was real, her resolve was true. She couldn’t help but feel a thrill of happiness in her heart.

Yet before the moment could settle, Ketal looked at her, almost sadly. “It’s a shame, though. Your faith was founded on something false from the start.”

“What do you mean? Are you denying my faith?” she demanded, her joy frozen on her face.

Ketal’s response was calm, not mocking at all. “Isn’t it obvious? You grew up in the holy land, never having known plenty. Of all the things I showed you on this journey, was there a single thing you already knew?”

Riltara could not answer. She hadn’t known any of it—not the taste of good jerky, nor the simple pleasure of pasta, nor the comfort of a soft bed, nor the sensation of being clean, nor the joys of games and laughter. She had lived her entire life in deprivation, believing that was how things were supposed to be.

“Not just you,” Ketal went on, “the holy knights are the same. The truth is, only those who have experienced fulfillment can truly speak of deprivation. None of you have ever been fulfilled. So how could you claim to follow Ferderica’s values?”

Riltara’s face twisted with emotion, but she had no rebuttal. There was no flaw in Ketal’s logic. All this time, she had believed herself to be deprived, but the truth was, she’d never known anything else. She had no idea what she was missing.

“Is it fun for you?” she asked him quietly, almost resentfully. “Is it fun to mock our faith, to point out our ignorance?”

Ketal shook his head. “You’re mistaken. I’m not mocking you.”

“Then what is it?” she pressed, confusion and frustration mixing in her voice.

“No matter how empty your lives have been, it must have been hard to endure. But you did. That takes incredible strength.” Ketal gave her a gentle, almost wistful smile. “Even if you never knew what fullness was, hunger still hurt. Dirtiness still felt wrong. Poor sleep was still suffering. To endure all that, and keep your faith, is truly admirable.”

She was startled by the compliment. “Then... what are you trying to say?”

“You’re remarkable followers,” Ketal said, “but if there is a problem, it lies with those who taught you the wrong values from the beginning.”

“What do you mean?” Riltara asked him, her voice growing uncertain.

“Think about it. You grew up here, inside the holy land. Every part of your education, your beliefs, was shaped by the higher ranks of your order.”

He gestured toward the horizon. “It’s the same in other faiths, like Kalosia’s Church. It’s not the god who determines the course of a faith, but the saints and high priests, those who interpret the will of the gods. If every last one of you has lived this way, then the real fault lies with the leaders. If your entire flock is lost, then perhaps the shepherd is leading them astray.”

“That’s blasphemy!” Riltara shouted, suddenly furious. “How dare you insult them? They have dedicated their lives to Ferderica! They would never betray their god’s will!”

Ketal shrugged. “Perhaps. I know nothing about them, after all. Maybe they are truly faithful. Or maybe, like other orders, they misunderstood their god’s will.”

He let his words hang, smiling as he always did—an enigmatic, almost poisonous smile.

“So, Riltara, I’ll leave you with a seed of doubt. When I first met you, your skin was dry and brittle.”

He wasn’t being cruel. It was true as she’d never had proper nutrition, so her skin had been rough, her hair dull, her nails cracked. The holy knights around her had looked the same.

“But look at you now,” Ketal went on. “Your face is rounder. Your skin is smooth. Even your hair has started to shine.”

All of this, Ketal said, was proof of the change in her life—a life where she was no longer deprived, but allowed to experience fullness, however briefly.

“And what does that prove?” she demanded, growing defensive. “Of course, I look different. You forced me to eat all that food!”

Ketal smiled again. “That’s what I mean by planting a seed. If you ever get the chance to meet your superiors, take a close look at them.”

Riltara fell silent, biting her lip.

***

The next day, they finally arrived at Ferderica’s holy land.

“There it is,” Ketal said, openly curious as he gazed ahead.

What met their eyes was nothing like the sanctuaries of other gods. There were no grand symbols or ornate statues—just walls of unadorned gray stone, blocking the view of anything within. It looked less like a sacred place and more like a prison.

“Let’s go,” he said, leading the way.

“Yes,” Riltara answered.

It was an odd procession. The Sinner of Revelation walked in front, with the followers of Ferderica trailing behind. Soon, they reached the entrance.

“Who goes there?” demanded a voice.

“It’s me,” Riltara answered, stepping forward.

The holy knights on guard widened their eyes. “Riltara? If you’re here, does that mean...”

She nodded. “Yes. I have carried out Ferderica’s command. This is the one.”

She pointed to Ketal. The guards stared, their shock evident. The sight of Ketal, the so-called Sinner of Revelation, left them momentarily speechless.

“I have brought the sinner. Please, open the gate,” Riltara said quietly.

***

Inside the sanctuary, the news spread quickly. People came out in droves to stare, whispering as Ketal passed. Their eyes followed his every move, and their hushed voices praised Riltara’s accomplishment.

“That’s the Sinner of Revelation...”

“He’s twice my size...”

The people pressed close, gawking as though Ketal were some exotic beast. He couldn’t help but feel like an animal in a zoo. Still, he watched them, too, observing the sanctuary.

The ground was uneven and uncared for. The buildings were crude, built from planks and scraps, lacking any attention to form or comfort. The place looked more like a shantytown than a sacred sanctuary.

The people matched their surroundings. Their clothes were ragged and dirty, their skin chapped and broken, their bodies thin and frail from lack of nourishment. In all ways, they resembled the Riltara Ketal had first met.

He had been right. Ketal looked up for a moment, feeling the gaze of something high and distant—a divine presence watching from the heavens above.

Riltara led the group through the crowd, pressing onward toward the sanctuary’s center. There, in the open square, a man and a gathering of elders waited for them.

The man spoke calmly as they approached. “Welcome, Riltara.”

She knelt instantly. “Saint, and honored priests.”

The Saint of Ferderica turned to Ketal, frowning. “So this is the Sinner of Revelation.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Ketal replied. “Thanks to you, I’ve had quite a journey.”

“I don’t know why Ferderica has summoned you here, but that is not for us to question. All is in their hands. Take this one to the deepest cell.”

“Yes, sir.”

The holy knights seized Ketal, preparing to lead him away. Before he went, he glanced back at Riltara and spoke softly, “We’ll speak again, soon.”

Riltara gave no reply.

The Saint looked down at her. “You’ve done well, Riltara. You have carried out the god’s will. Rest for now. We will summon you again in a few hours.”

“Yes, sir...”

With that, Ketal was taken into the depths of the sanctuary—a prison cell in the truest sense. The air was thick with filth, so foul it could kill a weaker person. Yet Ketal merely leaned against the wall, smiling.

“A real dungeon, at last. I’ve always wanted to experience this for myself.”

It was all part of the journey, a curiosity for him to savor.

“The beginning was unpleasant, but now it’s rather interesting. Well then, do your worst. Let’s see what grows from the seeds I’ve sown here,” he muttered.

He settled in, waiting patiently for whatever came next, eyes alight with anticipation.

***

After some rest, Riltara was summoned to see the Saint.

She entered the reception room, where the Saint sat waiting, a gentle smile on his lips. “Come in. Please, have something to drink.”

He handed her a cup of water. She reached for it, but paused. The water stank; it was the same brackish, almost spoiled water she had drunk her entire life in the holy land. There was only one cup.

“You’re not having any?” she asked him.

“This is for you. I’m fine,” the Saint said, smiling kindly.

With nowhere to hide, Riltara took the cup and drank. The foul taste filled her mouth, but she forced herself to swallow it.

“So,” the Saint said, “can you tell me what happened?”

“Yes.” Riltara began her report, recounting everything—how she had searched the outside world, found Ketal in the Denian Kingdom, and forced his return by the authority of her faith.

The Saint listened, nodding, eyes shining with approval.

“Excellent work. Truly outstanding. You’re a shining example of Ferderica’s faithful,” he said, praising her personally.

Once, those words would have filled Riltara with joy, made her feel as if she possessed the world itself. Now, though, the feeling was muted.

“Thank you,” she replied, her tone quiet and careful.

The Saint noticed her restraint, but did not press further.

“Your experiences outside must have made you stronger. That is admirable,” he observed.

In that moment, Ketal’s words echoed in Riltara’s mind.

It’s just the rambling of a sinner,

she told herself.

But even so... what if he is right?

She looked up at the Saint, seeing him with new eyes. She had met him several times before, but never noticed these things: his skin was clear and glowing, his hair glossy and healthy, his nails smooth and unbroken. His robe was dirty, but it didn’t reek; it looked more like a clean robe with stains carefully added.

For the first time, Riltara began to notice the differences. Her heart grew heavy, her eyes clouded.

“That’s all for now. Rest and recover. One day, Ferderica themselves will surely praise you for your devotion.”

“Yes. Thank you.”

She rose to leave. As she was about to step out, the Saint called after her, as if just remembering something.

“Oh, were there any problems on your journey? Did anything happen with the sinner?”

There had been a problem, of course. Ketal had tempted her, had shown her a world full of new pleasures and wonders. She should have confessed immediately. However, she opened her mouth and lied.

“No, there was nothing. Everything went as planned.”

“Really? I’m surprised the sinner came so willingly. You’ve done well. You may go.”

“Yes. Then, may Ferderica’s blessing be with you.”

“And with you,” the Saint replied.

Riltara left the room, her eyes downcast and troubled, the words of the sinner echoing in her mind.