Chapter 238: The Holy Land of Ferderica (1)

They had succeeded in bringing the sinner chosen by their god’s own revelation to the holy land.

Normally, a new revelation would descend the moment such a feat was accomplished. That was how it had always been. However, this time, something felt off. The revelation did not come immediately. It was as if even the god was caught off guard, as if events were not unfolding according to their divine plan.

It was only later that night, well after all the excitement had faded and the sanctuary had gone still, that the long-awaited revelation finally arrived. Ferderica had ordered the church to offer the sinner to them.

“I will obey,” the Saint replied quietly.

To fulfill the god’s will, to present such a grand sacrifice, there could be no room for error. Every step of the offering had to be perfect, every rite performed with unwavering devotion. The Saint quickly summoned the Elders and began relaying the details of the revelation, organizing the preparations as fast as possible. The sanctuary buzzed with activity, all in service of the holy offering to come.

As the Saint watched the preparations with quiet satisfaction, an Elder approached with deliberate steps.

“Saint,” the Elder said softly, bowing his head.

“What is it?” the Saint asked him.

“We have received a message of regret from the Kingdom of Denian.”

“Ah, I see...” The Saint’s expression showed no surprise.

Riltara had reported that she brought Ketal from the capital of Denian. From the kingdom’s perspective, it was as if their capital had been infiltrated and overpowered by the followers of Ferderica. Even if only to save face, the Denian royal family needed to express their displeasure, at least formally.

“Treat it as we always have. Ignore it,” the Saint decided without hesitation.

Throughout their history, they had destroyed countless lands under the pretext of carrying out Ferderica’s will. Each time, messages of regret and protest had followed, and each time, those messages had been ignored. There was no reason to be swayed now by the words of the Denian Kingdom.

“They know as well as we do that we won’t respond. It’s just a formal document. Disregard it,” the Saint said with a flick of his hand.

“Understood.” The Elder nodded, though his face was troubled. This particular letter felt more severe than usual, but there was no point in dwelling on it. He would follow the Saint’s command.

Yet before the Dlder could even leave, another message arrived.

“Saint, the Mercenary Guild has sent a message of regret.”

The Saint frowned, this time unable to mask his surprise. “The Mercenary Guild?”

Some dismissed them as mere hired hands, but the Mercenary Guild was not a group to be taken lightly. Their influence stretched across the entire continent; their reach extended into every corner of society. The information they collected and the connections they fostered made them a force to be reckoned with. In truth, they were the only organization with the power to influence the whole world.

Why would the Mercenary Guild send such a message now?

the Saint wondered.

“It’s about oppressing one of their own,” the Elder said carefully. “A member of their guild was subjected to your order.”

“So that barbarian is a mercenary...,” the Saint muttered, nodding in understanding.

It made sense. The guild was obligated to protect its own. In a case like this, a message of regret was to be expected. Still, the Saint waved it away.

“Ignore it. Ferderica themselves commanded that the barbarian be brought as an offering. Even the Mercenary Guild cannot stand in our way.”

The simple truth was that as long as they could claim a god’s direct revelation, outsiders had no grounds to interfere. That was why, despite all the protests, no one had ever dared to act directly against them. There was nothing to worry about.

However, only a few hours later, the Elder returned, anxiety etched into every line of his face.

“Saint...”

“Another message? From where this time?” The Saint let out a weary sigh, already tired of these complaints.

However, the elder’s next words made his eyes widen.

“It’s from the merfolk. The merfolk have sent a message of regret.”

“What...?” The Saint’s composure faltered.

It was almost unheard of. The merfolk lived in the sea, rarely meddling in the affairs of the surface. Although there was cooperation from time to time, it was more indifference than alliance. For the merfolk to send a message about a matter of the land was all but unprecedented.

“All the merfolk?” the Saint asked the Elder.

“No, just a single merfolk city. A small one.”

“I see... Then it’s nothing to worry about,” the Saint said, trying to compose himself, though he remained unsettled.

Why? Why would the merfolk care enough to protest? Did that barbarian mean that much to them?

the Saint wondered.

Still, the Saint didn’t think too deeply about Ketal himself. The Tower Master’s suppression of information had been absolute. Although the spell was recently broken by the Wandering Merchant, too little time had passed for the truth to spread. The insular nature of Ferderica’s followers made it all the more unlikely that word had reached them. Besides, Riltara, an Advanced priestess, had successfully captured Ketal and brought him to the holy land. Ketal was strong, but nothing extraordinary, or so the Saint believed.

However, there was an even greater reason for the Saint’s ignorance. Riltara had stayed silent about her journey.

On her journey, Riltara had chased Ketal through the holy land of Kalosia, to the coastal cities, and to the City of Merfolk. She had witnessed what Ketal could do, heard the rumors and seen the miracles with her own eyes.

Yet when she reported to the Saint, she carefully avoided those stories. She even asked the holy knights who had traveled with her to do the same. They were confused, but obeyed her request.

Because of that silence, the Saint had no real understanding of who Ketal was. He saw only a sacrifice, an object of the god’s will. So the cascade of protests left him all the more bewildered.

“It’s fine. It’s nothing we can’t handle,” the Saint told himself.

However, the messages didn’t stop. A short while later, the Elder reappeared, looking utterly shaken.

“A message from the elves has arrived!” he blurted out.

“The elves now?” the Saint groaned, rubbing his temples. “Is it just a single village this time?”

“No, not this time!” the elder replied, shaking his head frantically. “It’s from their sacred ground. From Elfo Sagrado. The High Elf Queen herself sent the message!”

***

“The Queen herself? You mean Karin?” the Saint asked the Elder, struggling to believe what he was hearing.

“Yes, that’s right!” the Elder confirmed.

“But... how can that be?” The Saint’s voice grew thin.

The High Elf Queen Karin was a legendary figure, a Hero who had contracted with the Spirit King, the protector of the World Tree, a power whose very name invoked awe. In every sense, she was the ruler of all elves.

For her to speak directly was as if the entire elven race had sent their protest. The Saint could not make sense of it. That someone of such stature would be personally concerned with Ketal defied understanding.

Before he could process this new development, another Elder burst into the room.

“Saint! The Mage Tower has sent a message of regret!”

The words had barely left his mouth when another followed, breathless.

“Saint! The Kalosia’s Church has also sent one!”

“The Sun God’s Church as well!”

“What is happening...” the Saint murmured, his face turning pale.

***

A council was hastily convened.

The Saint and the Elders gathered, faces drawn tight with tension.

“What is going on?” one Elder fretted.

“I understand the usual suspects, but why would the elves and merfolk get involved?” another muttered.

“And the Kalosia’s Church? What business do they have with any of this?”

“And what about the Sun God’s followers?” someone else asked, shaking their head.

“Enough,” the Saint said at last, fighting to keep his composure. “Let’s sort this out step by step. Who, exactly, has protested?”

The Elders reviewed the list, reading it aloud for all to hear.

The king of the Denian Kingdom had sent a message.

The guild master of the Mercenary Guild had sent a message.

The City of Merfolk’s leader had sent a message.

The High Elf Queen Karin had sent a message from Elfo Sagrado.

The Headmaster of the Void-Reflected Shadow School had sent a message.

The Saintess of Kalosia had sent a message. The Saintess of the Sun God had sent a message.

The Saint found himself speechless. Laying it out one by one, the scale became obvious. Never before had so many powerful groups spoken in one voice. It wasn’t just the number of protests. Two of the most influential religious orders on the continent, the Kalosia’s Church and the Sun God’s Church, were among them.

The Kalosia’s Church, once their peers in trying to remake the world in their god’s image, had failed but left a legacy that many followers of Ferderica still respected. There was a sense of kinship, even if only in memory.

The Sun God’s Church was the most powerful on the continent. Though the Earth Goddess’s Church was larger in territory, the Sun God’s followers were unmatched in influence and strength.

And both had moved to protect Ketal.

What kind of existence he was, what sort of being their god had chosen as a sacrifice, and who exactly they had angered were questions that sent the Saint’s mind spinning.

“What are we going to do?” one of the Elders asked quietly.

The Saint bit his lip. “They’re just messages of regret. We could ignore them and proceed as planned. The god’s direct revelation takes precedence over all else—no outsider can interfere.”

“But...”

There was a limit to everything. The Mercenary Guild, the Mage Tower, the merfolk and elves, the two great religious orders of other gods—all had united in protest. These were the powers that carved up the continent between them. To ignore them all was dangerous.

God’s words were absolute in the world of mortals, but no church was ever completely safe from the world’s scrutiny. Today, they could ignore the protests; tomorrow, those same voices might become a storm. Ferderica’s Church was already on thin ice, under suspicion for countless atrocities and excesses over the years. If they made one wrong move, they could become the next Kalosia’s Church—reviled, purged, and erased.

The Saint weighed his options. “We have no choice...”

He could not give up Ketal. The god’s revelation had been clear. Even if the entire church was burned to ashes, he would obey. However, to move ahead blindly would be dangerous. They needed justification, something unassailable.

“Prepare a justification that no one can challenge Is Kostia still here in the holy land?”

“Yes, he is,” an Elder replied.

“Then summon him.” The Saint spoke loudly, so all could hear. “Summon Chief Inquisitor Kostia. Tell him to prepare for an inquisition.”

“Yes, Saint.”

An inquisition would be held to determine if Ketal was truly a heretic. And, of course, word of this was relayed to Ketal as well. It was Riltara who brought him the news.

“They’re going to hold an inquisition for me?” Ketal asked her, a look of interest flickering in his eyes. “Why bother? Even if they prove I’m a heretic, hasn’t their god already given them a revelation?”

“I think they need an excuse, a proper reason to justify it to everyone,” Riltara said quietly.

As the one who brought Ketal to the holy land herself, Riltara was at the center of the incident, privy to every rumor and every shift in the church’s plans. She explained to Ketal that the messages of regret from the outside had reached even here. Ketal nodded as if he understood.

“I see. So they want to paint me as a heretic, to quiet the complaints.” Ketal’s lips curled in an amused smile. “It’s funny, isn’t it, Riltara? I’m not even one of your god’s followers. An inquisition is meant for the faithful, not outsiders. To accuse a nonbeliever of heresy is nothing but a farce.”

He shook his head in disbelief.

“To twist means and ends for the sake of their purpose... Is that truly the value Ferderica wants?” Ketal asked her.

Riltara said nothing. Her face twisted with uncertainty. She knew that was not the value she had been taught. Ferderica’s teaching was about hunger—about accepting what cannot be fulfilled. To chase after a result at any cost was never their way. That was just greed.

At least, that was what Riltara had always believed. Her expression darkened, torn by doubts.

“Well, fine. It doesn’t bother me.” Ketal leaned comfortably against the filthy wall of his cell. “If the holy land wants to hold a real inquisition, I’d actually like to experience it. It sounds entertaining.”

He stretched his arms, a broad grin spreading across his face.

“Let them do as they wish. As long as it stays interesting, I’ll go along with it.”

And so, as the holy land of Ferderica braced for the most consequential inquisition in its history, Ketal waited, quietly amused.