Chapter 239: The Holy Land of Ferderica (2)

Inside the inquisition chamber of Ferderica, Ketal sat in a simple wooden chair at the center, legs crossed, looking entirely too comfortable for the setting. The room was small, windowless, and stank of blood and iron. Instruments of torture lined the walls, each one grotesquely worn, some still stained with dried blood and scraps of flesh. Nothing here was for show. The air itself seemed thick with the agony of the many souls who had suffered before him.

Ketal took it all in, whistling softly. “Impressive. You don’t see this kind of decor every day.”

A heavy voice cut through the stale air. “Pay attention.”

Sitting opposite Ketal was a man whose presence could not be ignored. He was covered in scars, each one a story of violence and pain, his face carved into a permanent scowl. This was a man whose life had been dedicated to the pursuit and punishment of heretics.

“I am Kostia, Chief Inquisitor. I am the one who will pass judgement on you.”

“Chief Inquisitor,” Ketal echoed, a spark of interest in his eyes. He recalled that Seraphina, too, held the same rank in the Sun God’s Church. However, where Seraphina radiated overwhelming power, Ketal could feel that Kostia’s strength was a notch below, perhaps barely among the highest-level Transcendents. Even if their titles matched, the gap between the churches was immense.

Still, Ketal gave his warmest smile. “Well met. My name is Ketal.”

Kostia did not reply. He had no interest in pleasantries, nor in the man seated before him. He knew little about Ketal, cared even less. He was here to obey the Saint’s command: to brand Ketal as a heretic, nothing more.

Is this the one Ferderica desires?

Kostia wondered as he studied Ketal’s face, searching for a hint of something extraordinary.

All he saw was a barbarian, perhaps stronger than most, but ordinary by the standards of the holy land. Ketal’s aura was perfectly suppressed, his divine artifact from Kalosia safely tucked away in his pocket. Nothing about him betrayed his true nature.

Why would Ferderica want someone like this?

Kostia wondered briefly, but quickly pushed the thought aside. It did not matter. His job was to make Ketal into a heretic.

“We will begin the inquisition,” Kostia declared.

The room contained only three people: Kostia, Ketal, and, standing by the wall, Riltara. Her eyes were somber as she watched the proceedings, fixed on Kostia’s flawless, unblemished skin. Her doubts only deepened.

“O Ferderica, grant me the authority to judge your heretics.” Kostia began the ancient rite. He spoke the words softly, but power stirred in the chamber. “Book of Kufait, Chapter 5, Verse 12. Ferderica spoke before hundreds of followers: Among us stands one whose heart has turned from me. All close your eyes. That one shall step forth. All closed their eyes, and the traitor stepped forward. That person confessed their sin and was stoned to death.”

A shiver of divine power slid into the room.

It was not the radiant light of the Sun God, nor the gentle breeze of the Earth Goddess. Ferderica’s divinity was thick, sticky—like a sluggish syrup, viscous and clinging. It seeped into every crack and corner, coiling around Ketal, crawling across his skin. It was the power of the scripture itself, invoked as it had been when Ferderica once walked among their followers, rooting out heresy with their own hand.

It was a power designed to strip a soul bare. To scrape away every layer of self-deception, leaving the accused hollow, desperate, begging to confess, to be freed from their own guilt. Even the strongest minds had been known to break under this pressure, weeping as they admitted their betrayal, pleading to be put out of their misery.

Ketal simply sat there, eyes bright with curiosity, a smile still playing at his lips.

“So that’s how it works,” he said. “Not bad. It’s got character.”

Kostia blinked. For a moment, he was genuinely at a loss. This wasn’t just defiance or bravado as Ketal seemed entirely unaffected, even entertained. He hid his confusion and pressed on, as a true Inquisitor must.

He opened the holy book, flipping to the appropriate page.

“I will recite your sins, Ketal,” Kostia said, voice cold and formal. “You have wandered the world and failed to tread upon the earth as your own flesh.”

“I wore shoes,” Ketal answered cheerfully.

“You consumed the flesh of beasts that had been dead for less than a week.”

“I hunted and ate them fresh. That’s right.”

“You dared to enjoy abundance, hoarding what you possessed rather than sharing or discarding it.”

“I suppose that’s true. My pouch is roomy.”

“You dared to take pleasure in meals that should have been suffering.”

“Eating’s one of life’s great joys, after all.”

Ketal answered every accusation without hesitation or shame. To Kostia, this wasn’t strange—the power of the scripture made it impossible to lie in this chamber. He did not see the faint smile at the edge of Ketal’s mouth.

“In all, you have admitted to twenty-five sins,” Kostia pronounced, closing the book with finality. “The inquisition is over. You are a heretic.”

“No,” Ketal replied calmly, shaking his head. “I am not a heretic.”

“You confessed. You are a heretic,” Kostia insisted, dismissing any further conversation. He prepared to leave, but Ketal stopped him with a quiet, knowing smile.

“If you’ve feasted for ten nights, atone with twenty nights of hunger. Only then will the sin of indulgence be forgiven.”

Kostia’s eyes flew wide in shock. “How do you know our doctrine?”

This barbarian had just recited church doctrine—word for word. What Kostia didn’t realize was that Ketal had read the holy book after receiving it from Riltara. For Kostia, who knew nothing of this, it was unthinkable. Even if he had known, it would have been unbelievable.

Barbarians in this world detested writing. They rejected knowledge. Out of a hundred, ninety-nine couldn’t even read their own names, much less a line of scripture. The rare few who could write might only scrawl their name at best. Someone who could read or write full sentences was so rare that they couldn’t even be counted as a proper sample.

Kostia had guessed Ketal wasn’t an ordinary barbarian, but to hear him recite doctrine flawlessly was unimaginable. It was like watching a newborn read academic treatises.

Ketal continued, his voice even and assured.

“Your doctrine states that if one suffers twice the hunger for every night of feasting, the sin is forgiven. I have endured more hunger than most. My sins have been atoned for and more.”

Lies! That’s impossible!

Kostia wanted to shout. However, in this place, under the influence of the holy scripture, Ketal couldn’t utter a falsehood. It had to be the truth.

Of course, these restrictions didn’t bind Ketal, but he wasn’t lying either.

Ketal had known what he wanted his entire life, always on the outside looking in, never able to reach the abundance he craved. Even now, living with plenty, the years of deprivation in the White Snowfield far outweighed anything he had gained.

“My sins have been washed away by your own doctrine. By your rules, I am not a heretic.”

“No, that’s not true,” Kostia stammered, trying to hold onto authority. “Perhaps your sins are forgiven, but there are other charges.”

He couldn’t understand how Ketal knew the doctrine so well. Perhaps he had picked up a few lines from someone while traveling to this land, maybe a bit of advice in the Kingdom of Denian. If so, the solution was simple: keep pressing, keep digging for mistakes.

It became a battle of endurance—a contest to catch Ketal out in a slip or contradiction, to twist the doctrine’s wording, to set subtle traps within the conversation. Kostia, who had interrogated countless believers, had always trusted his stamina.

However, he didn’t know two crucial things. First, Ketal had memorized every tenet of Ferderica’s doctrine. No shallow trap would work on him. Second, Ketal was actually enjoying himself.

He had spent years on Earth reading countless stories and often found himself drawn into lively debates. People would argue over who the strongest character was, whether the villain had a just cause, and how protagonists seemed to unravel as the story progressed. The questions were absurd, but they were entertaining all the same.

This inquisition felt much the same. Only this time, the game was real. Ketal was so absorbed, he could have kept going for a month without tiring. No matter how many questions Kostia threw at him, Ketal just became more animated, his answers more enthusiastic.

“In Pavan, Chapter 25: Even if you’re full, if you still hunger in your heart, you remain in want. So, I am innocent. So, my hunger is not satisfied. By your doctrine, I am not guilty.”

Kostia was at a loss for words. Instead of wearing Ketal down, he found himself being worn down. This barbarian seemed to enjoy being interrogated, and somehow, he knew far more than he should have. It felt like arguing with a learned priest.

In the end, Kostia had nothing left to say. From the start, there had been no evidence, just a push to brand Ketal a heretic for convenience. Against anyone with knowledge, it was always possible to argue back. This wasn’t the first time, either.

However, before, it hadn’t mattered. If words failed, he could always turn to violence. The tools of torture were persuasive, after all. Even the most educated broke before true pain.

This time, things were different. Ferderica themselves wanted this barbarian. Kostia didn’t dare mar the flesh of someone the god desired.

“You are still guilty,” Kostia finally declared, sounding more like a stubborn child than a judge.

Ketal didn’t protest. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe I am guilty.”

“Then—”

“So let me ask you: If I repent, if I accept your baptism, won’t all my sins be forgiven? That’s what your doctrine says in the very first line.”

“That’s correct,” Kostia admitted, hesitating.

“In that case, I repent. I’ll become your believer. I’ll give up abundance and embrace hunger. Will you accept me?”

Kostia stopped. He couldn’t accept, because his real purpose was to condemn Ketal and offer him to Ferderica. He had only one answer.

“I refuse.”

“I refused.”

Their voices overlapped, and Kostia stared at Ketal, wide-eyed. Ketal just grinned, satisfied.

“Right on cue,” he said.

“You... you...” Kostia stammered. He realized Ketal had anticipated his refusal. A chill crept up his spine.

Who is this in front of me? Is he really a barbarian? Who am I interrogating? Who does my god want?

Kostia wondered.

A creeping dread worked its way up from the floor and into his heart. He knew nothing of Ketal’s power. However, the knowledge, the convictions, the sheer force of will terrified him more than any strength.

Kostia was starting to see not a barbarian, but something else wearing a barbarian’s skin. Voice trembling, he tried to regain composure.

“You look tired. Let’s end it here. The questioning will continue another day.”

“I’m fine to keep going,” Ketal said, almost too cheerfully.

“No, you’re exhausted,” Kostia insisted, gathering his book and practically fleeing the chamber.

Riltara watched it all from the corner, her eyes dark with sorrow.

***

The next day, after the interrogation ended, Riltara came to find Ketal.

“Ketal,” she said quietly, “the results of your trial are in. You have been declared a heretic.”

Ketal’s eyes widened as he idly explored his cell. “I thought the questioning was supposed to continue?”

“According to the records, you confessed your sins before Kostia. Tomorrow, you’ll be offered to Ferderica.”

“So they’re manipulating the report, just to tidy things up quickly,” Ketal muttered, understanding. Riltara’s face twisted in pain.

“Yes. That’s exactly what they’re doing,” she said, her voice trembling.

“You seem troubled,” Ketal remarked, watching her carefully.

Riltara pressed her lips together and spoke as if she were forcing the words out. “Is this really what Ferderica wants?”

Pursuing one's desires without regard for means or ends was completely at odds with the values taught in Ferderica. The faith she had devoted her life to was collapsing before her eyes.

“I never did ask,” Ketal said suddenly. “Did you happen to catch the Saint’s skin?”

“It was perfectly smooth and flawless,” Riltara replied, voice hollow.

“Just as I thought.” Ketal smiled.

“Riltara, I know the answer to your question. I can show you the truth.”

Riltara, the child who had grown up her entire life in Ferderica’s holy land, had always been a faithful believer. From the very beginning of their journey, Ketal had planted a seed of doubt in her heart. That seed had grown over time. And now, it was time to harvest its fruit.

“Do you want to know the truth?” Ketal asked her. His words carried the seductive weight of a devil tempting a believer.

However, even knowing the risk, some temptations were too sweet to resist. Riltara shut her eyes tight and nodded.

Ketal reached out and wrapped his hands around the iron bars of the cell. The metal bent easily, soft as marshmallow in his grip.