Chapter 241: The Holy Land of Ferderica

Riltara dropped to her knees, her strength fleeing as the reality of what was about to happen crashed over her. She clasped her hands together, the gesture half a prayer, half a plea—only to hesitate, her hands trembling in midair.

Who am I supposed to pray to now?

Riltara wondered. That question echoed through the void in her heart. In this moment of disaster, she realized she no longer had a god to turn to. A bitter, hopeless laugh slipped out of her.

“You...!” The Saint, standing by the shattered altar, clenched his teeth in fury, his expression twisted with rage and disbelief. “You finally reveal your true colors!”

He shot a fierce glare at Ketal. That glare served as a silent signal. The moment their Saint’s eyes hardened, the ordinary believers broke and fled, panic-stricken. In seconds, all non-combatants vanished from the plaza, replaced by an advancing line of holy knights and armored priests. A ring of steel and magic closed in, shields gleaming and eyes cold.

Ketal let out a low whistle as he surveyed the rapidly tightening circle.

“Efficient. Like they’d been waiting for this exact scenario,” he said with a casual grin.

No doubt, they had. While the priests and knights didn’t truly understand Ketal’s power, they had recognized that he wasn’t just an ordinary traveler. He radiated strength, at the very least, the force of an Advanced fighter, a warrior capable of shaking the world if he chose. Even the genius Aquaz was an Advanced when they met for the first time.

Yet here, the knights had only bothered to bind Ketal in thin chains, nothing he couldn’t break with a flick of his finger. It was almost as if they wanted him to break free, to provide a perfect justification for what was to come.

“Is it the world’s judgement you’re afraid of?” Ketal called to the Saint. “Or do you just want to make it look like I chose to fight, so that when you hand me over as a heretic, it’s justified?”

“Nonsense,” the Saint replied curtly. But there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes, a tremor betraying his unease.

Ketal’s words had hit the mark. The Saint’s plan all along had been to provoke resistance. Then, when the

sinner

fought back, they’d offer him up to their god with perfect, self-righteous justification.

However, even the Saint was surprised that this barbarian had seen straight through the charade.

It doesn’t matter

, he thought. Now that the wheels were turning, he had all the pretext he needed.

The Saint raised his voice. “Everyone! The chosen sacrifice of our god is resisting! Seize the heretic! Bind him for the glory of Ferderica!”

A thunderous shout erupted from the knights and priests.

“Glory to Ferderica!”

“Ferderica, grant us strength!”

With a roar, the holy knights charged, shields raised, spears leveled, a wall of faith and steel hurtling toward Ketal.

He met their onslaught with a lazy smile and a raised hand, showing not a trace of fear. The first knight reached him, lunging with his spear. In a blur, Ketal caught the tip, his fingers closing around the metal shaft. The knight tried to wrest it free, but his actions were futile.

With a single squeeze, Ketal hurled the knight high into the air. He flew clear across the square, crashed through a stone wall, and vanished inside a building with a thunderous crash. The other knights tried to exploit the opening, stabbing with practiced precision, filling every gap with flashing steel.

Ketal didn’t even bother to dodge. He stood as still as a mountain. The spears struck his body, but the points bent and slid off harmlessly. The knights were thrown backward by the force of their own attacks.

“Wh-what...?” The knights’ voices trembled with confusion and awe.

Ketal looked at the bewildered knights, his eyes suddenly gentle.

“You’re not the real enemy,” he said quietly. “You’re just victims, like everyone else—forced to carry out Ferderica’s will by those above you.”

He reached out and tapped the forehead of the nearest knight. Instantly, the man slumped unconscious, his mind overwhelmed by a force he couldn’t comprehend. Ketal strode forward, flicking his fingers. Each motion sent knights collapsing like marionettes with their strings cut, falling asleep where they stood.

The Saint’s voice rang out, desperate and strident. “Everyone, push him back! Overwhelm him with force!”

“

Hyah!

”

Dozens of knights rushed in, holy power flaring as they tried to crush Ketal with sheer numbers, pressing in with a weight that felt like a mountain.

Ketal smiled, almost giddy, and stepped forward, bracing his shoulders. As he moved, the knights scattered like bowling pins, thrown in all directions by the unstoppable force of his advance.

In that chaos, Kostia, the Chief Inquisitor, saw an opening. Sword drawn, he lunged at Ketal’s exposed back, aiming for a vital point. However, Ketal turned at the last moment, catching the blade between two fingers.

𝒻𝘳𝘦𝘦𝘸ℯ𝒷𝘯𝘰𝑣ℯ𝑙.𝘤𝑜𝘮

“Not bad,” Ketal said, and with a deft twist, he disarmed Kostia, flipping the larger man end over end. Kostia crashed to the ground, struggling to breathe. Before he could recover, Ketal’s fist struck him square in the chest.

The sound of armor caving in was sharp and final. Kostia was sent flying, smashing into the far wall, where he slid to the ground and moved no more.

Within minutes, every knight in the plaza was down. The Saint stared at Ketal, his eyes narrowed, mind racing.

“You’ve been holding back your power, haven’t you?” the Saint sneered.

The Myst he sensed from Ketal was no more than that of an Advanced warrior, and yet this man had just defeated Kostia, a Transcendent powerhouse, with a single blow. Clearly, Ketal had been concealing the true extent of his strength.

“Well, it hardly matters,” the Saint said, regaining his composure. “Anyone called personally by Ferderica themselves is bound to be extraordinary. This is just another trial.”

With deliberate steps, the Saint moved to the center of the ruined altar. He radiated no fear, only grim determination.

“If that’s how it must be, then I’ll deal with you myself.” As the Saint spoke, a dense, dark energy began to swirl around him, the power of corrupted faith building into a raging storm.

The Church of Ferderica had committed countless crimes; there were entire towns and kingdoms that had suffered at their hands. And yet, no one dared challenge them. Partly, this was the sheer power the church wielded in the world. However, it wasn’t just that.

The real reason was simple: the Saint.

He stood among the highest-level Transcendents. Excluding true Heroes, there was no one more powerful on this continent. As long as he lived, Ferderica’s Church was untouchable.

Now, he raised his arm, and a tidal wave of holy power surged forth, roaring toward Ketal like a living thing. The sheer force was overwhelming enough to make even the Mercenary King or a Transcendent like Seraphina or Spellweaver pause. No matter how strong this barbarian was, he couldn’t possibly be a match for someone at the pinnacle.

Or so the Saint believed.

“Impressive!” Ketal shouted, and hurled a punch straight into the approaching storm. In an instant, the divine energy shattered as if it were nothing but a bubble.

The Saint’s eyes widened in disbelief. “What...?”

In a flash, Ketal closed the distance, standing before the Saint before he could react. Desperate, the Saint crossed his arms, summoning every ounce of defense he could muster. Ketal’s fist broke through all of it.

Snap!

Ribs cracked, and the Saint was sent tumbling across the ground, scraping a long furrow in the dirt before crashing to a halt. Blood dribbled from his lips as he forced himself to heal with holy power, dragging himself upright.

Ketal watched him, head tilted in curiosity. “Not bad. I tried to hold back a little, but you’re still standing. You must be stronger than most.”

The Saint was, in fact, among the strongest humans Ketal had ever met outside the White Snowfield.

“In that case, I won’t hold back next time,” Ketal said with a bright smile.

A shiver of fear rippled through the Saint. For the first time, he felt the cold, inescapable shadow of death. He drew a shaky breath and recited a verse, “Latega, Chapter 8, Verse 12! Crush those who threaten you!”

Black holy energy surged forth, taking on shape and substance as it barreled toward Ketal with the weight of divine retribution.

Ketal, delighted, flung his arms wide. “Scripture of Ferderica! I love it!”

The divine words shattered in the air, torn apart by Ketal’s fists. The Saint’s greatest power crumbled like a child’s toy.

The Saint screamed in desperation, invoking another verse. “Latega, Chapter 12, Verse 14! Let all abundance be denied!”

From the altar, power poured out—divine might that had once scoured the world, the lingering echo of Ferderica’s own steps upon the earth. This power was meant to crush Ketal, to erase all value and leave nothing but emptiness. However, all of it broke, again and again, under Ketal’s relentless assault.

The very footsteps of the god, the denial of abundance, the ultimate power of scripture—everything was shattered.

The Saint was driven to madness by the impossibility of it. Even the Chief Inquisitor of the Sun God would not have been able to defeat him like this. However, this barbarian was destroying everything with the casual ease of a parent scolding a child.

The Saint slammed into a wall, barely able to shield himself from the worst of the blow. Sweat trickled down his forehead as he forced himself to stand.

I can’t win,

the Saint thought. He was barely holding on, staving off defeat by a hair’s breadth. However, any hope of victory had long since vanished. Ketal utterly overpowered him, in body and spirit.

Yet Ketal only looked faintly disappointed. He hadn’t come here just for the Saint. Raising his head, Ketal looked up, his gaze piercing the sky above the ruins.

“Still not going to show yourself?” he muttered.

“What are you talking about?” the Saint managed to rasp.

“Let’s see how long you plan to keep watching from above,” Ketal replied, voice growing distant.

With that, Ketal opened his presence to its fullest. The effect was immediate. The Saint’s face went white as a sheet.

“What... what is this...?” the Saint stammered.

An immense pressure, vast and ancient, pressed down upon the holy land. The world itself seemed to bend under the weight. The earth groaned, reality warping as air grew thin and suffocating.

The Saint’s mind reeled. He’d felt something like this once before, long ago, when he first became Saint. He’d met Ferderica, face to face. For a heartbeat, he’d seen their true self. He’d known, in that moment, that he was as insignificant as a grain of dust. That he could not comprehend, could not hope to grasp, what they truly were.

And now, as Ketal’s presence pressed down, he felt the same terror. The very foundation of the holy land quaked, cracks opening in the ground as Ketal’s presence grew heavier and heavier. Ketal stomped his foot. The land heaved as if struck by a hammer. Across the plaza, the earth split, stone and soil ripping apart beneath the weight of his spirit.

Ketal took another step. The ground collapsed, buildings sagging as foundations gave way. The land itself fractured, the city coming undone around Ketal. All of this was just from his presence.

“Stop... please, stop...” The Saint’s voice was a strangled whisper, devoid of command.

Ketal’s foot rose again, poised to bring the holy land crashing down for good. However, before he could move, a shaft of blinding light pierced the sky, falling straight onto the Saint’s head.

“Huh...?” The Saint stood frozen, lips parted in astonishment, as something vast and alien took control of his body. His will was erased, replaced by a presence that swallowed him whole.

“This body is mine to borrow.” A voice boomed from somewhere beyond the world.

“No... don’t...” The Saint tried to resist, but it was hopeless. His limbs slackened. Ketal, recognizing what was happening, stopped in his tracks, lowering his foot. The suffocating aura faded.

At last, Ferderica had arrived. The Saint’s eyes opened once more, and now they were bottomless pools of darkness. That inhuman gaze locked onto Ketal.

“You...” A voice that was not a voice echoed from within the Saint’s body. “I reject you.”

A tidal wave of will surged at Ketal, trying to erase his existence, to hollow him out and leave nothing behind. The power bound itself around Ketal, struggling to twist him into nothingness.

However, Ketal only smiled. “No.”

A sound like a bell’s toll rang out. His word of rejection clashed with the god’s denial, shattering in the air, neither side giving way.

The presence within the Saint’s body recoiled, their expression twisting with irritation.

“Is that how you greet people you’re meeting for the first time?” Ketal asked the god with a bright, almost childlike smile, voice ringing with genuine excitement. “It’s an honor to finally meet you, Ferderica. The great one from the heavens.”