Barbarian's Adventure in a Fantasy World-Chapter 247: The Blooming Flower of Malice (4)

A few days before Ketal met the Mercenary King, right around the time he was making his way to Ferderica’s devastated sanctuary, a different, fateful scene unfolded elsewhere on the continent.

There, on the edge of civilization, stood the holy land of another god: Lupesiana, the Goddess of Harmony. Compared to the other great faiths, Lupesiana’s Church was quiet and unassuming. They rarely found themselves the subject of rumors or controversy. Neither powerful nor ambitious, they survived by fostering cooperation with neighboring powers and adapting to the turbulent times, seeking no trouble and bringing none.

In fact, most viewed them kindly. The church’s peaceful ways and willingness to work with others had earned them a rare measure of respect even in a world so torn by conflict. However, on this day, something changed.

An old man appeared before their gates. He was a small, stooped figure, someone a person might dismiss at a glance as weak or even feeble. The old man walked directly up to the holy land’s entrance, where a holy knight stood on guard, watching him with a gentle, courteous gaze.

“Greetings, traveler,” the knight said with a welcoming nod. “What brings you to the holy land of Lupesiana?”

The old man paused, looking up at the towering spires beyond the gates. “This is the holy land of Lupesiana, is it not?”

“Yes, that’s right,” the knight replied, a little puzzled.

“Good. I’ve come to the right place. It’s been a hard journey.” The old man patted his crooked back, as if to knock loose some of the aches of travel. Then, quite unexpectedly, he spoke again, his tone casual but chilling. “Hand it over.”

“I’m sorry?” The knight blinked, caught off guard by the abrupt demand.

He never finished his next thought.

The old man simply raised his hand. In an instant, a wave of overwhelming demonic energy surged forth, so powerful and malignant that the knight’s eyes widened in sheer terror.

“Dem—” was all he managed before he was engulfed. The blast swallowed him whole, reducing his body to dust.

With a deafening crash, the mighty gates of the holy land shattered into splinters. The old man stepped lazily through the debris and into the sacred grounds.

Panic erupted at once. Where there had been calm, there was now only chaos. Worshipers screamed and scattered, desperate to escape the invader. Holy knights scrambled to arms, shouts of alarm echoing off the stone walls. Inside the central church, the Saint was jolted from his meditation and raced outside, eyes wide with horror.

“This can’t be! How?!”

He could feel a demonic power had entered the holy land. A demon was attacking, violating this sacred place. For a brief moment, he was paralyzed with fear and confusion.

There was no warning from the god! No prophecy, no sign, not even a hint to prepare or stand guard! he thought.

It was a perfect ambush. With no time to think, the Saint leapt forward, heart hammering in his chest. And there, amidst the fleeing crowd, he saw the demon.

It wore the shape of an old, withered man, crowned with two small, twisted brown horns, a deceptively humble figure. Yet the force radiating from him was anything but weak. It was a suffocating, soul-crushing presence.

“The Demon of Design!”

Recognition hit him like a blow. He staggered back, blood draining from his face. This was no ordinary demon. This was one of the fabled demons who had wreaked havoc in the Divine-Demonic War—one whose name made even the gods take notice. The Saint’s mind reeled. He knew that even with his full power, he couldn’t hope to defeat such a foe.

Yet, with nothing but grim resolve and desperate faith, he straightened his back and shouted, “You dare defile our holy land?! You’ll pay for your insolence!”

He meant every word. His faith was his shield, and here in the heart of Lupesiana’s domain, that faith should have been absolute.

After all, the holy land amplified the powers of her followers, while diminishing those of any demon. Fighting a demon here was like battling a fish in water, but the water belonged to the Saint.

Even the Demon of Design can’t hurt us!

The Saint remembered the stories: at Kalosia’s holy land, the priests had managed to fight off the Demon of Twisted Threads, Lubitra. If they could do it, then surely so could he and his faithful.

“Everyone, surround the demon!” he ordered.

“Yes, sir!” came the quick reply. Priests and holy knights formed a tight circle, weapons raised, voices steady with purpose.

The demon watched all of this with a bored, almost gentle gaze, as if nothing here truly interested him.

“Everyone, pray!” the Saint commanded.

“Lupesiana, grant us your power!” the priests intoned, voices blending into a single song of unity. “The strength of harmony is greater than any force!”

A blinding energy rose up as their prayers converged. This was the special grace of their god: the ability to synchronize hearts and powers, multiplying their faith beyond ordinary limits.

Every worshiper in the holy land turned their focus toward the Saint, pouring their prayers into him. He opened the holy scripture, feeling the collected faith surge through his body, filling him with strength beyond anything he had ever known.

With the god behind me, even the greatest evil can be driven out!

“Begone, evil one! Return to your own world!” the Saint cried, charging the demon with a conviction that bordered on ecstasy.

However, there was something he didn’t know. When the priests of Kalosia had defeated Lubitra, it had not been through their own strength.

“You certainly are enthusiastic,” the demon said, almost chuckling, as if humoring a child.

With a flick of his hand, a tear in reality opened above him, and from it, a massive cannon materialized—a device forged from pure malice and the designs of Hell itself.

The cannon fired. A shell wreathed in pure demonic energy screamed through the air toward the Saint. Undaunted, he threw up his hands, calling on the holy power to deflect it.

For a heartbeat, it looked as though faith might win. However, the divine energy simply buckled. In an instant, the Saint’s shield was shattered, and the demonic shell punched straight through his chest.

He stumbled, staggered, and collapsed. He was dead before he hit the ground. The battle ended with a single blow. The faithful could only watch in mute horror. It took several seconds before reality set in, before the truth became too obvious to deny.

Their Saint, their leader, had been felled instantly.

“No...” A trembling whisper escaped someone’s lips. Then the screams began. “Ah... Aaaaahhh!”

Panic seized the holy land. A desperate Elder screamed, “Everyone, kill the demon! Avenge the Saint!”

“Attack!” The knights rushed forward in a wild charge, their cries a mix of fury and terror.

The demon only laughed, low and cold, waving his hand in a lazy arc. Dozens of black rods appeared around him, floating in the air like a forest of death. With a sharp, electric hum, the rods released beams of shadowy light. The darkness lanced outward in every direction, burning holes through the earth and tearing the holy land apart.

One elder began to pray to his god before he was erased by the light, his body vanishing as if he had never existed. The demon stepped forward, and wherever his feet landed, a gigantic black hammer materialized beneath him, smashing down with the force of a falling mountain.

The earth erupted, sending stones and dirt flying. Knights were buried alive in the avalanche, their cries silenced in an instant.

It was hell incarnate.

Above them, Lupesiana could only watch, powerless to intervene. The world was twisted, the rules bent against direct divine interference. Only gods who had either broken or disregarded those rules, those who loved the world more than themselves, could act directly on the Mortal Realm. Sadly, Lupesiana was not among them.

The screams of the doomed filled the air.

“Aahhh! Run!”

“We can’t win!”

The worshipers fled in terror, but the demon ignored them, making his way toward the center of the ruined holy land.

“Perfect. I was worried someone like that barbarian might appear and interfere, but it seems everything went smoothly. Not like that Lubitra incident...” the old man muttered, half to himself.

With deliberate care, he reached into his robe and withdrew a tiny, rose-colored seed—a thing so precious it might have been a priceless jewel. He knelt, cupping the seed gently, and pressed it into the earth with a reverence that bordered on worship.

“Bloom,” he whispered.

A rush of dark energy flooded the ground. A titanic flower bud erupted from the earth, its size so immense it seemed to swallow the holy land whole. As the flower rose, anyone fleeing who touched its petals simply vanished, wiped from existence.

The change was immediate. As the bloom unfolded, the land itself began to transform. The very soil that had been blessed by the god darkened and twisted, corrupted by evil. What was once sacred ground was now the territory of the demon.

Within moments, the holy land of Lupesiana had become a sanctuary of darkness. The flower’s petals slowly closed, and the old man knelt in the shadow of the monstrous bloom, head bowed.

“May you bloom in full and trample this world beneath your petals. When the flower opens, you will descend and take form here, on earth.”

This was no ordinary demon. Among all the named demons, the old man was counted among the strongest to ever walk the world. No demon who had appeared in recent memory could match his power.

Yet, before the flower, his posture was one of humble service, almost like a servant before his master.

“Until you awaken, I will protect you from the filth of this world,” he vowed.

There was a rumble deep in the earth as his authority was invoked.

This was Carbarax, the Demon of Design.

His power carved a wall of pure shadow from the earth itself, surrounding and protecting the closed blossom. Around it, infernal weapons began to appear, and out of hiding came the dark mages who served in secret. A fortress of evil rose up, sealing off the sanctuary and preparing it for whatever darkness was to come.

***

Several days later.

Ketal spoke with the Mercenary King about the catastrophe that had overtaken Lupesiana’s holy land.

“I’ll go with you to the fallen holy land,” Ketal said.

The Mercenary King looked startled. “Is that... really all right? It’s quite far, you know.”

“No trouble at all. If a demon has invaded a god’s holy land, then clearly help is needed.”

“Well... I suppose so,” the Mercenary King admitted, though something about Ketal’s easy confidence made the moment feel strange. He quickly shook off the thought and nodded. “In any case, I’d be grateful for the help!”

There was no doubt whose side Ketal was on. Not only had he helped the Mercenary King, he had defended Kalosia’s holy land and aided the elves as well. Ketal had the strength of a Hero, one who had survived battling a god. He also contracted the Legendary spirit Fiego, another being of immense power. Having someone like that as an ally meant victory was within reach.

Ketal grinned. “Great! Shall we leave right away?”

“We should rest for a day first,” the Mercenary King said. He had run here from the Mercenary Guild without stopping, and a day of rest was sorely needed. Ketal nodded in understanding.

“In that case, let’s set out at dawn. I’ll count on you.”

“Of course.”

After their conversation, Ketal went to find Riltara.

“It looks like I’ll be leaving tomorrow,” he said.

“Where are you going?” Riltara asked him.

“They say a demon has conquered a god’s holy land. I’m going to help reclaim it.”

“Is that so...” Riltara offered a tired smile. “Well, I should thank you for giving me the chance. I’ll do my best.”

“Good luck. Maybe we’ll meet again someday.”

“I’d prefer not,” Riltara replied with a crooked grin.

Ketal took his leave, and the following day, they departed for Lupesiana’s holy land.

The journey was long as Lupesiana’s holy land was at the far edge of the continent, and with days already lost to the demon’s assault, there was no time to waste. They moved at a punishing pace, covering half the distance in just half a day.

Even for the Mercenary King, a highest-level Transcendent, it was exhausting.

“Can we rest for a bit?” the Mercenary King finally asked, his voice tight with strain.

Ketal stopped at once. “Of course.”

The Mercenary King doubled over, catching his breath, sweat beading on his brow. He was a powerhouse—someone who could run for days without tiring, who could battle from dawn till dusk without pause. Yet today, he’d nearly reached his limit.

On the other hand, Ketal looked entirely unaffected. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. If anything, he seemed concerned for his companion.

“You should work on your stamina. A bit of training wouldn’t hurt,” Ketal suggested, half-serious.

“I’m not the weak one here. You’re just a monster...,” the Mercenary King replied, managing a wry laugh. For a moment, he couldn’t help but admire the gulf between himself and Heroes.

Someday, he thought, someday I’ll reach that height.

He gathered his strength, straightened up, and together they pressed on. With the Mercenary King pushing himself to keep pace, they soon approached their destination. What awaited them was the fallen holy land, now a ruin claimed by evil. Ketal’s eyes sparkled with curiosity as he took in the sight. The Mercenary King could only groan in dismay.

“There’s... a flower,” he said, voice trembling.

In the center of what had once been the holy land, a gargantuan flower bud towered above everything, so immense it could have swallowed the entire holy land whole. Even closed, it was an ominous presence. If it ever bloomed fully, it might cover the plains as far as the eye could see.

Massive walls, mechanical weapons, and unholy barriers surrounded the blossom. Dark mages, monsters, and demons patrolled the fortress. It was an impregnable stronghold of evil. A short distance away stood a small outpost, where representatives of the continent’s surviving powers had gathered in answer to the crisis.

“That’s the place,” the Mercenary King said.

“Let’s go,” Ketal replied, still smiling as if this was just another adventure.

As they approached the outpost, a priest stepped forward to greet them.

“Who are... Oh?” The priest’s eyes widened as he recognized the Mercenary King. “Is that...?”

The Mercenary King offered a respectful nod. “Archbishop of the Earth Goddess. It’s been a while.”

The Archbishop broke into a wide smile. “It has! Are you really joining us, Mercenary King?”

“With the continent in danger, I couldn’t just stand by.”

“That’s wonderful news! With your strength, our chances just improved.”

The Archbishop’s joy was sincere. After all, there were few who could match the Mercenary King. His presence alone could change the course of a war.

However, the Archbishop soon glanced past the Mercenary King, fixing his eyes on Ketal. “And who is your companion?”

The Mercenary King answered without hesitation. “This is Ketal, the barbarian.”

“Ketal?” The Archbishop’s eyes narrowed in thought. A moment later, his jaw dropped. “Wait, you mean... that Ketal?”

“That’s right.”

The Archbishop’s face turned pale. It was clear he knew exactly who Ketal was. He quickly composed himself and bowed deeply, displaying a level of respect usually reserved for the most exalted monarchs.

In this land, the Archbishop of the Earth Goddess commanded authority to rival kings. Even the ruler of the Denian Kingdom, King Barbosa, would bow in the presence of such a high cleric. However, now, the Archbishop was bowing to Ketal, as if in the presence of someone greater still.

“It is an honor, Ketal. I have long heard of your deeds. Welcome.”