The Sinful Young Master

Chapter 421: Ceremony of the deity king Inadrys

The Grand Temple of Inadrys

The temple structure was even more impressive up close than from a distance. The golden-tiled roof gleamed in the afternoon sun, and the marble construction seemed to glow with an inner light. Intricate carvings covered every surface — depictions of divine battles, acts of creation, and scenes of worship that spoke to centuries of devotion and craftsmanship.

As their carriage arrived, they were met by the same man who had visited the villa that morning—Veltaris, the Head Priest they’d encountered before. His tattooed head bowed in greeting as they disembarked.

”Prince Milan, Prince Andrion, welcome to the Grand Temple,” Veltaris said with practiced reverence. His eyes flickered to Jolthar and then to Elmesona with barely concealed curiosity. ”And your honored guests as well. Please, follow me.”

They were led through the main entrance into the temple proper. The interior was breathtaking - soaring ceilings painted with celestial scenes, columns that seemed impossibly tall supporting the vast space, and at the center of it all, the statue.

Inadrys, rendered in solid gold thirty feet tall, dominated the hall.

The Deity King was depicted in his prime — powerfully built, handsome in a way that suggested divine perfection, one hand raised in blessing while the other held a scepter that represented dominion. The statue’s gem-like eyes seemed to follow them as they moved through the space.

The hall was already filled with people — nobles in their finest attire, wealthy merchants, high-ranking officials. All had come for the ceremony, drawn by faith, political obligation, or simple social expectation.

”Your seats are arranged in the balcony area,” Veltaris explained, gesturing upward.

”Reserved for the imperial family and their guests. You’ll have an excellent view of the ceremony.”

They were led up marble stairs to a balcony that overlooked the main hall. Cushioned seats had been arranged, and the vantage point was indeed perfect — they could see everything below while maintaining appropriate distance and dignity.

As they settled into their seats, the ceremony began.

Priests in elaborate robes moved in coordinated patterns around the statue. Their chanting filled the hall — words in what Jolthar recognized as the godic language, an ancient tongue supposedly spoken by deities themselves. The sounds were rhythmic, almost hypnotic, carrying harmonics that seemed to resonate in the chest.

Garlands of flowers were brought forward — elaborate arrangements that must have cost a fortune — and placed around the statue’s neck and base. The priests continued their chanting, occasionally making gestures that caused the air itself to shimmer with what might have been genuine divine energy or simply theatrical effects.

It was hard to tell.

Then the offerings began.

One by one, prominent attendees were called forward to present gifts to the deity. Gold, jewels, rare artifacts, promises of donations - the wealth being offered was staggering. Each person approached the statue, placed their offering, and bowed deeply while priests blessed them in the deity’s name.

”This is the part where they extract maximum donations,” Andrion whispered to Jolthar.

”Watch how they call forward the wealthiest people first, creating social pressure for everyone else to match or exceed those offerings.”

Indeed, the pattern was clear. Higher-status people went first with ostentatious gifts. Then counts and other high nobles. The merchants who’d been invited tried to outdo each other, clearly using the ceremony as a display of their own prosperity and piety.

Elmesona sat quietly beside Jolthar, watching the proceedings with an expression of polite interest. She had composed herself during the journey, though occasionally Jolthar noticed her rubbing her wrist where Tyren had grabbed her.

The ceremony continued for over an hour - chanting, offerings, more chanting and prayers that seemed designed more for public consumption than genuine devotion.

Finally, it concluded with a dramatic flourish where all the priests prostrated themselves before the statue while the attending crowd bowed.

”And now,” Veltaris announced, ”we invite all honored guests to partake in the feast prepared in celebration of Lord Inadrys’s divine grace.”

*

The Feast Hall

They were led to an adjacent hall that had been transformed into a dining space.

Long tables groaned under the weight of food - roasted meats, exotic fruits, dishes from across the empire, and wines that probably cost more per bottle than most families earned in a month.

The seating arrangement placed the princes at a table of honor, with Jolthar and Elmesona nearby. As they began eating, conversations flowed around them - discussions of business, politics, and gossip delivered in the refined tones of the capital’s elite.

Jolthar had noticed something during the ceremony that was now becoming more apparent at the feast. While everyone else had participated in the bowing, the offerings and the displays of reverence, he had remained notably still. He hadn’t bowed to the statue, joined in prayers or offered anything.

He simply didn’t believe in gods and deities - not in the way these people did, anyway.

Oh, he acknowledged they existed as powerful beings. He’d fought one, after all.

But worship? He would say nah.

Devotion to entities who meddled in mortal affairs for their own amusement and benefit?

That he couldn’t bring himself to do.

His bias against divine beings ran deep. Every interaction he’d had with deities or their representatives had reinforced his view that they were, at best, indifferent tyrants and, at worst, actively malicious.

Apparently, someone else had noticed his lack of participation.

A man approached their table - middle-aged, dressed in expensive robes that marked him as wealthy but not noble. His face carried the smug expression of someone who enjoyed causing trouble under the guise of righteous concern.

”Baron Kaezhlar,” the man said, his voice pitched to carry to nearby tables.

”I couldn’t help but notice during the ceremony that you didn’t participate in the offerings to our Deity King Inadrys.”

Conversation around them quieted. People turned to listen, sensing potential drama.

Jolthar set down his wine glass and looked at the man with mild interest.

”And you are?”

”Merchant Korvus, head of the Korvus Trading House,” the man replied with self-importance.

”I’ve been a devoted supporter of this temple for twenty years, and I’m concerned when I see someone, especially someone of notable standing, showing such blatant disrespect to our Deity King.”

”Disrespect?” Jolthar repeated calmly.

”You didn’t bow. You didn’t offer anything. You sat there during the entire ceremony as if you were above showing reverence to the divine.”

He didn’t talk about Milan or Andrion, as they were part of the imperial family, but he was daring enough to mess with Jolthar. It was fine as long as one didn’t mess with them directly. People who followed them didn’t matter much.

Korvus’s voice took on a tone of false concern. ”Surely you understand how that appears? As if you have no faith, no respect for the gods who maintain the order of our world.”