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Chapter 118
Estella Libertan
A deep silence followed.
No one said a word in response to Johan’s statement. The meaning was obvious—everyone agreed with him.
Even the priests who should have naturally sided with Saint Stella did not speak up for her.
“Y–Your Majesty! Please listen to me!”
With a face gone deathly pale, Stella fell to her knees before the emperor. He looked down at her, visibly irritated.
“I believe I’ve heard quite enough from you already.”
“Your Majesty once promised me—you would grant me a wish as compensation for purifying the Forest of Pescalos. Do you remember that promise?”
“Don’t tell me… you’re asking me to cover up what happened this time?”
“I would never dare make such an unreasonable request.”
Stella frantically shook her head.
“I only mean that this is a matter of the Saint. Please summon His Holiness, the Holy Pope, and let him pass judgment upon my sins personally.”
She was asking him to postpone her punishment. Of course, that ran directly contrary to Johan’s intentions.
The emperor’s golden eyes turned cold.
‘Even for him, that’s not something he can easily grant.’
Perhaps because she knew her life hung by a thread, Stella’s desperation was palpable.
“I know what kind of misunderstanding everyone must have. I understand that my words are hard to believe. But, Your Majesty—if I were truly such a wicked person, would the goddess Athea have ever granted me divine power in the first place?”
Again, she was resorting to invoking her holy power.
“And if I had truly wanted to harm the Duchess of Blanchet, why would I have healed her?”
“Hmph…”
“Ask the Duchess yourself! The fact that she’s alive and well proves that I never meant her any harm!”
Stella braced herself against the floor with trembling arms and summoned her divinity.
That noble divine light—the same sacred power that had purified the Forest of Pescalos in a single stroke—
once again filled the grand ballroom, dazzling and magnificent, as if she meant to captivate the onlookers through sheer display.
‘I knew she’d do this.’
Stella’s way of solving problems was always the same.
Indeed, people were easily swayed by the name of the goddess Athea, and they were especially weak to miracles and divine power.
But this time, the crowd’s expressions only grew more uncomfortable.
‘Use something too often, and it loses its effect.’
Those who had been silent began murmuring among themselves.
“I’m starting to doubt whether she’s even a real Saint. What kind of Saint uses divine power so selfishly?”
“What’s the Holy Nation even doing—crowning someone like that as their Saint?”
“That so-called holy light is starting to feel creepy…”
The unusual reactions startled Stella. Kneeling before the emperor, she hastily turned toward me.
“Duchess Blanchet! Tell them! I healed you!”
I met the gleam of her desperate eyes and gave a faint nod.
“Yes, it’s true. Without the Saint, I would never have received treatment in the first place.”
“See?! Then how could you treat your savior like—”
When Stella and I had met alone, she had deliberately released a dark energy into the air.
At first, I blocked it. Later, I let a small amount seep into my body—
‘Just enough to make me a little ill, but not truly harmed.’
And the reason for that was—
“Yes, the Saint healed me… wait—”
Cough!
“What—what’s happening?”
A faint grimace crossed my face, as though my throat hurt—and then blood spilled from my lips.
Looking at the crimson staining my palm, I lifted shocked eyes toward Johan.
“Estelle. You—”
“Johan, I’m fine.”
Dizzy, I swayed, and Johan caught me tightly. Fury and grief burned in his crimson eyes. As I met his gaze, another mouthful of blood fell from my lips.
‘That should convince them, shouldn’t it?’
I’d coughed up blood before and been misunderstood countless times for it.
This time, I decided to use that misunderstanding to my advantage.
In front of everyone, I smiled faintly, blood still on my lips.
“It doesn’t hurt at all, so don’t worry abou—”
“Doesn’t hurt?! You’re coughing up blood!”
Grinding his teeth, Johan held me firmly and looked around for a physician.
“Damn it, where’s the doctor—”
“Summon the imperial physicians! Treat the Duchess of Blanchet immediately!”
I glanced sideways toward Stella.
The emperor roared down at her, the woman who had moments ago been kneeling at his feet.
“Saint! Didn’t you claim to have healed her?!”
“I–I did! I have no idea why she’s suddenly coughing up blood—”
“She’s bleeding after your supposed ‘healing’? Does that sound reasonable to you? I tried to be lenient because you’re a Saint, but you grow more insolent by the minute! I can no longer tolerate this!”
Ignoring Stella, I whispered weakly to Johan, my voice slowing as another stream of blood welled up.
“I’m sorry, Johan.”
I felt guilty—he would surely be shocked when he learned the truth about fairy power.
But this time, it was necessary. Because—
“I—I can heal her again! Please, let me treat the Duchess!”
“And why should anyone believe you?”
“It’s true! Why would I ever harm her?!”
Because now Stella would have no choice but to recklessly overuse her divine power.
‘Let’s see how long you can hold out.’
I smiled faintly through my blurring vision.
***
A piercing hum filled the air.
The radiant light that had surrounded Stella moments ago began to flicker and scatter, unable to hold form.
“P-please, just a moment longer—”
She gritted her teeth and forced her hands together, trying to gather what divinity remained.
But the power only grew fainter, dissipating into nothing.
As the seconds passed, her anxious expression deepened.
Even amidst the commotion, murmurs spread through the crowd.
“Kyaa! Why is the Duchess coughing up blood? I heard she was frail, but could it be an illness…?”
“But the Saint said she healed her, didn’t she? So maybe she didn’t heal her properly after all?”
“Now that I think about it, didn’t the Duchess have tea alone with the Saint earlier? You don’t think she poisoned her tea on purpose—?”
It was a ridiculous accusation—
‘But if she can’t heal me, that “ridiculous” story might just become the truth.’
The emperor, half-convinced already, glared as Stella’s divine light turned a murky gray.
“Saint, let us take over. Please entrust the Duchess’s treatment to us.”
“N-no, I can do it! Just give me a moment—”
“You can’t even summon your power.”
The priests, once ever-kind, coldly cut her off and rushed to attend to me instead.
Their urgency was tinged with genuine concern.
Pushed aside, Stella stared at me with hollow eyes.
“Please save the Duchess, O goddess Athea…”
“She’s too good a person to die like this. Grant us this one last chance to atone…”
The priests prayed sincerely for me.
‘Again.’
The ones who once adored Stella were now all deceived by a fraud and had turned their backs on her.
Tears welled in Stella’s eyes—she couldn’t bear it.
“—Guards. Take that woman away and lock her up.”
Johan, unable to tear his gaze from my still form, obtained the emperor’s permission to remove her.
“She’ll be executed publicly for all her crimes against the Empire.”
Imperial guards seized Stella’s arms. She shook her head wildly.
“Johan! Please! If you send me away like this, you’ll regret—”
Then, something strange happened.
The guards who had been about to drag her out suddenly froze, staring at her face.
Not only them—the emperor, Johan, and the nobles all looked stunned.
Stella’s body stiffened mid-struggle.
“Why—why does her face look like that…”
“I’m not the only one seeing this, right?”
As she turned her head, her eyes met those of a noblewoman across the room—who pointed at her, aghast.
“E–Estella Libertan?!”
That was the beginning.
“Now that you mention it, she looks exactly like Rosaria’s childhood friend—just like Estella Libertan!”
“How could the Saint’s face be Estella Libertan’s? That’s impossible—Estella Libertan died years ago…”
“Oh really? And a Saint’s face suddenly changing makes perfect sense?”
Estella Libertan.
Though she had died young of an incurable disease, few had ever forgotten her—
both because of her beauty and the infamous tale of the impostor who took her place afterward.
Many had met her in childhood, or seen her portraits, or even gazed upon over-romanticized paintings of her imagined adulthood.
“Now that I think about it—Estella, Stella. The names are almost the same! How did we never notice?”
“Then all those times she harassed the Duchess and called her a thief—it’s because the Duchess had been adopted into the Libertan family, isn’t it?”
“But then why didn’t the Saint ever save the Duke and Duchess of Libertan when they were in danger? None of this makes sense! Is she even a Saint at all? What is the Holy Nation doing?!”
Stella tried desperately to cover her face, but the guards held her fast.
‘Why—why is my face—’
She had always known her true identity might be exposed someday,
but not like this—
not in such a disastrous moment.
“…Estella Libertan?”
A low, bitter laugh came from behind her.
Just one sentence, but its tone dripped with hatred.
“So—you were alive after all.”
***
The scent of fresh grass tickled my nose.
‘This feels… familiar.’
As I turned, the blades of grass beneath me grew into lush bushes of Eden Roses—blue roses blooming in radiant clusters.
“Estelle.”
“Ah! Mr. Isidore!”
From beyond the hedge, the familiar figure of Isidore appeared, walking slowly toward me.
I ran up to him, holding out my hands, and he clapped them warmly against mine in greeting.
“Thanks to the little trick you prepared, Stella ended up looking even worse than before! How did you manage that?”
“Even if I explained, you couldn’t do it yourself. It requires inner mastery.”
“I see. Well, thanks to that, everyone saw me collapse. No matter how holy she pretends to be, she’ll be punished severely now.
Maybe she even overused her power so much that her real face was revealed!”
The Saint’s curse had been powered by the strength she stole from me.
From that, I’d made another guess.
‘Maybe people seeing her face as Estella’s is also because of that stolen power.’
When she drained herself of divinity, her true self surfaced faster.
And indeed, the more recklessly she used that power, the more people’s blind devotion wavered.
Isidore gently patted my head.
“She’s been exposed now. The strength she stole from you must be nearly gone.”
“Good. Once everyone knows she’s Estella, no one will stand by her anymore—”
“More importantly, aren’t you curious?”
“About what?”
“Your parents.”
My heart gave a sharp drop.
“Well… just because you’re a fairy doesn’t mean you know everything, right?”
“Usually not.”
I’d always steered our conversations away from personal matters—
talking only about fairies and power.
I’d been too afraid to bring up my parents.
“…You know something about them?”
“A little.”
“How much exactly?”
“That your mother was my younger sister. Not that we were very close.”
His tone was calm, but I was speechless.
“M-my mother is your sister? Then that makes us—really close, doesn’t it?”
“You could say that.”
“Why are you only telling me this now…”
A wistful smile crossed Isidore’s face.
“It was hard to bring up.”
“Huh?”
“We parted when we were young. I haven’t seen her in ages.
But I never doubted it when I saw you—you look exactly like her.”
My heart began pounding faster.
“And most of all, I knew the moment I heard your name.”
“My name?”
“She loved the stars more than anything.”
“…”
“So when I heard she’d named her daughter after them, I knew right away.”
***
The Holy Nation’s capital—
a place said to be blessed by the goddess Athea herself.
Far beneath that sacred city, in a dark underground chamber glittering with jewels,
a man sat slumped on a jeweled throne like a corpse.
His gaze was empty, lifeless.
Crack!
Suddenly, the gem on his wrist shattered. The man frowned down at the broken bracelet.
Behind him, a long shadow stretched forward—
a grotesque monster, like a fusion of many beasts, smiled at him.
“So, she failed, did she? What will you do now, Holy Pope?”
“There are still plenty of tools left to use.”
Despite his calm words, the purple eyes of the Holy Pope glimmered with murderous cold.
“But, creature…”
“Yes?”
“If I devour that last fairy… I’ll finally be complete, won’t I?”
The monster only laughed, low and wicked.
