Pilgrimage [Western Fantasy] - Chapter 16
Wilder had never witnessed such a blunt and forceful attack before. Caught completely off guard, he staggered back from Estelle’s punch. The young nobleman, impeccably dressed, nearly lost his balance and almost fell.
She lifted a finger, and suddenly the spears held by the knights felt unbearably heavy. Those that had been raised firmly now wavered and clattered to the ground.
“Why does it feel so heavy all of a sudden?”
“Sir!”
Seeing the shocked looks on these hostile men, Estelle showed no mockery. Instead, she yawned lazily and waved dismissively, “Do as you please. I’m going to rest now.”
“Estelle!” Wilder’s face darkened, his gaze locking onto her familiar features, a strange pang stirring in his chest. “You weren’t like this before. How did you become so…?”
Estelle’s expression vanished instantly, replaced by raised brows. “Your Excellency, my sister and I only share a face, right? Or maybe you don’t really know your own sister?”
Wilder froze. Despite his strained relationship with his half-mother, he could see just how different Estelle was from the girl she resembled—but he chose to ignore it.
If Estelle was a delicate rose in the garden, then this girl, nearly identical in appearance, was like a handful of mountain snow—cold and unyielding.
Noticing Wilder’s stunned silence, Estelle’s interest seemed to deepen as she circled him. “Do you know what colors your sister prefers? What snacks she likes? Her favorite teas? Who her closest friends are? What talents she has?”
A rapid fire of questions poured out, leaving Wilder unable to answer. His calm reply came, “Though we are siblings, she’s mostly stayed at the manor outside the city, and we don’t spend much time together.”
He couldn’t bring himself to say the next part, especially under Estelle’s cold, mocking stare. Inside, she felt a surge of anger—like fire burning in her chest. “That’s why I said, I’m nothing like the Miss Estelle you speak of. I have a brother, and he’s like you. People who only make excuses are different. Even if he’s busy, he still cares for me.”
Her family was flawed in every way—paranoid, dark, and controlling—but at least they tried to restrain themselves, to understand her from her perspective. That was why, despite sometimes failing to understand her brother’s odd behavior, she chose to tolerate it.
Coming back to herself, Estelle said with biting sarcasm, “If that young lady were still alive, even dying in the mud, she wouldn’t come crawling back to a family like this.”
Even a proud rose would rather burn to ashes than bow her head for glory or wealth.
Then burn yourself up.
The faint whisper echoed in her mind.
If you can’t change your tragic fate, turn it into a flame—at least for a moment, be truly yours.
In a trance, Estelle pressed her hand to her chest.
Was that the voice she heard before she died?
A fierce burning pain spread from her chest throughout her limbs. Someone weak-willed might have screamed or collapsed, but Estelle stood firm, clenched her fist, and punched Wilder square in the face. “Move aside. Don’t get in my way.”
Wilder snorted as the captain of the knights hurried to support him. Estelle stepped over the scattered spears and strode into the manor as if she were invisible.
The heavy black iron door shut behind her, and her voice rang out: “If you’re not gone in half an hour, I’ll notify the sheriff.”
The knights moved forward to push the gate, but found it unyielding.
“Pathetic fools!” The captain sneered at the fourth-level warriors, then summoned a layer of icy energy on his palm, confident he’d see the gate crack.
But instead of cracking, the black iron seemed to absorb the ice, which crept back toward him, trying to consume him!
The captain’s confident smirk vanished, replaced by fear. He looked to Wilder. “Master!”
Wilder remained indifferent. “So that’s it. It’s a rebound from the Water Mirror.”
The Water Mirror is an eighth-level defensive magic of the water element—highly advanced under the forbidden Water Curtain Lotus. It has no offensive power but can counter all magic and spirit attacks.
Exactly as Wilder predicted, the captain’s ice magic was swallowed by the gate’s defense.
Wilder’s expression darkened. “She’s definitely not my sister.”
Even though he didn’t care much for Estelle, he knew his half-sister lacked the strength to cast an eighth-level spell on the door without chanting.
“Master?”
Wilder, wiping his face after the punch, chuckled, “Interesting—a powerful mage who looks just like my sister.”
He turned to leave. “Let’s go. It’s time to meet my father.”
Contrary to everyone’s expectations, the manor was empty except for Estelle. She staggered, the burning pain worsening, and collapsed onto the grass, gasping.
Flames seemed to dance before her eyes, making the agony more unbearable.
“Your Highness? Miss Estelle!”
But Estelle couldn’t hear beyond the pain. Her body’s instinctive defense kicked in, and she fainted.
The young man before the desk, bearing a striking resemblance to Wilder but appearing even younger, observed quietly. While Wilder’s youth made him seem inexperienced, standing next to this man made Wilder appear like a child.
“Yes, Father, and she didn’t chant a single spell,” Wilder reported.
“A great magician capable of instantly casting eighth-level magic,” Abel Stoke, the Earl of Stoke, said with a cold but intrigued smile. “A powerful mage who looks like my daughter.”
His smile faded suddenly into a grim expression. “Foolish boy, always pushing forward.”
Wilder lowered his gaze, enduring his father’s harsh, unspoken criticism. His expression darkened.
“I’ll go to the palace and meet His Majesty tomorrow.”
Abel set down his pen. “The capital has gained another great magician. I’m sure the Emperor would be pleased to know.”
“Father, do you believe she’s Estelle?”
Abel glanced at the book in his hand. “You already know the answer deep down. No need to ask.”
Wilder saluted and left.
The room fell silent, only broken when Abel finally closed the book, a bookmark resting between a complex magic circle.
Estelle gradually stirred from unconsciousness.
The night was deep; stars and a silver moon spread across the sky. The distant cicadas chirped softly. The burning sensation across her body was gone. She felt cool and light, as if floating in water.
She lifted her arms, spotting fierce, frightening scars etched across her skin.
Burn marks.
But they vanished in seconds, replaced by smooth, flawless skin. The chaotic magic surrounding her lifted the ground into the air.
“I need answers.”
She spoke aloud to the empty air, just as a voice echoed in her mind.
I’m sorry, Your Highness. This mistake was unforeseen, and I will find a way to make amends…
“That’s not what I meant.”
The girl in purple, growing restless, loosened her clothes and pulled her right hand through the air. Her skirt slipped off and transformed into starlight before vanishing. She stepped toward the manor.
“How did she die?”
…
Estelle raised her arms again, remembering the terrifying scars. “Was she burned alive?”
You could say that.
Sadness surged in her chest. She stumbled and collapsed on the garden steps. How desperate must Estelle have been, abandoned by her family and burning to death? Was she crying or laughing wildly before the end?
The calm, rational voice seemed shaken too.
Don’t cry…
Cry?
Estelle wiped a tear from her eye, surprised to find her hand wet. “So strange… I haven’t cried in years. Am I crying… or is it her?”
Tears fell onto the steps as she curled her knees close. Her eyes glazed over a white rose nearby until a strange voice whispered in her heart.
Don’t feel sorry for me, don’t cry, my dear.
Don’t let tears cloud your eyes. You are the sun, I am the moon. Though we never meet, my light shines because of you.
Estelle looked up in a daze. “Is that you? Is your spirit still here?”
The voice faded away.
A butterfly fluttered near her fingertips, its dreamlike wings shimmering like moonlight before dissolving.
Perhaps it was the last time she’d see a butterfly. That night, Estelle had no dreams.