Trampled and Broken (Completed Main Story) - Chapter 7

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Hestia, having steadied her breathing, soon walked around the dining table.

“I’ll be returning to my room now.”

Hestia bowed politely until the very end, ensuring no one could find fault with her.

“Your Holiness, allow me to escort you to your room.”

“It’s alright. Please don’t trouble yourself.”

Boswaga, seemingly wanting to speak with her a bit longer, asked to escort Hestia, but she flatly refused and left the banquet hall alone.

Hestia noticed Anetsa’s gaze lingering on her back, but she neither turned around nor acknowledged it.

She simply didn’t feel the need to.

Saint Anetsa.

At first glance, one might think her innocent, carefree, and possessing the cheerful disposition of a child. But Hestia’s judgment differed.

Anetsa was more cautious than anyone else.

Since Hestia had already made the first move, Anetsa would surely lie low for now, trying to decipher what Hestia was plotting.

Back in her room, Hestia closed the door.

Her legs finally gave way, and she slid down against the door, sinking to the floor.

“…I did it.”

Beads of sweat had gathered on her forehead.

She had tried her best to appear calm outwardly, but inwardly, she had been unbearably tense.

Only now, alone, did the tension finally ease. Her hands, trembling visibly, left her unable even to wipe away the cold sweat.

Hestia, crouched pitifully by the door, bit her lip.

‘What comes next is crucial.’

Who had first spoken of her death?

That single difference from the past had drastically altered the atmosphere.

‘I don’t expect much. But at the very least… I want the public to believe I left the temple of my own accord, not because I was cast out.’

Only then could her future actions be truly free.

If, as in her previous life, Anetsa had declared her life limited, she would have spent this life too as a criminal, constantly watching others’ reactions just as before.

‘I refuse that.’

Hestia wanted to steer every situation herself as much as possible.

After barely calming her nerves and catching her breath, she immediately went to the wardrobe and pulled out a bag.

‘First, I must leave the temple.’

If she stayed here any longer, it was highly likely the board would once again move according to Anetsa’s will.

On the surface, Anetsa’s interests aligned with those of the temple.

Thus, in her past life, the archdeacons must have accepted her proposal and presented Hestia with marriage candidates.

And every action they took under the guise of caring for Hestia would appear to the public as pure goodwill.

But regardless of how others perceived it, that wasn’t how it felt to Hestia.

In her previous life, overwhelmed by fear of death, she hadn’t been able to think clearly. Believing they surely wouldn’t harm her, she had obediently followed almost everything they asked.

‘That was a mistake.’

Hestia briefly regretted her past passivity.

Anetsa and the temple.

Between the two, the clergy were somewhat more trustworthy—but that still wasn’t reason enough to open her heart to them.

‘If Anetsa is ambiguous, the archdeacons’ intentions are plain to see. They’re the kind of people who’d discard me the moment I became useless.’

Hestia understood exactly what value she held for the temple.

Unlike her, a new, powerful saint—Anetsa—had appeared.

Thus, the temple no longer needed Hestia as a saint.

In truth, she was now more of a political pawn.

Therefore, the archdeacons would want to keep her alive precisely for their power struggles with the royal family.

‘After all, clerics can’t marry.’

If they arranged a marriage to extend Hestia’s life, she would naturally lose her divine status.

Though they could no longer use her as a saint, making her indebted to the temple would place the royal family in their debt.

Moreover, only Anetsa would be recorded as the era’s saint.

Anetsa could then naturally position herself above Hestia, as if saying, ‘I saved your life.’

Trending

She could also take credit with the temple, which still needed Hestia as a tool.

Thus, the archdeacons would readily follow Anetsa’s lead if she claimed to have found a solution.

‘But the one affected is me.’

The archdeacons would likely focus solely on Hestia’s statement that she ‘wished to step down from sainthood.’

‘So they’ll push for marriage.’

But that would lead to the exact same outcome as her previous life.

This time, Hestia refused to let that happen.

She gripped her head with both hands, then took a deep breath and straightened her back.

No matter how many sighs she released, one unanswered question still weighed heavily on her mind.

‘No matter how I look at it… Anetsa doesn’t seem to be acting merely to keep me in check.’

Hestia’s eyes gleamed with sharp clarity.

‘If my death would firmly cement her position… then Anetsa would have had no reason to seek a way to save me.’

Her fingers, which had been tapping lightly on the table, suddenly stilled.

Her expression grew even more thoughtful.

‘Then why did Anetsa try to find a way for me to live?’

Pure kindness?

Or pity?

Her instincts screamed that neither was correct.

‘No. Fundamentally, it’s different. Anetsa would rather see me dead than alive.’

Even if she appeared to be trying to save her now… the strong impression was that she was merely ‘buying time’ and ‘waiting’ for the moment of death.

For now, she might pretend to cooperate with the archdeacons, but ultimately, her path would diverge.

Hestia believed Anetsa’s true feelings toward her were rooted in ‘hatred’ and ‘loathing.’

‘If that’s true, then why? Why keep me alive for now?’

Hestia couldn’t understand it.

‘Is she giving me hope only to snatch it away later?’

Though it sounded absurd, it was the hypothesis that resonated most deeply.

Hestia, chewing her lower lip, soon gathered her thoughts.

Today, Hestia had only mentioned the fact that she would die in a year.

One thing was certain at this point:

Anetsa would soon announce that she had found a way to save Hestia, tilting the situation in her favor.

Thus, Hestia decided she needed to move her condition beyond Anetsa’s reach.

‘I’ve already revealed my death sentence. If I say I want to spend my remaining time with my family, no one can stop me.’

She didn’t have much to pack anyway.

Though a princess, she’d been practically forced into an austere lifestyle as a saint, leaving her with almost no belongings or clothing.

Hestia left behind her most ornate garment—the ceremonial robe—since she wouldn’t wear it again, nor did she wish to.

“Anetsa… will surely find some way to kill me.”

Though she’d always ignored it, Hestia understood the reason better than anyone.

Her very existence was a burden to Anetsa.

If the archdeacons heard the oracle that Hestia could survive through marriage, they would do anything to keep her alive.

Even if she lost her divine powers, keeping her alive would place the Elsword royal family in the temple’s debt, and they could claim they’d done their utmost, solidifying public support.

Indeed, in the past, political motives had pushed Hestia’s honor to the very bottom of their priorities, leading to a forced marriage.

‘But merely surviving holds no meaning.’

In her past life, Anetsa had exploited that very flaw.

She’d maneuvered Hestia into a position where marriage was unavoidable, then ensured her death at the end.

Hestia swallowed a sigh and mentally reviewed the list of suitors Anetsa and the archdeacons had thrust upon her in the past.

Among them, Stephan Chereto had clearly been the strongest candidate.

‘Since Anetsa herself gave her blessing. But Sir Stephan is out of the question.’

He had ultimately rejected and betrayed her.

Thus, she needed to find another suitable match before Stephan could propose.

Since she’d die in a year anyway, divorce terms wouldn’t even be necessary.

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‘Under no circumstances will I make any vows. Never.’

She’d spent nearly half her life bound to the temple.

The thought of depending on some specific person for the rest of her life was horrifying.

‘I need someone who can be my shield.’

Her requirements were simple.

First, someone who wouldn’t love her.

‘I don’t want emotional burdens. I need someone who won’t shed tears for me after I’m gone.’

Second, someone who wouldn’t betray her.

Though simple, finding someone who met both conditions proved rarer than expected.

‘But not impossible.’

As Hestia inhaled deeply, a name came to mind.

“…Aslan Kalati.”

Along with the breath she’d held inside, the name of the resolute man escaped her lips and scattered into the air.

Merely thinking of him made her heart clench, and she pressed both hands firmly against her left chest.

〈Did I really still look to you like nothing but a dog wagging its tail whenever it saw a princess?〉

A memory she could never revisit.

Our ending—when brilliant moments and emotions had instantly turned to despair.

Even now, his harsh words from that day echoed vividly in her ears.

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