The Baby Fairy is A Villain Chapter 61

It was a strange meeting.

The Duke of the Empire, Serea Fron Yvroiel—sixty years old, yet looking no older than thirty.

Hilon, the First-Rank Holy Knight of the Holy Empire, Hilderd.

And Kiern Basilian, Master of the Backworld and a powerful dark mage, masquerading as a powerless count.

Many people, each carrying their own secrets, had gathered for tea in the middle of the night.

The bishop of the temple seemed eager to join the conversation, but Serea cut him off with a single sharp word.

The archbishop, too curious to stay away, personally brought the tea and set the table himself.

He’d rushed in so eagerly that Serea nearly kicked him in the rear.

Even for a duke, kicking a bishop’s ass would’ve caused trouble—so it was fortunate he vanished down a narrow corridor just in time.

A teapot and several cups of hot flower tea were placed on the table.

But no one touched them.

Since she wasn’t in the mood for small talk, Serea simply picked up the teapot and poured herself a cup.

Gurgle.

Pale green tea shimmered in the porcelain.

Noting its clarity and delicate fragrance, she gave a faint, satisfied smile.

She took a sip, then calmly turned her gaze to the two men seated across from her.

“….”

The two men stared at each other in silence, their eyes so bloodshot and tense it was a wonder they hadn’t already drawn swords.

Serea quietly sipped her hot tea, letting it soothe her throat as she reflected on all that had happened.

After the death of the Countess,

Kiern’s mind had become dangerously fragile.

For a dark mage—whose strength relied on ironclad mental discipline—such instability was a fatal wound.

Yet her cold-natured disciple had managed to mask the damage well, even in that broken state.

He assessed his condition with ruthless clarity, knew exactly how far he could go, and used his power within those bounds.

To manipulate something as vague and elusive as “power” with such precision was already the domain of monsters.

Serea had to admit, it was so venomous it made her want to click her tongue.

‘Just a while ago…’

Her thoughts drifted back to Kiern, when his instability nearly boiled over.

It was the closest he’d ever come to shattering—the moment his carefully worn mask, held in place since the Countess’s death, nearly slipped away entirely.

Had Belzeon not arrived in time, Serea would’ve had to strike Kiern down herself.

If things had continued even a moment longer, in a temple swarming with holy priests and knights.

Kiern would’ve truly unleashed black magic.

She was stunned to see someone so grotesquely reduced to foolishness.

‘Did he already give his adoptive daughter that much of his heart?’

He must’ve broken the moment she said she was leaving…

But beyond that, it seemed like his reason had snapped—especially when he showed clear signs of clinging to that holy knight.

‘In the end, he’s just insanely jealous.’

She couldn’t help but recall the past.

When the late Countess had smiled just a moment longer at someone else during a banquet, or listened a little too kindly to another woman’s words, his twisted temperament had always surfaced, quietly digging into their background in the shadows.

Serea clicked her tongue inwardly as she sipped her tea and shifted her gaze.

That was Kiern. But the real problem—

‘It’s this man.’

The man who introduced himself as a Holy Knight from the First-Rank Holy Knights.

Hilon, with his pristine silver hair and clear blue eyes, looked like the embodiment of a holy knight’s utopia.

The atmosphere he gave off was the complete opposite of Kiern’s, and just seeing them side by side was surreal.

The reason a high-ranking First-Rank Holy Knight had suddenly appeared in the peaceful capital of the Great Palen Empire was simple:

He was assigned as the escort for the pre-Saint prayer meeting.

Other noble families from the empire were also attending the event, and she’d heard that each had been given a high-ranking holy knight as an escort.

Serea narrowed her brows, eyes fixed on Hilon.

Now that the chaos had passed and she could look with a clearer mind, something felt undeniably off.

‘No matter how I look at him, that’s no ordinary holy knight.’

Those in true power could always sense one another.

The strength he possessed was too immense—no matter how carefully he tried to suppress it, it still leaked out.

But every once in a while, there were those rare, unnerving types.

The kind who wrapped up their energy so meticulously, so tightly contained, it became unreadable.

All one could tell was that they were strong—how strong remained a mystery.

It was a tedious and draining task, one Serea never bothered with. 

She preferred to walk boldly, her power laid bare for all to feel.

And she wasn’t alone—most of the truly strong wore their strength with pride.

Because in their world, strength was meant to be seen.

Serea had only encountered two people in her life who could conceal their energy so completely—one was Kiern…

And the other was this ‘so-called holy knight’ before her.

While the title of First-Rank Holy Knight certainly implied great skill.

Enough to justify that kind of restraint.

But her seasoned intuition—honed over decades—was screaming that this man was something far more dangerous.

‘That brat is suspicious.’

It wasn’t just the unnaturally refined energy that unsettled Serea.

Hilon felt different from any holy knight she’d ever encountered.

Yes, his appearance was unusually elegant for a knight, but that wasn’t it.

What struck her was the scent—blood.

The scent of blood, long soaked into his hands and clinging to his soul, lingered unmistakably.

And those blue eyes.

At first glance, his blue eyes seemed cold, but they weren’t truly cold at all.

They were simply eyes devoid of interest in anything at all.

 

[Pity the weak, and do good.]

 

It was the very first line of the oath that holy knights swore before the gods and the holy kings.

Serea found herself questioning how someone so indifferent, so lacking in compassion, could ever become a holy knight.

Truthfully, the man before her didn’t suit that role at all.

In fact, he seemed far more suited to duties where mercy and pity held no place.

For example—

‘Something like a Heresy Inquisitor.’

Serea drank the remaining tea in her cup all at once.

It was because she feared that if she didn’t, vulgar curse words might burst out of her mouth.

Assuming he was a Heresy Inquisitor, everything suddenly connected seamlessly.

Since they were terrifying, she had always thought that Kiern would eventually be trampled underfoot as a dark mage.

But now that the truth was right in front of her, she was afraid.

Serea did not want to see her pupil—who had always been her joy—executed by the Heresy Inquisitor.

He had walked the wrong path of black magic, but still…

 

“Master, this is Kiern.”

 

The image of a young Kiern flickered in her mind.

She wanted to save the disciple who still felt like a boy to her.

As Serea looked back and forth between the two men before her, agonizing over what to do.

Very suddenly, without warning, Kiern opened his mouth.

“Sir Hilon.”

Unlike Hilon, who sat with perfect posture in his chair, Kiern lounged back on the sofa, sprawled out, then slowly lifted his upper body.

“What did my daughter say to Sir? Did she say she hates me?”

It was such a childish question to ask in a moment as serious as this.

Serea had to fight the urge to punch Kiern right in the mouth.

But Hilon, for all his aloof grace, wasn’t much better.

“Nothing,”

Kiern’s eyes softened slightly at the brief reply.

But Hilon, staring into those red eyes, spoke again—his voice cold and clipped.

“The child didn’t say anything about you. There wasn’t even the slightest sign that she missed you.”

“…”

“She ran away from the count—doesn’t that make it obvious?”

Their eyes locked.

As the tension thickened between them, Hilon continued slowly, his voice calm but unyielding.

“The temple has a duty to protect the weak.”

Serea, silent, held her empty teacup in one hand, waiting for what would come next.

And Hilon delivered the final blow with quiet precision.

“So from now on, I’ll continue raising the child in the temple.”