The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 11

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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Chapter 11
What he held was a white handkerchief. When he peeled back the cloth, a rigid bird’s corpse lay within.

“It was found directly beneath the Prayer Room window. The bird appears to have struck the glass pane mid-flight, unaware of its presence.”

True to his account, the bird’s head was matted with blood. The half-crushed skull was revolting to behold.
The Pope exhaled sharply, receiving the dead creature. He covered it once more with the handkerchief, then murmured a brief prayer for the snuffed life.
“Born of the sky, returned to the sky—beneath God’s call, may it rest eternal and free.”
“Such a small thing……. How terrible.”
Sorrow overtook fear at the sight, and tears welled anew at Sena’s still-damp eyes.
“All life and death are God’s Will.”
The Pope stroked the child’s head as he spoke.
‘God’s Will, he says.’
So the bird’s skull striking glass and shattering, and her own head nearly pierced through in its wake—all of it was God’s Will?
If so, that sounded less like God and more like a demon.
She should have done more than raise her middle finger; she should have spat curses.
While she shot a resentful glare at the small Goddess Statue on the table, nursing such heretical thoughts, a calm voice suddenly cut in.
“Though it seems the Lord misjudged this time.”

‘Did I say that out loud again?’
She clamped her mouth shut in panic, but every startled gaze in the room fixed not on her—but on the Pope.
“……Your Holiness?”
It was sacrilege no representative of God should utter. Yet the man himself merely shrugged with practiced ease.
“Fire and hundreds of hammer blows forge sharp weapons, yes—but one cannot call it meaningful trial and tribulation when innocent life is extinguished without purpose.”
“…….”
“Least of all when the Saint nearly came to harm.”
His voice toward her turned infinitely tender, achingly gentle.
Just as it had been then.
[Since I too enjoy walks, would it trouble you if I accompanied you? It’s worn, I’m afraid, but accept this as my bribe.]
When she first awoke in the Temple, wandering through an unfamiliar body and surroundings, she had bolted from her room barefoot. The Pope had knelt before her without hesitation and removed his own shoes to place upon her feet.
She gazed blankly at that same gentle smile rising to his lips.
Did his kindness stem from his service to God? Or was it because he was Cecilia’s godfather?
His warm hand now carefully soothed the back of her own.
‘Ah.’
The moment had grown so warm, so suffused with tenderness, that her chest tightened.
“I shall ensure no such accident occurs again.”
Then it was gone.
‘Don’t tell me “next time” means the Charity Ceremony.’
“So that you may participate in the ceremony with peace of mind.”
‘Of course.’
She’d thought the accident might bury the whole matter—that they’d let it go unspoken.
‘So all that concern was just buildup to force me into whatever this ceremony is.’
The tender bloom of gratitude that had just taken root in her chest was ripped out wholesale.
Cecilia clicked her tongue inwardly, glancing down at her hand held captive by the Pope.
‘Maybe a future where my hand glows on its own would’ve been better than being called out as a worthless Saint who can’t even use Holy Power.’
But her hand had not shone at all—not for some time now.
* * *

It was dusk when she left the private chamber with the Pope—a Recovery Room in name only.
Cecilia had fled his questions about her next Temple visit, and only after burying the bird with Sena in a sunny spot did she prepare to return to the Mansion.
‘I want to collapse into bed. I want to do nothing—violently nothing.’
For someone who spent twenty-three hours of every day indoors, whether before or after the possession, today’s schedule was brutally exhausting.
Cecilia shuffled forward, drained, when she noticed the absence of a familiar presence at her left side.
“Where are you going?”
Nox, who had been clinging to her annoyingly, stood halted several paces behind.
“Go on home first, Cecilia. I need to check on a few things here.”
“What things?”
Moments ago, hadn’t he buried the cause of today’s accident with his own hands?
‘Is he just making excuses to shirk?’
Cecilia narrowed her exhausted eyes. She’d heard Nox had been quite busy assisting the Marquis since his return to the Capital. He likely had little desire to head home so soon.
Unable to hide her skeptical expression, she pressed further, and Nox responded with rare firmness.
“It might not have been an accident.”
What was with that loaded remark?
‘Is he just shifting the conversation and putting on airs for no reason?’
It was a reasonable suspicion, certainly. But she was too exhausted to press him further. Cecilia simply nodded vaguely.
“Whatever.”
“So you’d better head straight home without getting distracted. Understood?”
“I’ll handle it myself.”
“Miguel, please look after her for me!”
Apparently he meant to conduct the investigation himself, for he turned without much reaction to her pointed remark.
In the end, only Miguel remained, having volunteered to escort her to the Main Gate.
“Shall we go?”
“Yes.”
When she’d first been shown to the Prayer Room, Nox’s constant chatter had made it bearable. But walking alongside this taciturn and unfamiliar man was so awkward she could barely breathe.
Ahem!
Unable to bear the ensuing silence, she cleared her throat unnecessarily.
But the straightforward Holy Knight seemed to interpret it as an early symptom of illness, and his expression turned grave at once.
“Are you unwell, miss?”
“No, this is just—”
“I was insensitive. You’ve been through such an ordeal.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Allow me to carry you.”
Did everyone at the Temple have a habit of not listening and rushing ahead?
At the preposterous suggestion, Cecilia cried out sharply.
“That’s quite enough!”
‘Oh, was I too harsh?’
Of course, the experience of being held in those broad, solid arms would be invaluable—but the man was the vice-commander of the Holy Knight Order.
He wasn’t someone to tease like Lien, and above all, she still retained enough conscience not to shamelessly throw herself into his embrace.
“I see. You really did hate it that much.”
It seemed she’d been too loud after all.
His half-raised arms dropped back to his sides. Was it her imagination that his shoulders sagged miserably?
Cecilia hastily added an explanation.
“It’s not that I dislike it. I’m sorry.”
“You needn’t console me. I’m accustomed to rejection.”
“I beg your pardon? Are you—?”
For a moment, Cecilia lost all sense and looked up at the man askance.
Silver hair glimmering in the wind. Blue eyes rippling in the sunset’s glow, broad shoulders straining against the unadorned white vestments as if they pained the fabric, and a taut frame beneath.
“Yes. In particular, every woman I’ve escorted has blushed and trembled with such obvious displeasure that—”
‘It’s because they’re too excited and flustered, surely.’
It was a familiar narrative. Introverted, taciturn, skilled at fighting, and handsome to boot—popularity should be explosive. Yet he remains oblivious. Even the protagonist’s love interest and passing extras alike cast admiring glances, all unnoticed by him!
And here, impossibly, stood the lead character of that very trope.
“I’m certain it’s not displeasure. I’ll stake Weberdine’s name on it.”
The man tilted his head slightly, curious about her reasoning.
‘Could it be that you flutter whenever he looks at you like that?’
Cecilia swallowed words far too inappropriate for a clergyman. Though she and Lien were nothing to each other, her conscience wouldn’t permit her heart to race for a stranger—not with her Confucian sensibilities.

Just then, a group of priests entered her line of sight. They were near where the accident had occurred, tidying up the area around a familiar building.
“It seems the cleanup isn’t finished yet.”
“Yes, the accident happened in the Second Prayer Room of all places—”
Miguel trailed off awkwardly.
Unlike the main Prayer Room where the Pope and his congregation had emerged, the Second Prayer Room was smaller, but one entire ceiling was made of Stained Glass.
Of all places, a bird had somehow flown inside.
‘What rotten luck.’
“I see.”
Cecilia stared blankly at the gaping ceiling and the colorful debris scattered thickly across the ground outside the building.
The glass shards reflecting in the sunlight looked exactly like broken soju bottles—
‘Wait. Outside the building?’
She stopped dead in her tracks.
She’d been too disoriented at the time to notice, but—
If the bird had flown in from outside, shouldn’t most of the debris have scattered inward?

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This chapter was translated by Lunox Novels. To support us and help keep this series going, visit our website: LunoxScans.com
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