The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 17

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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 17
“Archbishop, no—Father. You’re addressing a Saint.”
It was a warning not to overstep, since my companion was a Saint. Now it made sense why Miguel had come along—to keep this man in check.
“Seems I’ve made a mess of things again. Captain, could I trouble you to lend me that sword at your hip?”
“I’m afraid not, Archbishop, or rather, Father.”
‘Didn’t Miguel just call him archbishop?’
The more I heard, the more absurd it became.
‘He’d said “archbishop” so plainly that when he started to fumble for a correction, I’d pretended not to notice. But this is too much.’
The deputy commander of the Holy Knight Order treating this man with such deference, insisting that a useless rope was a measuring tape, and most of all—a male tailor coming to take measurements of a woman’s frame.
There was only one explanation for this ridiculous situation.
Just as I’d suspected: the man before me wasn’t a tailor attached to the Temple, but an archbishop.
Cecilia stared at the two of them in disbelief, neither bothering to hide his position.
“Unless I’m mistaken, you’re not a tailor or an ordinary priest—you’re an archbishop, aren’t you?”
Even though she already knew the answer, she posed the question anyway, and the man slowly lifted his gaze to meet hers.
With eyes deeply shadowed, he murmured darkly.
“Are you familiar with the saying that those beloved by God return early to His embrace? If rank were proportional to how beloved one is by God, then yes—I am a man who deserves to die.”
To think a man of high office in the Temple could speak of himself in such a manner.
It was a remarkable talent, truly.
While she floundered for words, Miguel bowed his head first.
“My apologies for the deception. As you say, Kiar is indeed one of the archbishops. He’s come to meet you beforehand, the Saint who will conduct the ceremony alongside His Holiness, as he oversees the Relief Ceremony.”
“I see.”
Miguel hadn’t explained it, but she could guess why he’d kept the truth hidden.
He must have been displeased that someone who wasn’t an official Saint would participate in the ceremony alongside the Pope, and he’d wanted to assess what sort of mind this man possessed. Directly.
Perhaps all those mad antics had been part of an extended test.
“So the Ceremonial Robe was just a pretext after all. Of course, having an archbishop pretend to fit my robes was far too—”
“It wasn’t a pretext.”
“Pardon?”
“I really have come as a tailor. The Ceremonial Robe is important, after all.”
“…Yes, of course.”
“The Ceremonial Robe is important.”
‘This is terrifying. He said it twice.’
She had no desire to understand why a man with eyes like a rotting pollack was so fixated on the Ceremonial Robe.
What chilled her most was the realization that none of his behavior until now had been an act—not even for the sake of a test.
‘I want to run away.’
While she—now a hundred times more burdened than before—desperately wished for escape, the fitting of the Ceremonial Robe proceeded quickly and smoothly.
She selected one from among the identical white, flowing garments, and her measurements were taken: height, arms, legs, hands, and feet.
‘I have no idea why he needed to measure my head circumference.’
Despite not having done anything particularly demanding, she felt utterly drained.
Poor Cecilia, wilted and alone, murmured weakly.
“Is that all?”
‘Oh no.’
Cecilia clapped her hand over her mouth in alarm.
‘I just invoked a forbidden incantation similar to “that’s wrapped up!”‘
There was a cruel rule: if you muttered ‘that’s wrapped up,’ something unfinished would appear; if you muttered ‘is that all,’ nothing would ever truly finish.
The moment she recognized this fact, the archbishop approached like a final boss, ominous and dark.
Then, from the folds of his unnecessarily loose garments, he set something down with a thud.
“Archbishop…?”
“His Holiness asked me to deliver this.”
“What is it?”
“Records of the Temple’s ceremonial procedures. You need only read through them before the Relief Ceremony.”
Cecilia picked up the book gingerly with two fingers, as if touching something repulsive.
The text was smaller than an ant’s antennae, written in handscript with a nearly illegible font.
“You needn’t worry. Simply put, if you fail to finish reading it, His Holiness will be disappointed, fall gravely ill, be unable to participate in the ceremony, the Relief Ceremony will neither begin nor conclude, and I, being responsible, will ultimately be hanged.”
“…”
“In any case, since that’s how it is, I trust you’ll do your best.”
‘I wish the Temple, the Pope, everything would just disappear.’
Cecilia stared blankly down at her teacup, which hadn’t decreased in volume at all.
Now, truly, she wanted to smash her own skull for an entirely different reason.
* * *
Cecilia Webadin had no desire to live diligently.
Before the possession, she had ground down both body and soul through graduate school, and after it, she’d thrown caution to the wind trying to find her way back at any cost—so the exhaustion ran deep.
But these past few days, her life had been nothing but the word “relentless.”
Never intended, perhaps, but between deciphering the Archbishop’s cryptic hints, teaching herself Holy Power Manipulation, and attending Etiquette lessons, one day wasn’t nearly enough.
Even as her strength and patience wore thin, there was one thing that kept her going: adorable distractions.
Charles, for instance, who would knead her shoulders the moment she stumbled back to her bedchamber utterly spent, or Lien, who despite all these lessons still couldn’t hide his nervousness during dance class.
“I’m so sorry! I stepped on your foot again.”
“Not at all. You’ve grown quite skillful, actually.”
In the deepest room of Lien’s Manor.
Cecilia continued to dance in time with the music, just as she had in their first lesson, stealing glances at him.
This was already the fifth time she’d stepped on his foot, yet Lien didn’t so much as wince—only smiled kindly.
‘Focus. Come on.’
She willed herself to concentrate, but recovering her scattered attention proved far more difficult than she’d hoped.
As he led her into a spin, Cecilia lost her balance completely.
“Oh!”
“Are you all right?”
His hand, resting lightly at her waist, suddenly tightened with surprising strength, and her small frame was drawn firmly into his embrace.
Not intentional, perhaps—but perfectly executed nonetheless.
“Sorry. I think I’ve been pushing myself too hard lately. My legs just won’t obey.”
Rather than pull away, Cecilia feigned exhaustion, seizing the moment for a little healing. The warmth radiating from him felt wonderful, and his solid frame—like being cradled in a blanket—offered such comforting stability.
But what she liked most was tilting her head back slightly to see his face.
Those features, pleasant no matter how many times she glimpsed them.
When her admiration lingered too long, Lien’s voice took on a note of genuine concern.
“Did you perhaps injure your ankle……?”
“No, no. I think my body just got startled, that’s all.”
“Even so…….”
His worry was so evident that his eyes never left her ankle.
Watching that naked tenderness, Cecilia suddenly reached up and lifted the edge of his hood slightly.
Whether from dancing indoors in robes or some other cause, the skin beneath was flushed like flower petals.
“You don’t look well either. You seem very warm.”
“This much is bearable.”
It didn’t seem that way to her.
Using her own judgment as cover, she pressed her body lightly against his heavy frame.
Then, in a soft voice, she asked: “Would you mind if I removed it?”
The reaction came swiftly, exactly as she’d intended.
The blush that had colored his cheeks spread rapidly down his neck.
“……I wouldn’t mind.”
Lien shook his head slowly.
For his sake—or perhaps for her own, Cecilia was happy to slip the robe from his shoulders.
He truly had been warm; his hair was damp with perspiration.
“Thank you.”
Lien brushed back his tousled hair and offered a shy smile.
‘Now this is a blessing if I’ve ever seen one.’
Even if Lien had been the trash the rumors made him out to be, she’d have been captivated in that instant. A sight worthy of rapture.
“……Miss Cecilia?”
She’d gone silent, lost like one does before great art or nature, but Lien had found another explanation for her prolonged quiet.
“You must be tired after all. Shall we end today’s lesson here?”
“Yes, I am feeling rather worn out.”
She couldn’t exactly confess she’d been too entranced by admiring his face, so Cecilia simply nodded vaguely.
Her basic stamina had always been poor anyway; the exhaustion was genuine enough.
Once she agreed without protest, Lien gently withdrew his hand from her side.
He reached into his robe and produced a handkerchief, then carefully dried the light perspiration glistening on her skin.
“Thank you. Here, let me have the handkerchief. I’ll wash it and return it.”
“There’s no need.”
“But surely it’s soiled…….”
“It is not soiled.”
Unusually firm in his refusal, Lien added in the softest voice: “Rather……the scent of you lingering on it is…….”

“Pardon?”

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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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