The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 23

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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 23
Left alone, Cecilia leaned against a tree and swung her feet, watching the crowds for a long while.
Laughing, talking, holding hands, running, dancing.
Those ordinary moments flowed past like scenes from a film, one after another.
By the time the street musician’s song had changed five times over, Cecilia had grown bored enough to step out from beneath the awning.
‘He’s taking longer than expected.’
She was just considering whether to walk in the direction he’d gone when it happened.
A sudden gust of wind descended from across the street.
The force of it tore the Robe from her shoulders where she stood, dazed.
When the lustrous golden hair she’d kept hidden came spilling free, the passersby’s eyes went wide as saucers.
“The Saint?”
‘…This is a disaster.’
Cecilia hurriedly pressed the Robe back down, but it was already too late.
“Good heavens, it’s the Saint!”
She’d thought the crowd boring, but she certainly hadn’t wished for something like this.
‘Such a contrived crisis.’
Infuriating as it was, there was no denying she’d become trapped.
Fortunately, her noble bearing kept people from approaching too boldly, but a crowd began gathering around her like clouds.
“Is she really the Saint?”
“I’m telling you, she is! I saw it with my own eyes!”
“Goodness, to meet the Saint in person!”
“Could it be she’s come to watch over us?”
Their gazes were all tinged with reverence and affection alike.
But whatever form their attention took, the torrent of interest was simply exhausting.
‘I need to leave this spot.’
There was a chance she might miss Lien, but as long as they didn’t drift too far apart, it should be fine. Besides, Cecilia had faith in the Tower Master’s abilities.
The moment she resolved to move, it came.
A scream echoed from the mouth of a nearby Alley.
“Ahhh! Please, give it back!”
“Walking around jingling a Money Pouch like that—weren’t you asking to be robbed?”
All eyes, Cecilia’s included, turned toward the Alley.
Two brutish men were threatening a small girl.
“She’s not carrying much. Is this all you’ve got?”
“Uhhh… that’s not even my money… I don’t have anything else.”
“Hmm. Even after we rough her up, is this really all?”
‘Oh.’
Cecilia found herself marveling at the hackneyed scenario unfolding before her eyes.
There it was—the clichéd trope where a virtuous heroine tries to protect the weak and ends up in danger herself.
‘And that heroine is supposed to be me.’
Cecilia stared down at the empty space beside her in disbelief.
Why did the male lead always vanish precisely when situations requiring strength arose?
Perhaps so he could appear with a dramatic flourish later, triggering the suspension-bridge effect of romance.
But Cecilia had grown up in an individualistic society, powerless as any ordinary citizen, and she simply wanted no part of this situation.
Yet the world, it seemed, was not that obliging.
More and more people began gathering, whispering loudly enough for all to hear.
“Those damned brutes!”
“Oh no, this is bad! They’ll hurt the girl!”
“But thank goodness the Saint is here!”
“Yes, yes! Surely the Saint will save the child!”
Excuse me? Don’t you see those men’s forearms?
‘Their forearms are as thick as my entire body—what strength could I possibly have…’
The hopeful gazes burned hot enough to bore through the back of her skull.
But realistically, all she could do for the girl was find a guard—assuming one wasn’t shirking his duties somewhere—and call him over.
‘Forgive me.’
Cecilia was desperately turning her head away when it came.
“Please, give it back! Without that money, the children who visited the Temple today will go hungry!”
‘The Temple?’
Only then did Cecilia notice the familiar white hem of fabric beneath the girl’s cloak.
And her voice—it wasn’t unfamiliar either.
‘Surely not.’
“Damn brat won’t shut up! What do I care if those beggars starve or not?”
The thug seized the child’s face in his meaty grip and wrenched it upward.
And the face that appeared…
‘Right. It’s Sena.’
Damn. I should have seen this coming.
I should have known they’d plant a flag that wouldn’t let me escape.
After cursing under her breath a few more times, Cecilia bit the bullet and stepped forward.
“What in blazes do you think you’re doing? Let her go. Now.”
‘God, I can’t believe I’m actually spouting the righteous heroine’s stock lines.’
Shame and irritation rose in her throat simultaneously, but her body moved toward them of its own accord.
“Saint!”
Sena’s face lit up as though she’d just spotted her savior, oblivious to Cecilia’s plummeting mood.
“What now.”
Yes, that would be me—the reluctant would-be Saint, shoved into the frying pan by this damnable cliché.
But with so many eyes on her, she couldn’t afford to show fear in front of some common thug.
“Don’t you recognize the Saint who helped oversee the Relief Festival?”
Cecilia lifted her chin and spoke with cold disdain.
‘Maybe I overstepped.’
Sure enough, as if she’d torn through the thug’s paper-thin patience, the man’s expression darkened and he dropped Sena carelessly.
“What?”
“Doesn’t look like your hearing’s any better than your sight.”
Cecilia steadied her trembling voice by sheer force of will and beckoned Sena to her side.
“Come here, Sena.”
“Sob—saint!”
Sena scurried over and flung herself into Cecilia’s arms.
Despite her defiant words, she was clearly terrified—her small shoulders trembled pitifully.
“You were frightened. That’s alright.”
As Cecilia stroked the child’s back gently, Sena’s voice broke open.
“Yes! Oh, the festival was my first time, and the priestess entrusted me with an errand, but—but those people stole the money! I was supposed to use it to buy treats for the children, but—”
“I understand.”
The children she meant were doubtless the starving orphans who’d come seeking the Relief Festival’s aid.
You could deduce as much from Sena’s clothes alone. Yet they’d robbed her of money meant for those hungry mouths.
Apart from the fear coursing through her, Cecilia felt genuine anger kindle.
She was about to hurl another barb at them when, as suddenly as a snuffed candle, the anger guttered out.
“Well, look at that. The noble Saint herself.”
The thug had sidled up close enough to breathe on her, emanating a menacing aura.
Cecilia tucked Sena behind her back and forced her head up stubbornly.
“You’d do well to leave while I’m still asking nicely.”
“Trouble is, we’re ignorant types—we believe in this, not gods.”
The man’s scarred mouth twisted into a grin as he drew from his back a dark-stained axe.
No—looking closer, the blade’s edge was silver. That stain wasn’t rust. It was dried blood.
‘I wish I hadn’t looked.’
What common thug carries an axe around?
‘I’m going to piss myself at this rate.’
Was she about to become Pathetic Female Lead Number One?
She was a soft bourgeois type who screamed bloody murder at a paper cut. One graze from that axe, and she’d be taking a very real trip to the ground—bloodshed festival and all.
Cecilia stared hard at the thug, who looked like he’d just broken out of prison.
“What are you staring at? Want me to pop out those pretty eyes of yours?”
No.
Pride alone kept her head from turning; instead, she dropped her gaze to the man’s philtrum.
Her one, ironic source of faith was this wretched cliché itself.
When the heroine found herself in danger, the hero always appeared at the most dramatically perfect moment!
‘…He’ll show up. He has to.’
But instead of a timely rescue, the ones who abruptly stepped forward were the people who’d been standing dozens of paces behind her.
“You scum! You’re dead!”
“The divine will punish you!”
“Holy Saint, those barbarians don’t deserve your forgiveness!”
From behind her, the crowd hurled insults at the thug.
‘For god’s sake, forget egging them on—someone call the guards!’
“So being a Saint gets you all creative about begging for your own death, huh?”
“No……!”
‘It wasn’t me who opened my mouth!’
She wanted to smack her forehead in frustration.
Just then, Sena, who had been trembling behind her, suddenly darted forward and let out a sharp cry.
“Don’t you lay a finger on the Saint! You trash!”
The man in front of her was indeed trash, and she was grateful for the courage to stand up for someone else, but unfortunately it was not the wisest move.
The thug’s face had turned cold and hard in a way that was incomparable to moments before.
“All that squawking is damn annoying. I’ll send both of you to your god.”
A man whose build was easily two heads taller than them, without exaggeration, hefted an axe high.
Cecilia’s eyes swept the surroundings in a panic, but Lien was still nowhere to be found.
‘Is this how my neck gets cut?’
Plan Z, her last resort for getting back, had been to “try dying”—and it looked like she’d be attempting it here after all.
The resignation lasted only a moment.
Realizing too late that the axe’s trajectory was aimed not at her but at Sena beside her, Cecilia reached out desperately.

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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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