The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 28

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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 28
It was Miguel, the Holy Knight who had been quietly standing guard behind her.
“Miguel!”
“Rest assured. As you can see, the faithful do not sink—the lake floor holds firm beneath their feet.”
Her startled cry was quickly rendered meaningless; the water level barely reached Miguel’s waist. The surface had seemed impenetrably dark just moments before, yet it appeared the genuinely blessed truly did not drown in these waters.
But she was neither the real Cecilia nor someone whose Holy Power flickered on and off at will. Would this miracle extend to her?
As she stared down at the lake—a monument to every un-scientific principle imaginable—a wet hand suddenly intruded into her field of vision.
“If doubt still lingers, would you care to verify it yourself?”
“Ah, well…”
“I shall hold you fast. I will not let go, I promise you.”
Cecilia gazed down at the sacred knight, now soaked in the beautiful waters, her mind peculiarly blank.
Water droplets traced the line of his sharp jaw with crystalline clarity, his forearms defined where the fabric clung; his gaze held a strange resolve, as if remembering some past peril, and finally—atop his habitually stolid face—there bloomed that gentle smile.
In the moment she grasped his large, firm hand as though pulled by an irresistible force.
From somewhere came a soft crack—a tooth-grinding sound. Cecilia’s head snapped around to survey her surroundings, but there was only the Archbishop and a handful of his assistant priests, with Sena and Lili standing at a distance.
‘What was that? Did I mishear?’
Tilting her head in confusion, Cecilia dipped her toes into the water. She couldn’t fathom the principle, nor did she want to, but she’d assumed the lake would swallow her to her waist as well.
The moment both feet touched the surface, the bottom gave way completely.
“Ah!”
She lost her footing in surprise, but firm hands caught her waist.
“Are you all right?”
The gentle voice at her ear steadied her enough to straighten. Even after Miguel’s hand withdrew, the waterline remained only at her chest.
“Are your doubts now settled?”
A caustic voice erupted from above, as if waiting for precisely this moment. If mockery flickered in the Archbishop’s still-vacant eyes, it was surely her own insecurity.
She opened her mouth to retort, but her opponent struck first.
“Though I see your clothes are quite soaked. You’ll need to change at once.”
“What?”
“Fortuitously, the Ceremonial Robe has been refitted and is ready.”
His usually dry lips curved with an oddly pregnant meaning. In that instant, Cecilia understood that the entire suggestion to wade in had been Kiar’s elaborate scheme from the start.
“Shall we go for a fitting, then?”
Sadly, by the time she saw through it, everything was already done.
* * *
‘I have to escape.’
For the ninety-ninth time wrestling with the same thought, Cecilia at last made her decision.
She had endured kneeling for hours reciting prayers, reading records that made her eyes strain to bursting, and listening to endless explanations on sunny days.
But changing into dozens upon dozens of Ceremonial Robes? This was slave labor!
It was all the fault of that Archbishop, the Ceremonial Robe fanatic.
Worse, the robes looked so similar that her eyes could discern no difference among them whatsoever.
At last, past her limit, Cecilia hurled the new Ceremonial Robe onto the floor.
“I really can’t do this anymore!”
If they were going to make her do physical labor, they could at least feed her! He clearly had no idea how exhausting changing clothes could be.
The Headdress alone was so heavy her neck felt ready to snap, and the trailing Cloak pressed down on her shoulders as though she might lose consciousness.
“At this rate, I’ll be joining God before the Ceremony even begins!”
At her outburst, the Archbishop clicked his tongue softly and corrected her.
“I shall meet the Divine first.”
‘Who the hell competes over that?!’
Frustration welled up, but she was now too spent even to express it.
Kiar glanced down at the unresponsive Cecilia, then released a long, heavy sigh.
“I see no remedy for it. Your stamina appears depleted; I shall fetch some Holy Water.”
Holy Water?
He would surely fill her stomach with that utterly ordinary liquid and then resume this hellish ordeal.
“No, please!”
Cecilia lunged desperately forward, but failed to grasp even the Archbishop’s shadow, let alone the hem of his robe.
Click.
Cecilia stared blankly at the closed door.
As a thick darkness of despair settled over the room, the Priestesses who had been attending her began to quietly slip away.
“W-we forgot to bring the shoes.”
“Y-yes, that’s right! We’ll fetch them at once before the Archbishop returns!”
In the end, only Cecilia—stripped of both strength and will—remained, with Miguel left to keep vigil at her side.
Under ordinary circumstances, she would have thrashed against such awkward silence, but now she couldn’t be bothered.
Cecilia dragged her heavy body onto the hard sofa and collapsed in exhaustion.
‘Spicy food. Greasy food. I’d kill for it right now.’
The thought of tteokbokki and steamed short ribs—the kind she’d order without hesitation whenever stress piled up—nearly brought tears to her eyes.
‘Did I sell a kingdom in my past life or something?’
There was no reason she should’ve ended up like this. She hadn’t done anything wrong.
If only she hadn’t been transmigrated into this false—or real, who knew?—otherworld. If only Cecilia hadn’t been a Saint. If only the Pope hadn’t suggested performing the Ceremony together!
Over the past week, Cecilia had accumulated nothing but rage toward the divine. She muttered darkly to herself.
“Don’t tell me he dumped the Ceremony on me just because he didn’t want to starve.”
“If you’re referring to His Holiness, he’s currently purifying himself as well.”
“Really? Then why haven’t we seen hide nor hair of him?”
Miguel blinked, taken aback by the sharpness in her tone.
True to form as vice-captain, he quickly composed himself and answered evenly.
“He’s currently staying in the Treatment Room, directly dispensing Divine Grace to the laypeople who require healing.”
‘He’s volunteering when he can barely breathe?’
Cecilia fell silent.
It was the kind of selfless conduct people spent their whole lives praising.
‘Right. Complaining isn’t going to change anything.’
If even the Pope—the highest authority in the Temple—was going hungry, she certainly had no right to complain as a mere Saint-in-waiting.
She was just mustering the strength to prop herself up on her elbows when—
A young apprentice Priestess appeared, her face bright and cheerful as she approached Miguel.
“Vice-captain! Dinner is ready. Shall I escort you to the Dining Hall—”
Of all moments, she’d come to announce the meal.
The Priestess sensed the dampened mood and hastily trailed off.
“—Or perhaps not?”
“No, it’s fine.”
Miguel glanced between the Priestess and Cecilia, then nodded stiffly.
“Just go. It’s lunch time anyway.”
“Not at all. I can skip a meal or two without any trouble.”
“You’ll lose muscle mass.”
“Pardon?”
“Just eat. Have my portion too while you’re at it.”
She knew well enough that shared suffering didn’t become half—it only multiplied.
She gestured vaguely toward the door and collapsed back onto the sofa.
She’d expected him to leave without protest.
Instead, his footsteps drew closer rather than fading away.
The knight, it seemed, couldn’t abandon her to her suffering after all.
He knelt on one knee before the sofa, then spoke with careful deliberation.
“Would you like me to carry you to your chamber?”
“No.”
Truthfully, the offer was tempting. She could slip away before that demon of an Archbishop showed up with Holy Water in hand.
But she was no child ignorant of duty. Even if she’d wrestled with the urge to flee a hundred times, in the end she would stay.
For now, all she could do was conserve her strength.
She was settling into a steady rhythm of breathing when something suddenly brushed against her hair.
Cecilia’s eyes snapped open. Miguel had approached without a sound and was gently tucking back the strands that had fallen across her face.
Their blue eyes met at close range, and he flinched, drawing back.
“My apologies. You looked uncomfortable…”
Strangely, his discomfort made her calmer.
“I’ve wanted to tell you for a while—you don’t need to be so formal with me. I’m not His Holiness, and even though I’m called a Saint, I’m still nothing but a fraud.”
“You’re not a fraud.”
Miguel clenched the hand that had touched her hair and spoke with absolute conviction.
Cecilia opened her mouth several times before closing it again.
Bathed in that unwavering gaze—whether born of reverence or faith, she couldn’t say—she felt like the most noble person in the world.
“To me, you are—”
Bang!
The intimate moment shattered in an instant. The delicate atmosphere scattered like dust.
“Saint!”
Lili burst through the door, her voice loud and urgent. She’d gone to the Laundry Room with Sena to dry her wet clothes at the Archbishop’s request, but she’d clearly hurried back—her breathing was ragged.
More startling was that quiet Lili had shouted so loudly for the first time. Cecilia jolted upright.
“What is it? What happened?”
The girl pushed between Miguel and Cecilia, seizing the hem of her dress with both hands.
“It’s, it’s not that… We have a v-visitor…”
Before the child could finish speaking, a familiar voice burst through the open doorway.

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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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