The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 52

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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 52
Cecilia clutched the letter tightly, scanning it quickly from beginning to end.
The answer she’d been waiting for didn’t take long to appear.

It was just after lunch, in the days following the accident.
Cecilia had left Nox with a single request.
[Before I leave for the Monastery, I’d like you to investigate something for me.]
[Investigate something?]
[This.]
What she’d handed Nox that day was the necklace Lien had given her as a gift.
At the time, she’d entrusted the investigation of the necklace to him because she genuinely wanted to trust Lien.
When he’d come to visit her while she was ill. When he’d shown his sincerity through gesture and glance. When his words and actions were so utterly beyond falsehood that she couldn’t doubt him.
Perhaps she’d decided to set aside these baseless suspicions, to trust the man she’d experienced firsthand, to believe in him instead—though she could never be entirely certain of her own heart.
So giving him the necklace was nothing more than a way to prove that trust.

The letter crumpled in her hands.
But only a moment of disturbance passed through her.
She felt neither anger nor confusion.
Because she’d already finished preparing—not for vague suspicion, but for certainty.
So when the Hunting Competition ended.
Only then would she know: who had tried to harm ‘Cecilia.’
And what secret Lien was concealing.
* * *
A cool breeze prickling goosebumps across her skin; crimson leaves fluttering lifelessly down; a sky of pristine blue without a single cloud; the dry, brittle sound of earth beneath her feet.
A forest preparing to shed summer’s vitality and welcome silence.
Cecilia stood surrounded by towering ancient trees that must have guarded this place for centuries, her back rigid as a tree’s trunk, her chin raised, her body utterly motionless.
It felt like an eternity.
Sweat rolled down her hollowed spine; her legs trembled like young branches. The muscles connecting neck to shoulder throbbed, and her eyes burned.
She could simply collapse. She could press her face to the ground, fold her body inward—it would be easy.
Whether she couldn’t move or wouldn’t move, she herself couldn’t tell.
Then, between the sounds of wind, a familiar creature’s cry reached her ears.
Only then did Cecilia lower her head and turn her gaze. Beyond her blurred vision, a white form shimmered at a point where tree shadows pooled thick and deep.
It was neither heat shimmer nor mirage.
A white cat with golden leaves tinkling at its neck stared directly at her.
‘Charles!’
Surprise and joy surged through her.
Where have you been all this time? Are you safe? Were you waiting for me? I’m not at the Weberdine Mansion right now but at the Monastery, no—in this forest. But how did you get here?
So many words gathered at the root of her tongue. Yet it wasn’t she who spoke.
“I’m sorry.”
The voice was childlike, almost innocent.
‘Charles, you could speak all along.’
Cecilia accepted it without the slightest surprise and took a step forward.
“…I’m sorry.”
Transparent tears dripped from Charles’s eyes.
Was he apologizing for leaving without a word? Or was he—as Lesti rather than Charles—apologizing to the true ‘Cecilia’?
‘Don’t cry.’
She parted her lips.
‘I’m fine.’
She opened her mouth again. But all that escaped was the sound of ragged breathing.
She should be comforting him. She should hold him.
That cannot be.
No, it’s impossible.
The sudden thought seized her feet and throat.
Charles, watching her through dilated pupils, her tear-dampened eyes, her frozen form, spoke again in a voice mangled beyond recognition.
“It won’t hurt, though.”
Dying, he added softly.
The quietly appended words scattered chaotically.
She wanted to ask what he meant, but Charles had already turned away. Tap, tap—his footsteps receded deeper into the forest.
By the time Charles’s form had vanished entirely from sight.
Cecilia finally woke from the dream.
* * *
‘A premonition dream, perhaps.’
In the autumn-draped forest, Cecilia stood alone, rifle in hand, surveying her surroundings with an uneasy frown.
The forest from her dream had looked much like this.
Perhaps it was because the dream itself had been so strange.
An odd dread clung to her—as if something terrible were about to happen.
‘No, I don’t need these ominous foreshadows,’ she thought irritably.
Cecilia shook her head roughly.
“My lady?”
Miguel approached her side, his eyes widening with concern.
“Is something troubling you?”
“Nothing serious. Just an insect. How was your survey?”
“I found nothing alarming.”
The day of the Hunting Competition had arrived.
Cecilia had risen before dawn, donned her riding habit, and made her way to the hunting grounds early with a rifle she’d become quite skilled with.
The forest on the outskirts of Belatis, designated as the competition venue, belonged to the imperial crown and was frequently visited by the Emperor and Monastery nobility for hunting.
Yet to Cecilia, even this forest felt foreign. Thus she and Miguel were surveying the grounds before the competition began.
“This area’s much the same. As I heard, the western terrain is gentlest and offers the clearest sight lines. I think we should stay in the west during the competition.”
“Yes, I’ll inform the rest of the team.”
“And what of the knights?”
“They’re tending to their weapons at the tent camp.”
“Then let’s head back to the camp.”
Having confirmed as much as permitted, Cecilia turned back toward the starting point.
At the forest’s entrance, beige conical tents were scattered about, and in their midst stood a single crude wooden platform.
Around that platform, spectating ladies and armed competitors mingled, conversing animatedly.
“Quite a crowd has arrived already.”
“Yes, it seems the Prince and Princess have arrived as well. They likely came with the Emperor, so the opening ceremony should begin soon.”
Within the bustling competition grounds.
All eyes were riveted on the Prince and Princess and their entourages.
No one cared about the displays of martial prowess each would demonstrate. Their sole interest was who would claim victory and inherit the crown.
‘Who will win…’ she wondered.
With succession on the line, both sides had clearly come fully prepared.
Four imposingly muscular knights flanked the Princess. The Prince, by contrast, had assembled a diverse group: an archer with bow in hand, a swordsman in armor, a hunter draped in beast-hide. They stood at his side.
At first glance, the latter seemed the more rational choice, yet it did not guarantee the Prince’s victory.
Because this absurd competition was structured so that even if the Princess didn’t win, should the faction supporting her triumph, they would claim victory regardless.
That explained why the competitors looked so resolute, and why they fawned so eagerly before the Prince and Princess.
“I thought they’d already settled on a successor and just staged this for show, but it seems they’re genuinely deciding today.”
“Do you think so?”
Miguel’s murmur carried weight.
“What’s your assessment?”
“It appears a game tilted in one side’s favor.”
Cecilia turned to observe both of them again. The number of competitors gathering around each seemed roughly equal…
The difference lay in who stood beside them: Dilansche at the Prince’s side, the Emperor’s chief aide beside the Princess.
“Without unforeseen variables, today’s successor will indeed be announced.”
Miguel added lightly, deliberately leaving unspoken which ‘side’ held the advantage.
Cecilia, chin pinched between thumb and forefinger in thought, answered with blunt cheer.
“There’s a variable here, though.”
“…Pardon?”
The one capable of being a ‘variable’ in this game was the Saint herself—enemy to both Prince and Princess alike. Of course, no one expected her to win.
Not even her own teammate, Miguel.
“You intend to genuinely compete?”
“Of course. If I win, I get to make a wish to the Emperor. Never mind the succession or any of that—I’ll just demand my approval right then so I can finally hear nothing else.”
Like an office worker dreaming of an early exit, Cecilia laid out her hopes.
She knew herself it was a hopeless wish. Likely she’d watch the successor be announced, be dragged about by the Emperor afterward, barely scrape together her approval, and end up attending some coronation ceremony too.
But there was no harm in dreaming, was there?
“The way you’re looking at her—like she’s a spoiled child—that stings a little.”
“…My apologies.”
Knowing that an apology without excuse only stung more, Cecilia pouted her lower lip and was prodding Miguel’s back with little jabs in petulant revenge when a man approached them.
He drew near to the two of them.
“Lady Weberdine.”
A cold voice, refined in its summons, made her turn her head reflexively. The moment she faced the speaker, her expression hardened into stone.
Against all her hopes, the man standing before her was none other than Dilansche.

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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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