The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 53

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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 53
How had that man, who had been standing at the prince’s side mere moments ago, drawn so close to her without warning?
Startled, Cecilia stumbled backward. She knew better than to show agitation, though she at least had the presence of mind not to cry out.
The duke appeared before her like a ghost, silent and unseen, extending his hand with an air of casual indifference.
“This is our first proper conversation. I regret we didn’t exchange greetings at the banquet.”
‘You ran away well enough then.’
He had burned holes in her with the intensity of his gaze—and yet, whatever shift had occurred in his disposition, he now radiated displeasure with such unmistakable clarity that his conduct remained impeccably mannered despite it all.
Miguel, quick to perceive Cecilia’s unease, stepped in front of her.
“I apologize, but the Holy Maiden was about to return to the Tent Camp. I trust you understand.”
“It’s all right, Miguel.”
Cecilia emerged from behind Miguel and faced the duke directly.
‘I can’t run twice.’
She extended her hand to the man who may well have steeled himself after learning of her attendance—whether out of calculation or wounded pride, she couldn’t yet say.
“Duke Dilanshe, is it? A pleasure to meet you. I must confess, I hadn’t anticipated a personal greeting.”
The hand she clasped was rough—far rougher than one might expect from the head of a mage house.
After a firm, brief handshake, the furrow between the duke’s brows only deepened.
‘Displeased, then.’
But Cecilia harbored equal displeasure. There was nothing to gain from facing off against a man who’d given her no reason to trust him—so why approach her now?
As if reading her unspoken question, the duke spoke again.
“I understand our house has incurred considerable debts. I thought it best to address these matters with the principal herself.”
‘Debts.’
A curious choice of words.
Was he referring to his consistent obstruction of Weberdine’s efforts? Or was he obliquely revealing his hand in the moves against her?
While she considered, the duke’s gaze raked across her—hunting leathers and rifle slung at her side.
“I had assumed you’d attend as an observer. To see you entering as a competitor is quite the surprise. Lady Weberdine, are you truly without fear?”
“I suppose I am rather fearless, yes.”
‘As if threats would make me cower.’
In truth, fear had flickered through her—but Cecilia tilted her chin upward defiantly, even managing a smile that spoke of composure.
The gesture netted her a narrowing of his eyes, as though it had scraped against something raw in him.
“I see. Though I recall His Holiness once condemning hunting as meaningless slaughter pursued for mere pleasure.”
……
“After the Relief Festival incident, I’ve heard whispers through Weberdine as well. Truly brave of you.”
Whether he was a vessel brimming with hypocrisy or simply too dull-witted to grasp the Pope’s intentions, his words forced her silence—she had no good answer for such a choice.
‘How am I to know what His Holiness has said?’
Though even if she had known, she would have entered the competition regardless.
“If it is meaningless slaughter, then yes—you’d be right.”
……
“But when meaning is conferred upon it, even a saint will not shrink from taking life.”
‘Meaning can always be manufactured.’
She was fully prepared to put a bullet through an enemy’s skull if it meant her survival.
As she registered the weight of the rifle slung across her back, a strange calm descended upon her.
Her seamless parry seemed to ignite something dark in him instead.
The duke’s face hardened into something brutal—a killing look. Those blood-red eyes blazed as they held hers for a long moment, until suddenly he let out a thin laugh.
“Hunts do tend to invite accidents, after all.”
……
“I do hope you take proper precautions.”
“How thoughtful of you to concern yourself.”
With that ominous parting, the man turned on his heel and vanished into the crowd.
Only when the duke’s silhouette disappeared from view did Cecilia finally release the tension coiled in her spine.
Dilanshe was Weberdine’s greatest enemy, and perhaps—just perhaps—the architect of her accident.
She had withstood his pressure with steady composure, yet the weight of his presence had raised every hair on her forearms.
Cecilia clicked her tongue softly and rubbed at her arms as she quickened her pace.
“Let’s get back to the Tent Camp.”
“…Yes.”
Miguel appeared troubled—restrained as he’d been from confronting the duke’s hostility, a faint dissatisfaction hung about him.
Yet he remained steadfastly by her side, escorting her back to the Tent Camp.
“We had meant to partition the space—one section for you and another for the knights—but at your request, we’ve prepared a single tent instead.”
“Thank you.”
“You’ll be sharing quarters with the knights until departure. Will that pose any difficulty?”
“I have instructions to give them beforehand, so it works well.”
“Not much to say about that…….”
“It’s a secret for now. I’ll tell you once we’re in the tent.”
Cecilia suddenly lowered her voice and lifted the corners of her mouth playfully.
Miguel, who had been blinking slowly, abruptly turned his back on her and came to a halt in front of a tent.
“Allow me to check the interior first, Your Holiness. The knights may be in a state unfit for your eyes.”
If the knights were in such a state, it would amount to little more than removing their shirts—something she wouldn’t have minded in the slightest.
But before she could voice her opinion, Miguel had already slipped inside the tent with practiced efficiency.
‘Did I misspeak?’
Cecilia was tilting her head in confusion when she made to follow him inside like a duckling.
A shadowy figure suddenly seized her from behind and dragged her away to a secluded spot.
‘Here?’
Kidnapped right in front of the crowded tent camp, no less with her own knights standing by?
Her shock lasted only a moment. The instant Cecilia pulled Divine Power into her fists with all her strength—
“Cecilia.”
At that familiar voice, her clenched fists went limp.
The moment the large hands that had covered her mouth and cheeks fell away, Cecilia cried out.
“Lien! You startled me!”
There stood Lien in his customary Black Robe, his hands raised beside his face with palms outward, his eyes sparkling like an eager puppy’s.
But Cecilia, genuinely frightened, pinched his cheek irritably.
“I’m sorry.”
Without even attempting to pull his hand away, Lien apologized in garbled words.
Those eyes—which reminded her of some cat in Boots—made Cecilia finally relent, and she released his cheek.
“When did you arrive? You said we were leaving together.”
“His Majesty insisted on accompanying me.”
“Ah, then we should have gone separately.”
“……That’s too harsh.”
Lien rubbed his reddened cheek with his palm and muttered dejectedly.
‘Perhaps I was too quick to scold him.’
Cecilia, reflecting on her hasty rebuke, cleared her throat softly, then quietly.
“So you made time to sneak away and see me?”
“Yes!”
Lien nodded emphatically and gently grasped her shoulders, then began to examine her carefully from head to toe.
“Lien?”
“You’re not injured anywhere, are you?”
“Of course not.”
“The Hunt Competition can be truly dangerous, so you must be careful of yourself.”
“Yes, I will be.”
“You must never pick up anything carelessly, or ditch your knights to chase prey, or follow strangers.”
“……Do I look like a child to you?”
His concern was nothing new—he fretted like this all the time—but the content of his warnings seemed oddly specific.
Cecilia deliberately pressed the point, but Lien remained entirely serious.
……As though he were wary of something.
“I’ll be careful, so stop frowning.”
Cecilia pressed her fingers gently against the furrow of his brow.
This promise was a lie. Or rather, it was likely to become one.
But she would be safe. This was the ‘preparation’ for it.
As his faint smile deepened and his lips curved upward again—
“Cecilia?”
A low voice reached them from nearby. Miguel, having emerged from the tent, had noticed her absence.
‘I should get back before this becomes a commotion.’
Cecilia, suddenly hurried, pushed Lien’s back firmly.
“Go on, hurry! I need to get back and prepare myself.”
“But…….”
Even urged forward, Lien could not bring himself to leave.
He stood rooted to the spot, turning back to look at her again and again before closing the distance in one long stride. Then, with reverence, he pressed his lips to the ends of her hair.
“Safe journey.”
He spoke in a whisper and vanished like wind.
* * *
By the time Cecilia had returned to the tent and roughly gone over the day’s Hunt Competition strategy with her knights, completing a final weapons inspection—
Poo—
The Horn Trumpet sounded once. It was the signal for participants to assemble.
“Shall we head out?”
Cecilia, striking in her White Cloak, stepped outside alongside Miguel and two Holy Knights.
In the center of the gathered crowd, the Emperor stood upon a dais, draped in the Purple Cloak that symbolized the imperial house.
“I am delighted that so many have gathered, as they did at the last banquet.”
The Emperor’s low, steady voice carried crisply to every ear.
“The meteorologists selected a day when rain would not fall, and yet the weather has proven even more favorable than expected.”
The Emperor’s gaze swept across the tense participants, and for a moment his eyes seemed to meet Cecilia’s.
Or perhaps they merely seemed to.
“Perfect conditions for a Hunt Competition.”
A slight smile played at the Emperor’s lips as he announced, his voice a tone deeper and louder than before: “There is no need for lengthy words. I await with great interest to see who shall claim this glorious victory.”

A gunshot rang out.
The signal to begin had sounded.

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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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