The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master - Chapter 57

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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 57
“Of course, this is just my speculation. But what’s clear is that the victor can ask the Emperor for a wish.”
“…….”
“So the conclusion is this: if you just sit there lamenting, I’m going to win.”
“……What did you say?”
The princess stared up at Cecilia in a daze, as if doubting her own ears. Perhaps she’d misheard.
Unfortunately, every word had been spoken in earnest.
“Did you think your only rival was your brother? After all this, I want to go home even more desperately.”
“Are you serious?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?”
With a casual shrug, Cecilia retrieved the dagger she’d dropped in place of her useless gun.
‘The other side seems to have wrapped things up, at least.’
She could leave now. After a glance at the knights she’d finished first-aiding, Cecilia turned without another word.
There was nothing more to say, and she meant to rejoin her own knights.
It would have ended there, if only something hadn’t come to mind.
“Oh, one more thing I wanted to ask.”
“……What?”
Cecilia strode back to the princess, gesturing at the enemies scattered about. “Do people count as game?”
The princess finally let out a hollow, defeated laugh. When she answered, it was with this:
“Even if they did…… all of these were taken down by my knights. Don’t get any ideas.”
‘Tsk.’
* * *
In the end, the victor of the Hunting Competition was neither the prince, nor the princess, nor Cecilia herself.
All three had returned in a battered state, having been equally graced by assassins.
Remarkably, despite everything, the princess had persisted with her tattered knights and brought back even more game than the prince.
Cecilia, of course, had caught not a single rabbit.
Miguel had insisted on a hasty retreat, his eyes blazing. She too had no desire to wander deeper into forests where madmen might still lurk, ready to detonate themselves.
When they finally limped back, what greeted them was the corpse of an enormous bear.
Yes—someone had brought down a bear. Alone. Without a team.
In truth, losing victory to someone not of royal blood was bearable enough, as was the fact that the creature was roughly the size of a tree.
But……
“The champion, Lord Dilan She, please ascend the dais.”
……the fact that this man was the second son of the Dilan She House was a very great problem indeed.
At the Emperor’s summons, a broad-shouldered man donned the Grey Cloak of his house and climbed onto the dais.
Even from this distance, the weight of his presence was felt—perhaps even more than when she’d faced the Dilan She Duke himself.
With all eyes upon him, the Emperor declared:
“The victor shall state his wish.”
“I……”
His voice was low and rough.
“desire nothing.”
The moment the man finished speaking, murmurs rippled through the crowd.
Dilan She’s will is the Emperor’s will. Some had expected the prince to be named; others, mindful of Dilan She’s closeness to the princess, had anticipated her. All now fell into confusion.
‘Please, no.’
If the succession remained unresolved here too, she’d throw herself on the ground and beg for approval right then and there, promise be damned.
She clasped her hands together fervently, praying the divine would not permit a Saint such an indignity.
And then, as if by miracle, the man spoke again:
“Therefore, I shall dedicate today’s honor to Her Highness the Princess.”
Squee!
A sharp cry erupted from a cluster of young noblewomen. To their eyes, it was a romantic tableau—victory and glory, even his heart, all offered to his beloved.
“Lord Dilan She is the princess’s secret betrothed! It was all true!”
Cecilia caught sight of the princess, who had suddenly become the center of attention, filtering out the excited chatter.
The princess seemed bewildered—as if this had taken her entirely by surprise. She smiled as she absorbed the weight of all those eyes, but Cecilia detected the unease hidden beneath her joy.
‘She wanted the throne.’
Was the reason she couldn’t take pure delight in this because of that leverage?
Yet Cecilia’s own unease matched hers.
‘……The rumor was true, then?’
She’d thought the princess—whose weakness she now knew—preferable to the prince she barely understood.
If there were truly marriage negotiations between Webdin’s primary enemy, the Dilan She House, and the princess……
‘Then we’ll never be able to maintain even a cordial relationship.’

Cecilia, having reached her conclusion with cold clarity, turned her gaze from the princess. Then she looked back toward the dais.
The architect of victory—the one who had placed the crown upon the princess’s head—knelt on one knee, listening to the Emperor’s commendation.
“I am most pleased to have such a valiant and humble servant. Your loyalty to the throne shall not be forgotten.”
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
Roar!
A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd.
Amid the deafening applause that threatened to split her ears, Cecilia’s gaze remained fixed on the man who held his left arm awkwardly at his side. Her eyes grew darker, deeper with each passing moment.
* * *
The Hunting Competition, which she had anticipated would be treacherous, had left behind both greater losses and greater triumphs than she’d prepared for.
Immediately after the competition ended, the Emperor sent an attendant bearing approval—marked with the Emperor’s Seal—delivered into her hands.
At last she had climbed to the Monastery and achieved the true purpose of her harrowing journey: to become a true Saint.
Yet her joy was short-lived.
[Then I shall see you at the Investiture Ceremony.]
When the Adjutant had bid her farewell with those words, she could not help but turn serious.
But that was not the only problem left behind. There were the knights who had been torn to pieces rescuing her.
Four knights in particular had suffered grave wounds, and thanks to swift treatment, they had escaped permanent injury—but the Physician said they would need several days of rest.
It had been only hours since the Physician had told her this.
Unable to overcome her anxiety and guilt, she had gathered an armful of fruit and expensive Recovery Potions and sought out the knights, when in the Corridor she encountered a familiar back.
“Miguel?”
“Good morning, Saint.”
“Where are you headed?”
“I missed dawn training while receiving treatment. I’m heading to the Training Ground.”
Miguel had to be among those four knights who required rest.
“You’re joking.”
“I am not.”
“You should be.”
“It was a joke.”
Whether Miguel adjusted his answer after reading her expression or not, Cecilia, her brow drawn tight, seized his wrist.
Though bewildered, he followed willingly as she pulled him along.
Cecilia shoved Miguel into an empty room, then shut the door with a sharp snap.
It was a Guest Room furnished with a bed, a small side table, and even a sofa.
Cecilia sat him down on the long leather sofa, then commanded him in an imperious tone.
“Take it off.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Remove your shirt.”
At this shocking command, Miguel’s eyes widened slowly. It was plain to see as confusion bloomed in his blue gaze.
But Cecilia neither modified her demand nor offered explanation.
The loyal holy knight, his lips moving soundlessly several times, soon began to unfasten his shirt buttons without protest.
A sculpted form emerged, bereft of a trace of excess flesh. Yet Cecilia did not spare it a glance, instead moving behind him.
And there she examined his back with the same meticulous attention—as firm and defined as the front.
The pale skin was properly healed. No sharp metallic scent of blood lingered, no acrid smell of charred flesh. So there should be no pain remaining either.
No—there must be no pain remaining.
Cecilia placed her hand carefully upon his back. Beneath her palm, she felt his muscles tense and flex.
“Saint…”
His voice, calling her title, trembled in a way unlike his usual composure. This situation must be deeply uncomfortable for him. Cecilia, though she recognized it belatedly, could neither answer nor withdraw.
Unable to resolve the guilt that accumulated without end, the anger aimed at some nameless target, and the self-loathing she felt—unable to bear it or hide it.
She set down the Fruit Basket and opened one of several Medicine Bottles from her bag.
Onto his unblemished back she poured the first bottle, then the second, and as the third bottle was emptying, his wrist was suddenly seized.
Miguel turned to face her, no longer wavering. He simply looked down at her steadily.
As if he had easily read her unstable state, he spoke firmly.
“The knights and I are all unharmed.”
“No… because of me, you were all wounded so badly.”
“It was not your fault, Saint.”
‘It couldn’t be otherwise.’
For what purpose had she gambled, what dangerous game had she drawn them into, and what had she ultimately learned? Knowing all the truth, could anyone truly speak as he just had?
Cecilia choked down words that could not be spoken. And she relented.
The choice had already been made. If so, then only the task of facing the result squarely and bearing it remained.
“You might have Aftereffects lingering, so rest for at least another day.”
As she forced a bitter smile, the hand holding her fell away. Cecilia, her suffocating self-recrimination, anger, and self-contempt finally erased, rose and left the room first.
Unfortunately for her, far too many tasks still remained, far too many problems yet to be solved.

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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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