The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 8

Just as Hiltein had expected, his superior was beyond demanding — the man was a living nightmare.

Hiltein’s nature made it impossible for him to lie even with a blade at his throat, so he’d always spoken his mind plainly. But whenever his superior fixed him with that cold stare, cold sweat trickled down his back and his hands trembled.

At this rate, I won’t live out my natural lifespan.

Then one day, while he was seriously considering handing in his resignation, his superior changed out of nowhere — without any apparent trigger.

As if he’d taken a bullet to the head, the man started buying up black robes, then completely overhauled the bored drawl and frigid demeanor he’d always worn.

And then he’d gone and abandoned the Magic Tower entirely. That was exactly one month ago.

Of all places, he settles next door to the Marquis Weberdin estate.

On top of that, he was approaching the saintess with that revolting act of his.

There had to be some terrible purpose behind it.

But whatever monstrous plan was brewing inside that head, Hiltein had no desire to know — or understand.

All he wanted was to escape the workload that had doubled in the Magic Tower Master’s absence.

“So when exactly are you planning to come back?”

“No idea.”

“…Then who on earth does know?”

“It’s not my decision to make.”

What kind of fresh bullshit is this?

His head and his chest were both about to explode.

I want to quit so goddamn bad.

Hiltein was barely containing the urge to scream straight ahead when—

“Anything else?”

Rien pushed back his robe and raked a hand roughly through his disheveled hair.

The face revealed beneath held not a speck of emotion.

And this is the man who thinks he can play the gentle lamb.

Every time his superior’s true nature surfaced, the air seemed to drop ten degrees.

In the tension he could never quite get used to, Hiltein slowly clenched his fists.

“‘That place’ has attached surveillance.”

“I know.”

“…You’ve already dealt with them?”

“Yep.”

“How did you…”

Hiltein trailed off. He’d noticed where his superior’s gaze had settled.

A shovel in the corner of the room, blackened with discoloration. And the daisy bed outside the window.

…The surveillance agents had likely already made excellent fertilizer.

Pretending not to have grasped that chilling truth, he dutifully continued his report.

“As you ordered, I’ve placed eyes on them, but catching their tail won’t be easy. Ah, your moving here personally — was that also perhaps…”

“G-go. Just do your job watching them.”

Rien snapped coldly, slipping back into his stammering act.

He thinks talking like a bumbling fool makes him look harmless.

It was absurd, but Hiltein had no wish to become the second batch of fertilizer, so he silently bowed his head.

They say you never appreciate what you have until it’s gone.

Inside the rocking carriage.

Cecilia was feeling, down to her bones, just how precious the dazzling transportation advances of twenty-first-century civilization truly were.

How does a world with both magic and holy power still use carriages as its main mode of transport?

It wasn’t her first time riding in a carriage, so she’d braced herself to some degree — but she never imagined she’d have this much trouble adjusting.

The agonizingly slow speed was one thing, but the horrendous ride was enough to give her motion sickness she’d never had before.

“CiCi. Are you about to collapse?”

Unlike her, dying by the second, Nox had been sitting across from her in an effortlessly elegant posture the entire time. He closed the book he’d been reading.

“Oh dear, this is serious. We’re not even halfway there.”

He studied her with a look of concern.

“If you really can’t take it anymore, make sure you tell me. Walking to the Holy Temple isn’t actually impossible, you know.”

“…Really?”

“Sure. You’d just need to walk for one full day. Actually, with those stubby little legs of yours, maybe two?”

…That was never concern.

The gentle smile gracing his lips was mockery — she could tell by now without even having to think twice.

Don’t worry.

“I hope you bite your tongue off.”

“CiCi, I think your inner thoughts just slipped out.”

That was on purpose, you bastard.

Turning away from her utterly useless brother, Cecilia cast her gaze out the carriage window.

Beyond the hazy glass, lush greenery and a vivid sky drifted lazily past.

Perfect weather for a stroll, and here I am suffering through this.

There was exactly one reason she was enduring this misery inside a carriage.

It was because of the suggestion the Marquis had made when she’d run into him in the garden a few days ago.

[The Relief Festival should be starting soon. Don’t you think you ought to pay your respects to His Holiness the Pope beforehand?]

[Ah…]

[Especially since your role will be significant at this year’s Relief Festival, Cecilia.]

The tone was one of suggestion, but in practice it was an order — refusal was not an option.

She might still be a “fake” saintess, but the duties of House Weberdin remained.

[I will.]

On the first day, when she’d accepted without much deliberation, she’d even been secretly excited.

Aside from the early days right after the transmigration, it was her first outing in ages.

But the moment she heard that her family-register partner would be accompanying her and they’d be traveling by carriage, her mood sank like a stone.

Still, one small mercy was that the “Holy Land”—the former imperial capital and site of the Grand Temple — was close to the Weberdin territory.

Having scraped together every last scrap of patience she possessed, just as Cecilia was on the verge of surrendering to the nausea, the carriage came to a miraculous stop.

“Saintess, Young Lord. We’ve arrived.”

Before the coachman had even finished speaking, Cecilia sprang to her feet.

There was no room for the luxury of being helped down with graceful composure.

I need to get out right now!

Seized by that single thought, Cecilia flung the carriage door open with a bang and stepped out.

But there were two things she’d overlooked. First: a large number of clerics had come out to greet them, befitting the arrival of distinguished guests. Second: her legs were shakier than usual from the motion sickness.

In front of dozens of people, her body lurched sideways, off-balance.

I’m about to humiliate myself.

She squeezed her eyes shut at the grim premonition.

But time passed, and no pitying gasps erupted around her.

Instead of the dirt, she’d collided with something solid as a wall. Cecilia’s eyes flew open.

“Are you all right?”

A knight with a vaguely familiar face — a full head taller than her — was holding her steady.

“Oh, thank you. And you are…”

“Vice-Commander of the Holy Knight Order. Miguel.”

“Sir Miguel.”

“Yes, Saintess.”

The man’s quiet reply came as his silver hair swayed gently in the breeze.

Beneath it, she found herself staring up blankly into calm blue eyes, still as a lake.

The lines that composed him were rough, yet a softness like flower petals in full bloom coexisted within them.

…In a word, he had a holy look about him.

Cecilia’s mind flashed back to the first time she’d ever laid eyes on him.

It had been when several high-ranking priests visited the marquis’s estate on an errand from the Pope.

Among the white-haired elders, a single man clad in white armor had radiated an insane presence.

[Good heavens, Melanie, do you see that man?]

[Pardon?]

[Wow, this really might be inside a book after all.]

It had been the early days of her transmigration, when she was still burrowing deeper and deeper into despair — but his presence was enough to make her forget every ounce of gloom.

[My lady, I have no idea what you’re talking about, but that man is off-limits.]

[No, I wasn’t saying I’d do anything about it…]

Had it been that obvious her eyes were spinning? Cecilia cleared her throat, embarrassed.

[I was just curious about his name, that’s all.]

[You don’t even need to know his name. He’s a holy knight!]

[So?]

[They’ve devoted body and soul to God.]

[Ah.]

In short: sour grapes. Forbidden fruit.

My interest vanished on the spot.

Running into him again like this was surprising, sure, but that was all.

As if she’d simply finished admiring a work of art, Cecilia calmly looked away and stepped out of the man’s arms.

“Miguel, why don’t you look after the young lord too, not just the saintess?”

Nox, having disembarked after her, called out to the knight with easy familiarity.

“You know Sir Miguel?”

“Know him? He’s my close friend.”

As if showing off the connection, Nox draped his arm over Miguel’s broad shoulders.

“Right?”

“Unfortunately… yes.”

“He meant to say ‘fortunately.’ Just misspoke.”

That is clearly not what happened.

Somehow, the look Miguel was directing at Nox felt remarkably similar to her own.

A blend of mild irritation and exasperation.

But for Nox, other people’s contempt was apparently a reward. He’d been grinning away when he suddenly assumed a sorrowful expression.

“Our poor CiCi, jealous? It’s okay. Even though you don’t have a single friend, and you can’t even get out of a carriage properly — your big brother will be your family and your friend, all in one.”

…If you only heard the words, you’d actually think he was a romance-novel brother.

The fact that his real intent was merely to mock her friendless state was nothing short of tragic.

“Move.”

Cecilia dismissed him coldly and ground her heel down on Nox’s loitering foot.

“CiCi, that hurts.”

“Good.”

“Could you take your foot off mine?”

“Could you get out of my sight first?”

At her icy retort, Nox finally shut his mouth.

Miguel, who had been watching the siblings’ childish squabble from a front-row seat, likewise turned his back on Nox.

“I heard you’ve come to see His Holiness the Pope. I’m sorry to say His Holiness is still meeting with the faithful.”

“That’s fine. I can wait.”

“I don’t want to wait.”

“Thank you for understanding. Shall I take you to the prayer room first?”

“Miguel? I said I don’t want to.”

“Let’s do that.”

“Then, your hand.”

Perhaps because of her earlier stumble, Miguel extended his hand.

It seemed he wanted to personally escort her, lest she trip again.

The consideration was appreciated, but the nausea had passed — she was perfectly fine walking on her own.

“I’m okay. I think I can walk by myself now… actually, no. Yes. Please.”

The instant she caught the shadow of disappointment crossing his face, she hastily changed course.

She placed her hand on his iron-solid arm, and only then did Miguel allow himself a quiet smile.

A fitting reaction for a child of God who’d made care and service his life’s purpose.

The fact that she — not even a real saintess — was being escorted by none other than the Vice-Commander of the Holy Knight Order was overwhelming to the point of being burdensome, but…

She hadn’t rotted enough as a person to spit in a smiling face.

Mercifully, the prayer room wasn’t far.

Miguel came to a stop before a door densely carved with irises and passionflowers — known as the flowers of God.