The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 9

“If you’ll wait inside, I’ll bring His Holiness to you.”

Cecilia nodded and walked into the prayer room alone.

Thanks to Miguel withdrawing and taking Nox with him, the surroundings were perfectly still.

“Nothing’s changed in here.”

Paintings of God filled the domed ceiling, sunlight shattered through ornate stained glass, and directly ahead stood a marble statue as tall as the building itself.

This prayer room was the very place she had first opened her eyes after the possession.

She still had no way of knowing why Cecilia — who had supposedly been suffering from a fever — had been in a prayer room rather than a recovery ward or a healing chamber.

Memories of the bewilderment and despair she’d felt back then surfaced fresh and vivid as she reached the foot of the statue.

She gazed in silence at the god smiling benevolently with eyes veiled in cloth, then slowly sank to her knees.

Instead of folding her hands together, she raised one long, straight middle finger.

O God, if you are the cause of this godforsaken dream, I shall forgive your sins — so please, give me back my degree.

It was an outrageously insolent prayer, but she’d been irreligious in her real life too. The god of some other world was even less her concern.

Besides, wasn’t this being the most likely culprit behind her unwanted miracle?

If she’d had ten middle fingers, she would have raised every last one.

“O God?”

“……”

“Not even an answer.”

She hadn’t expected the plot twist where an offended god descends and helpfully explains how to get back.

Her enthusiasm spent, Cecilia stood up from the floor and began dusting off her knees.

Or rather, she was about to — had she not spotted something beneath the dais.

Half-risen in an awkward crouch, she picked up the thing poking out from the gap between the floor and the platform.

It was a worn notebook wrapped in yellowed, faded parchment.

Does this belong to His Holiness?

This prayer room was open only to cardinals, the Pope, and the saintess.

She was just about to check the first page.

“Saintess.”

The gentle voice made her flinch and spin around.

A striking figure stood tall in the prayer room doorway.

White hair as pale as a bird’s feathers cascaded long and loose, and the person smiling with quiet grace was none other than the heart of the Holy Temple and God’s proxy — the Pope.

“Under God’s blessing, I greet Your Holiness.”

She placed a hand over her heart and dipped her head in greeting, and the Pope closed the distance in a single stride.

“I’m sorry. Did you wait long?”

“Not at all. I was praying to God, so the time flew by.”

What she’d been doing was closer to blasphemy than prayer, but still.

Having answered shamelessly, Cecilia raised her head and faced her counterpart.

A being every bit as exalted as the Empire’s Emperor.

Empty-headed as she might be, even she understood full well how extraordinary the Pope was.

A being born possessing immense holy power — the kind that appeared perhaps once in a century.

Occupying the position closest to God yet seeking out the lowest places to give, and give again: the saint of this era.

Above all, the Pope was also a godfather who cherished the saintess Cecilia dearly.

She had no memories of her biological father, so naturally none of her godfather remained either.

But judging by how simply being in his presence put her at ease, the original Cecilia must have felt quite close to him.

In fact, right after the possession — when she couldn’t accept reality and had been running like a madwoman — it was the Pope who had removed his own shoes and put them on her bare feet, and it was the Pope who had poured holy power into her all night long until she recovered.

“My, my. I called you here hoping we could offer a prayer together after so long, but it seems I was a step too late. If I’d known, I would have prepared the tea you like.”

“Oh no, tea is always welcome—”

Mid-conversation, Cecilia suddenly closed her mouth.

Hm?

She’d felt a fervent gaze from somewhere.

Finding the culprit wasn’t difficult.

Behind the Pope, a small, thin girl was peeking her head out.

“Your Holiness. That child is…”

“Ah, I forgot to introduce her. She’s a child I crossed paths with during a recent service trip to a territory suffering severe drought. She recently awakened her holy power and is currently serving as a trainee priestess. Her name is Sena.”

The child’s dark eyes glittered like black obsidian.

“Sena adores the saintess so much — she begged me to bring her along.”

Too shy to step forward, the child squirmed and twisted in place.

To most people, it would have been an adorable sight that drew an involuntary smile, but Cecilia could only sigh inwardly.

Because what was inside this shell was not someone loved by God but a modern person who was clearly cursed.

Still, she couldn’t shatter a child’s innocent heart, so she rummaged hastily through her pockets.

All she could find were two candies she’d secretly hidden from Nox, saving them for the ride home.

“Hi there, little one. Want some candy?”

She offered the hastily improvised gift with a sweet smile, and the Pope added awkwardly:

“Um, Sena is five years younger than you, Saintess.”

“Oh.”

Five years younger than Cecilia meant fifteen years old.

An age neither obsessed with candy nor appreciative of being called little one.

I thought the gap was at least ten years! Is it because she’s so thin?

Having committed an unintentional rudeness, Cecilia was scrambling to take the candy back when—

“Th-thank you!”

Sena snatched the candy in a flash.

Then, turning shy again, she ducked right back behind the Pope.

“There are so many who admire the saintess, just like this child.”

Gently stroking the flushed girl’s hair, the Pope continued.

“Which is why I’m asking — for this year’s Relief Festival, I was hoping you might close the ceremony in my place. What do you think?”

I think unfavorably.

A human who believed God was merely another species, presiding over a ceremony.

This time, a genuinely offended god might actually show up.

Oh wait, now that I think about it… that’s great, actually.

It was a rather tempting proposition, but any rational intellectual ought to decline.

“I’m honored by the offer, but I haven’t been officially appointed yet, so…”

The Pope would have heard about Nox’s failure too, making it a fitting excuse.

But the Pope merely shrugged as if it were no matter at all.

“All that matters is that you are one whom God personally watches over. What importance could the opinion of a mere mortal hold?”

Translated, it was a barbed remark meaning the Emperor’s opinion was entirely irrelevant.

Unable to find another suitable excuse, Cecilia answered with an awkward smile instead.

But the Pope either took that smile as a sign of assent — or decided to take it as one — and began striding ahead on his own.

“I must share this wonderful news with everyone at once!”

“What? Right now?”

“Yes, let’s go to the main prayer room together. The congregation’s service should be ending right about now.”

“Um, Your Holiness?”

“I can already imagine how delighted the faithful will be.”

“Your Holiness!”

Panicking, Cecilia grabbed the hem of his robes.

“Saintess?”

“Oh, it’s just…”

I’m losing my mind.

No matter how warmly he treated her, this was the Pope.

Scrambling for a way to smooth over the discourtesy, Cecilia thrust out the notebook that had been in her hand this whole time.

“This! I found it under the dais!”

“This is…”

“Does it belong to Your Holiness?”

“…You don’t know what this is, Saintess?”

“This notebook?”

The Pope’s expression as he looked down at the notebook was inscrutable.

It looks like an ordinary stack of old paper. Could it actually be something important?

As she stared at him quizzically, the Pope carefully took the bundle of papers.

“This isn’t just a notebook. It’s a diary.”

Good heavens. Not just any notebook — it was His Holiness the Pope’s personal diary.

If she’d seen even a single page, it could have been a disaster.

Cecilia hastily clarified.

“I didn’t open it at all, so don’t worry!”

His Holiness the Pope, the very embodiment of mercy, took her claim at face value.

Without another word, he slipped the diary into his long sleeve and casually turned away.

“Now then, let’s be off to the main prayer room!”

Hadn’t he forgotten about that…?

Cecilia stared blankly at the Pope’s retreating back, then trudged after him.

I’m screwed.

In truth, reciting a prayer she didn’t mean a word of in front of a crowd was no problem at all.

The problem was what came after.

Right after the Marquis had told her to attend the Relief Festival, she’d looked up records of past events.

According to those records, at the end of the opening ceremony, the “Messenger of God” was to kindle a sacred flame upon the altar.

A flame conjured with holy power.

How was she supposed to do that?

Cecilia came to a halt beneath the building across from the main prayer room and watched in dazed disbelief as the faithful poured out behind the Pope.

She could picture it clearly — all those people with shining eyes chanting her name while she broke into a cold sweat, unable to produce a shred of holy power.

“Saintess!”

“Lady Cecilia!”

Right, they’ll be cheering like this, and… hm?

Amid the voices calling out, she caught one that sounded familiar.

Poking out from the crowd of faithful was a familiar robe.

That towering height, that awkwardly hunched back — unmistakably Rien.

…What are you doing here?

He was supposed to be home, keeping watch. Why on earth was he here…?

That was when it happened.

“Cecilia!”

Rien, face gone white, shoved through the crowd and cried out desperately.

“Get out of the way!”

What?

That instant.

CRASH!

A sharp, splintering crack pierced her ears.

Cecilia reflexively looked up.

Above her head, stained glass was shattering into a thousand pieces, raining down like a storm.