The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 17

“Archbishop, I mean, Priest. She is the saintess.”

It was a sort of warning not to cross the line since the other party was the saintess. Now that she thought about it, Sir Miguel had come along precisely to keep this man in check.

“Looks like I’ve botched things again. Sir, could you lend me that sword at your waist?”

“No. Archbishop, I mean, Priest.”

‘Did Sir Miguel just say archbishop?’

Seriously, the more she listened.

When he’d mumbled up to “Archbi” and stopped, she’d tried to pretend she hadn’t heard, but wasn’t this too much?

The fact that Miguel, Vice-Commander of the Holy Knight Order, was treating this man with deference, the fact that he insisted the ridiculous rope was a measuring tape, and above all, the fact that a male tailor had come to take measurements for a woman.

There was only one answer that could explain this absurd situation.

Just as she’d suspected, the man before her wasn’t some ordinary tailor from the Holy Temple, but in fact an archbishop.

Cecilia looked incredulously at the two men who weren’t even trying to hide their positions.

“If I heard correctly, Sir Kiar is not a tailor or an ordinary priest, but an archbishop?”

Though she already knew the answer full well, when she asked, the man slowly raised his head to meet her gaze.

With deeply sunken eyes, the man muttered gloomily.

“Do you know the saying that those loved by God return to God’s embrace early? If rank were proportional to the degree of God’s love, then yes, I am a human who deserves to die.”

To think someone with a high position in the Holy Temple could phrase it like that.

It was truly an awe-inspiring ability.

While she was left speechless, Sir Miguel bowed first.

“I apologize for the deception. As you said, Sir Kiar is one of the archbishops. Since he’s overseeing this Relief Festival, he came to meet the saintess who will be conducting the ceremony alongside His Holiness the Pope.”

“I see.”

Miguel hadn’t explained it, but she could guess why they’d kept his identity secret.

He must have been displeased that someone who wasn’t even an official saintess would be participating in a ceremony with His Holiness the Pope, and wanted to see firsthand what kind of mindset this person had.

The series of insane behaviors might have been an extension of that test.

“Then the ceremonial vestments were an excuse after all. Well, it would be too much for an archbishop to go through the motions of fitting my vestments…”

“Not going through the motions.”

“Pardon?”

“I really did come as a tailor. The vestments are important.”

“…Ah, yes.”

“The vestments are important.”

What the hell, that’s creepy. He said it twice.

She didn’t particularly want to know why a man with dead fish eyes was obsessed with vestments.

What was even more chilling was that his behavior up to now hadn’t been an act for the test.

‘I want to run away.’

Quite apart from her desperate desire to escape now that things had become a hundred times more burdensome, the fitting of the vestments proceeded quickly and smoothly.

She chose one from among the identically white and flowing dress designs, and had her height, arms, legs, hands, and feet measured.

‘Though I have no idea why they needed to measure my head circumference.’

She hadn’t done anything particularly taxing, yet she felt completely drained.

Quite unfairly exhausted all by herself, Cecilia muttered weakly.

“Is that it?”

‘Oh no.’

Cecilia hastily clamped her mouth shut.

To think she’d uttered a forbidden line similar to “Did I get it?”

It was a terrible law: if you muttered “Did I get it?” something you hadn’t gotten would appear, and if you muttered “Is that it?” it would be far from over.

No sooner had she realized this than the archbishop approached ominously like a final boss.

Then from within his unnecessarily voluminous robes, he set something down with a thunk.

“Archbishop…?”

“His Holiness the Pope asked me to deliver this.”

“What is it?”

“Part of the records documenting the Holy Temple’s rituals. You should read it by the Relief Festival.”

Cecilia gingerly lifted the book with her index finger as if touching something dreadful.

The letters were smaller than ant antennae, and it was a handwritten book in a barely legible script at that.

“You needn’t feel pressured. However, if you fail to finish reading it, His Holiness the Pope will be disappointed, fall ill with worry, become unable to participate in the ceremony, the Relief Festival won’t be able to start or conclude, and as the person in charge, I’ll be held responsible and ultimately hanged.”

“…”

“Anyway, that’s how it is, so I’m counting on you.”

‘I really wish the Holy Temple and the Pope and everything would just fuck off.’

Cecilia stared blankly down at the teacup that hadn’t decreased in the slightest.

Now she truly wanted to crack her own head open, in a different sense.

Cecilia Weberdin did not want to live diligently.

Not after grinding her body and soul through graduate school before transmigrating, and even less so after transmigrating and committing all sorts of insane acts to somehow get back home.

But these past few days, her daily life had been filled with the word “diligent.”

Though unintended, reading through the shit the archbishop had dumped on her, self-studying how to handle holy power, and attending etiquette lessons — there weren’t enough hours in the day.

Even as her stamina and patience were gradually worn down, what kept her going were “cute existences.”

For instance, Charles, who would knead her when she returned to her bedroom completely spent, or Rien, who still couldn’t hide his nerves during every dance lesson though one would think he’d be used to it by now.

“I’m sorry! I stepped on your foot again.”

“It’s fine. You’ve become much more skilled.”

Inside Rien’s estate, in the innermost room.

As they continued dancing to the music just like in their first lesson, Cecilia glanced at him apologetically.

Even though this was already the fifth time she’d stepped on his foot, Rien didn’t even grimace, only smiled kindly.

‘Focus.’

She resolved inwardly, but regaining her concentration once it had crumbled was quite difficult.

After spinning once following his lead, Cecilia ended up losing her balance completely.

“Ah!”

“Are you all right!”

The hand that had been resting lightly at her waist suddenly gripped firmly, and her small frame was tucked securely into his arms.

Though not exactly intentional, it was an opportune bit of physical contact.

“Sorry. I guess I’ve been overdoing it lately — I have no strength.”

Instead of pulling away, Cecilia acted weak and enjoyed a brief moment of healing.

The warmth of his body was nice, and though solid, the sense of security was like being wrapped in a blanket.

And best of all was his face visible when she tilted her head way back.

Features that were a pleasure to behold no matter when she looked.

As her time admiring him lengthened, Rien asked in a rather serious voice.

“Did you perhaps injure your ankle…?”

“No, I think my body’s just a bit shocked.”

“Still…”

He must have been quite worried, as his gaze wouldn’t leave her ankle.

Watching that naked tenderness, Cecilia suddenly reached out and lifted the edge of his hood slightly.

Whether from moving around indoors wearing his robes or for some other reason, the exposed skin was red as a petal.

“You don’t look so good yourself, you know? You look really hot.”

“This much is bearable.”

I doubt it.

Using her subjective judgment as an excuse, she pressed her lead-weight body against him.

Then asked in a suggestive voice.

“Would you dislike it if I took it off?”

As intended, the reaction came quickly.

The flush coloring his cheeks rapidly spread down to his neck.

“…I wouldn’t dislike it.”

Rien slowly shook his head.

Cecilia gladly pulled back his robes for her own selfish desires — no, for Rien who was overheating.

He really must have been hot, as his hair was slightly damp with sweat.

“Thank you.”

Rien swept back his disheveled hair and smiled shyly.

‘This is welfare, this is happiness.’

It was such a spectacular view that she might have been captivated even if Rien really were the trash from the rumors.

“…Um, Lady Cecilia?”

She’d only been standing there with her mouth closed, like losing oneself before magnificent nature or a work of art.

Rien seemed to have found a different reason for the prolonged lack of response or reaction.

“Are you feeling unwell after all? Should we end today’s lesson?”

“Mm, I am a bit tired.”

Since she couldn’t confess that she’d been absorbed in admiring his face, Cecilia nodded vaguely.

Her basic stamina wasn’t great, so being tired was also true.

When she readily agreed, Rien gently withdrew the hand that had been touching her.

He immediately fumbled inside his robes and produced a handkerchief, then carefully wiped away the light sheen of perspiration on her skin.

“Thank you. Give me the handkerchief. I’ll wash it and return it to you.”

“It’s fine.”

“What? But it’s dirty now…”

“It’s not dirty.”

Rien answered with unusual firmness, then added in a very small voice.

“…Rather, it’s better with your scent remaining…”

“What?”