The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 28

It was Miguel, the holy knight who had been silently guarding her back.

“Sir Miguel!”

“Rest assured. As you can see, the faithful find solid ground beneath them.”

Despite her startled cry, the water barely rose past Sir Miguel’s waist. The bottom had been completely invisible, yet those with holy power truly didn’t sink.

But she wasn’t the real Cecilia, and her holy power flickered on and off. Would it really work for her?

As she stared gravely down at the lake — the pinnacle of anti-science — a wet hand thrust into her field of vision.

“If you’re still uneasy, would you like to confirm for yourself?”

“Ah, well…”

“I’ll hold on to you. I won’t let go, so please don’t worry.”

Cecilia gazed blankly down at the holy knight submerged in the beautiful lake.

Clean droplets tracing the line of his sharp jaw. The fabric clinging to his arms, accentuating them. A rather resolute look in his eyes, as if recalling the earlier accident. And finally, that gentle smile surfacing on his usually impassive face.

The moment she grasped his large, firm hand as though by force majeure.

From somewhere came the sound of teeth grinding. Cecilia whipped her head around to scan the area, but the only ones here were the archbishop and a few of his assisting priests, plus Sena and Riri waiting several steps away.

‘What was that? Did I mishear?’

Cocking her head in confusion, Cecilia eventually dipped her toes into the water. She couldn’t understand the principle, nor did she want to, but she assumed she’d sink to waist level like the rest.

The instant she submerged her other leg, the bottom dropped away.

“Ah!”

Firm hands caught her waist as she lost her balance in shock.

“Are you all right?”

The soft voice at her ear finally calmed her, and Cecilia righted herself. Even after Miguel’s hands fell away, the surface only came up to about her chest.

“Are your doubts resolved now?”

As if he’d been waiting, an irritating voice dropped from above her head. Was it her own insecurity, or did she catch a hint of mockery in the perpetually hollow eyes of that priest?

She parted her lips to retort, but his attack was faster.

“Your clothes are soaked, though, so you’ll need to change right away.”

“What?”

“Perfect timing, actually. The alterations on your ceremonial robes are complete.”

Those perpetually dry lips were twisted with something meaningful. Only then did Cecilia realize that suggesting she enter the water had been part of Kiar’s grand plan all along.

“Shall we go for your fitting, then?”

Sadly, by the time she’d caught on, it was already over.

‘I should escape after all.’

On the ninety-ninth repetition of that same thought, Cecilia finally reached her decision.

She had endured kneeling for hours to recite prayers. She had endured reading records until her eyes nearly fell out. She had endured listening to endless explanations droning on through beautiful weather.

But this — the hard labor of changing into ceremonial robes dozens of times over!

This was entirely the fault of the robe-obsessed archbishop.

The robes all looked nearly identical, and she genuinely could not tell what was different between them.

In the end, Cecilia lost her patience and flung the newest set of robes to the floor.

“I really can’t do this anymore!”

If they were going to put her through manual labor, they could at least feed her! He clearly had no idea how physically draining it was to keep changing clothes.

The headpiece alone was so heavy it felt like her neck would snap, and the trailing cloak crushed her shoulders until she thought she’d pass out.

“At this rate I’ll be at God’s side before the ceremony even starts!”

When she burst out, the archbishop clicked his tongue softly and corrected her.

“I’ll be going to God first.”

‘Who’s competing over something like that!’

Irritation surged, but she no longer had the energy to express it.

Kiar glanced down at the silent Cecilia, then let out a deep sigh.

“Can’t be helped. Your stamina seems to have dropped, so I’ll bring some holy water at least.”

What? Holy water?

He’d bloat her stomach with holy water that was barely different from plain water, then force her back into this hellish ordeal. She was sure of it.

“No, don’t!”

Cecilia lunged desperately, but couldn’t reach even the hem of the archbishop’s garment, let alone his shadow.

Click.

She stared at the closed door in blank despair.

As thick despair settled over the room, the clerics who’d been assisting her began slinking away one by one.

“I, I forgot to bring the shoes.”

“R-right! I’ll go fetch them before His Excellency the Archbishop returns!”

In the end, the only ones left in the room were Cecilia, who had neither the strength nor the will to move, and Miguel, duty-bound to stay by her side.

Normally she’d have squirmed in the awkward silence, but she had no room to care about that now.

Cecilia dragged her heavy body onto the stiff sofa and collapsed in a heap.

‘God, I want something spicy and greasy.’

The moment she thought of the tteokbokki and braised back ribs she used to order so easily when stressed, she felt tears prickling with self-pity.

‘Did I sell out my country in a past life?’

Otherwise, there was no reason she should end up like this when she’d done nothing wrong.

If only she hadn’t transmigrated into this world that might not even be real. If only Cecilia hadn’t turned out not to be the saintess. No — if only the Pope hadn’t proposed doing the ceremony together!

Over the past week, rather than reverence for God, only resentment had accumulated. Cecilia muttered darkly.

“Don’t tell me he dumped the ceremony on me because he didn’t want to fast.”

“If you’re referring to His Holiness, he too is purifying his body.”

“Really? Then why haven’t I seen hide nor hair of him?”

At her sharpened tone, Miguel blinked in bewilderment.

True to form, the Vice-Commander quickly regained his composure and answered evenly.

“He is currently staying in the treatment room, personally bestowing God’s grace upon lay believers in need of healing.”

‘He’s doing charity work when just breathing must be exhausting enough to kill him?’

Cecilia was struck speechless.

It was conduct befitting the character people praised until their lips wore thin.

‘Right. Whining isn’t going to solve anything.’

If even the Pope, the highest authority in the Holy Temple, was fasting, a mere provisional saintess could hardly throw a tantrum demanding food.

She was reluctantly, shakily pushing herself upright when—

A young trainee cleric came looking for Miguel, beaming brightly.

“Vice-Commander, your meal is ready! Allow me to escort you to the dining—”

Of all times, to announce mealtime.

Belatedly sensing the chilled atmosphere, the cleric trailed off.

“…Should I not?”

“That’s fine, go ahead.”

Miguel, who had been gauging Cecilia’s reaction alongside the cleric, gave a stiff nod.

“Just go. It happens to be lunchtime anyway.”

“No. I can manage skipping one meal.”

“You’ll lose muscle mass.”

“Pardon?”

“Forget it, just eat my share too.”

She knew well that sharing pain didn’t halve it — it only added to it.

Cecilia jerked her chin toward the door and flopped back down.

She’d said all that, so she assumed he’d leave obediently.

But the heavy footsteps didn’t recede. They drew closer instead.

In the end, it seemed the knight couldn’t shake his sympathy and had chosen to share in her suffering.

He knelt on one knee before the sofa and carefully parted his lips.

“Shall I carry you to your room?”

“No.”

Honestly, it was a tempting offer. She could flee before the demonic archbishop returned loaded with holy water.

But she wasn’t a child ignorant of her duties. No matter how many hundreds of times she agonized over wanting to run, she’d stay right here in the end.

So the best she could do was conserve what little energy she had.

She was settling into a steady rhythm of breathing when something brushed against her hair.

Cecilia snapped her eyes open. Miguel had approached without a sound and was carefully tucking a stray lock of hair away from her face.

When their eyes met at close range — his a vivid blue — he flinched and pulled back.

“I’m sorry. You looked uncomfortable…”

His flustered reaction only made her calmer.

“I’ve wanted to say this for a while — you don’t have to be so formal with me. I’m not His Holiness the Pope, and even if they call me a saintess, I’m still just a fake.”

“You are not a fake.”

Miguel clenched the hand that had touched her hair and declared it firmly.

Cecilia opened and closed her mouth several times before finally pressing her lips shut.

Under that unwavering gaze — whether it was admiration or faith, she couldn’t tell — she felt like the most noble person in the world.

“To me, the Saintess is—”

BANG!

An intimate sentence shattered in an instant. The peculiar atmosphere scattered at a stroke.

“Saintess!”

The one who burst in loudly was none other than Riri. The archbishop had asked Riri and Sena to take her wet clothes to the laundry — yet here Riri was, breathing hard as though having rushed back.

More than anything, it was the first time the normally quiet Riri had raised their voice this much. Startled, Cecilia bolted upright from her sprawled position.

“What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

Patter-patter-patter — the child rushed over, wedged between Miguel and Cecilia, and clutched tightly at her clothing.

“I-it’s not that, it’s just… a, a visitor came, and…”

Before the child could finish, a familiar voice sprang through the wide-open door.