The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 34

Physically speaking, the lake was extraordinarily deep, so it couldn’t have been something like striking a reef. Yet water rushed in faster and faster through the warped planks.

To make matters worse, the ferryboat — which had been moving on its own as if fitted with a motor — refused to budge.

She’d been celebrating the successful completion of the ceremony just moments ago. What in the world was happening?

As God’s word promised, happiness was never far away. It was f*cking far away.

Panic bleached her mind white. The water had risen past her soles and was now swallowing her ankles, but Cecilia forced herself to stay calm.

‘Stay composed. My feet definitely touched the bottom.’

Even if she went under like this, the surface would only come up to her chest at most. She’d waded into the lake ahead of time precisely for a situation like this.

Granted, it was a problem that the ceremony’s conclusion would be a complete disaster — but her life, at least, shouldn’t be in danger.

Knowing that didn’t stop the goosebumps from rising as the frigid lake water crept higher against her skin. Her body went rigid, and a nameless dread spread through her like wildfire.

And bad premonitions never missed their mark.

The ferryboat sank helplessly, and the water rose past her legs. The plunge came in an instant.

Contrary to her expectation that it would stop at her chest, her feet found nothing no matter how desperately she kicked.

In the end, Cecilia — tangled in waterlogged, heavy robes — sank beneath the surface. Endlessly, endlessly down.

The thunderous cheers that had erupted at the blazing sacred flame lasted only a moment.

When the Saintess and the ferryboat carrying her came to a dead stop in the middle of the lake, the cheering gradually faded. Not because anyone sensed something was wrong.

Even as she remained motionless — even as the ferryboat appeared to be slowly sinking — the majority still watched her with shining eyes.

Because she was the ‘Saintess,’ beloved by God.

In a ceremony giving thanks to God, not a single soul suspected that anything bad could befall the Saintess.

But when the ferryboat finally submerged entirely and the Saintess vanished beneath the water to the top of her head, confusion erupted.

“What? Was there a ritual like this last year?”

“Maybe it’s something new? But… she’s been under too long. Don’t tell me she actually fell in…”

“Oh, come on, don’t be ridiculous! That’s a sacred lake — not just the Saintess, even an ordinary priest can’t drown in it.”

“W-well, that’s true, but…”

The man fell silent, unable to argue back, his expression uneasy. Yet even as more time passed, the surface remained perfectly still.

Quiet. As if it had never swallowed anyone at all.

Meanwhile, Cecilia thrashed beneath the water, forcing down the terror clawing up her throat. But in those cumbersome ceremonial garments, with a body as frail as they came, swimming was simply impossible.

‘Calm down. Think.’

She could hold her breath for a minute, maybe two at best. She’d gone under in the dead center of the lake, far from shore.

Could the knights reach her in time? No — could they even swim in this sacred lake in the first place?

She couldn’t simply wait for rescue that might never come. Cecilia made her decision fast and kept her mind racing.

What surfaced was her holy power — the force that had saved her life multiple times before. She didn’t know whether a power that had only seemed to strengthen her body could actually help against suffocation or drowning, but the situation was dire enough to stake everything on that uncharted force.

Cecilia frantically tried to ignite her holy power. But it was as though her vessels were completely blocked — manifesting it at all was a struggle. Even when she managed a faint glow, it guttered out like embers doused in water.

Finally, the last of her air ran out, and freezing water poured in through her nose and mouth.

Gkh!

Bubbles boiled up around her face as she writhed in agony.

This was it. The moment she gave in.

A blurry shape entered her vision. One that was drawing closer.

It was Sir Miguel — armor cast aside, cutting swiftly through the water toward her.

‘I’m saved!’

The relief lasted only a heartbeat.

The knight reached the level above her head but came no deeper. No — he couldn’t.

Because this was a lake with a bottom only for the clergy. A special, sacred lake.

In other words, the very grace God had bestowed was now the thing keeping Sir Miguel from reaching her.

She could see him flipping his body downward, stretching his arm out desperately — but Cecilia’s body only continued to sink.

‘If I could just… reach that hand…’

Please. Please.

‘Move, body — or come out, holy power — just do something!’

The moment she wished with every shred of desperation she had, thrashing—

Crack — something shattered, her body went light, and her feet grazed something solid. Cecilia, barely free of the cumbersome cloak, kicked upward toward the surface.

At the very last second before her limit, she caught the knight’s hand.

What followed was Miguel’s burden to carry. Cecilia’s body broke the surface in one swift pull and was guided to shore.

“Saintess! Are you all right?!”

Miguel’s urgent voice echoed, ringing hollow in her ears.

“Gkh!“

Cecilia, dragged from the lake more dead than alive, retched up the water she’d swallowed. Her body shook uncontrollably as her temperature plummeted, air flooding back into her lungs and airway.

She’d nearly died.

A surge of crisis and terror hit her — something she hadn’t felt when the glass pane shattered overhead, or when the axe nearly took her head. It crashed over her all at once.

Was it this brutal pain scraping along her bronchi? Gasping breath after ragged breath, Cecilia kept thinking through a mind going white.

This was no accident. It couldn’t be an accident.

The ferryboat she’d inspected days ago hadn’t had a single flaw, and the water had only come to her chest. The structure made it impossible to drown.

‘Who… who is it?’

Who was trying to kill ‘Cecilia Weberdin’? No — was it ‘me’ they were trying to kill?

With blurred vision she desperately scanned her surroundings.

People. People. People.

The surging crowd made it impossible to examine each face.

Between the priests holding back the faithful — the archbishop, ashen-faced; Nox, shouting something; the Pope, abandoning all dignity as his ceremonial robes billowed behind him; the Marquis, crying out her name in horror; and Rien, drenched head to toe for reasons she couldn’t fathom.

The moment she confirmed them, her vision went black.

When Cecilia regained consciousness, she was in her room inside the Weberdin estate.

The familiar ceiling. The bed whose texture she knew. A warm, comforting scent. While her still-dulled senses groped at these things, what reached her ears was nothing but sharp, rigid voices.

“Nox Weberdin. Don’t you dare call this one a coincidence too.”

“……”

“I told you during the glass incident — it’s clearly the Dillanché’s doing! If a proper investigation had been conducted then, this never would have happened!”

“……I’m sorry.”

The rising voice made Cecilia turn her head to the side, slow and heavy. In that charged atmosphere, the Marquis — his expression frozen cold — was rebuking Nox severely.

Nox offered no real rebuttal against the Marquis’s accusations, his lips pressed tightly shut. Judging by that, the incident had clearly shaken him badly as well.

“And what does the Temple have to say? Evidence — no, what about the culprit? Did they find even a trace?”

“The area was so packed with people that they couldn’t identify the culprit. However… they say traces of magic were found.”

‘…What?’

The news jolted her fully awake. She parted her dry lips.

“Magic?”

“Cecilia!”

Contrary to her urgency, what came out was a faint rasp from a badly cracked throat. Even so, the Marquis caught her voice and rushed to her bedside.

“Are you all right? Does anything feel wrong?”

His rough palm pressed against her forehead. Like his touch — anxious yet careful — the Marquis wore an expression tangled between relief and worry.

Cecilia gripped her throat with one hand against the faint pain there, and spoke again.

“I’m fine now. More importantly — what was that you were just saying?”

“Several of the archbishop-level clergy sensed traces of magic at the time of the incident.”

The one who answered was Nox, standing motionless behind the Marquis. His face was shadowed with guilt for some reason as he added, voice drained:

“It was so brief they can’t be certain. They’ll probably need to investigate further.”

‘Magic,’ she repeated.

Still dazed, she turned that single word over slowly — until a crucial fact surfaced.

She’d lost consciousness the moment she was pulled from the lake. Which meant…

‘The Relief Festival — what happened to the ceremony?’

“What happened with the Relief Festival?”

“…His Holiness the Pope wrapped things up properly.”

That faint pause before his answer. The way his gaze slid just slightly off to the side. Everything proved Nox was lying.

‘Of course.’

The so-called Saintess who’d presided over the ceremony had plunged into the Grand Temple’s sacred lake in full view of everyone. Hundreds — thousands — had witnessed it.

The days of effort, reduced to nothing. The bitter taste filled her mouth unbidden.

“You just focus on recovering for now. Don’t worry about anything else…”

That was the moment she spotted the newspaper, crumpled and discarded at the feet of Nox and the Marquis.

‘What’s that?’

Cecilia forced her heavy arm down and picked it up. Nox startled and lunged to snatch it away.

“W-wait!”

But her eyes were faster than his hand, already scanning the headline.