The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 37

“I, uh, it’s nothing much, but I brought something along. If it’s okay, would you accept it?”

“What on earth…”

“Potions that boost stamina one by one, a potion to help with deep sleep, one to aid with post-traumatic symptoms. Also, this…”

“Wait a moment. What is all this?”

“These are potions I made myself. I know you have plenty of holy water already, but I thought maybe they could help.”

He bowed awkwardly, then spilled out the rest of the potions in a clattering heap.

“This is way too much.”

Even a single regular potion would be extraordinarily valuable, let alone these — potions personally made by the Magic Tower Master. And in such quantities.

On top of that, wasn’t she currently suspecting him?

Crushed by guilt and the burden, she rejected them. Rien fidgeted, loosening his lips reluctantly.

“Whenever I worry about you, Cecilia, I just can’t stay still. So I started making them one by one… If you don’t need any, you can just throw them away.”

Instead of replying, Cecilia bit her lower lip.

A person’s feelings aren’t conveyed by words alone.

Actions, gestures, eyes.

Since she didn’t accuse him, he didn’t plead his innocence or protest his unfairness. Yet in the steps he took closer, the hand that reached out then clenched back, the sorrowful look in his eyes — he was telling her his innocence without a word.

“No matter how I think about it, there’s no way that’s an act.”

Yet even acknowledging that, she couldn’t smile back like before, nor reach out openly to hold his hand.

Reason and emotion drew their swords and fought to the death. Amid that chaos, Cecilia silently watched the glass bottles almost spilling over on the table and the wrinkled fold of his robe as he gripped it.

Only after a long silence did their eyes meet — those violet eyes shaded beneath the robe.

‘Rien, were you trying to kill me?’

If she spoke that simple sentence now, what would his expression be? What answer would he give?

But through parted lips came only a single empty word…

“Thank you.”

Though she never used a single one of the colorful potions lined up in a row on the bookshelf, she steadily recovered until she soon regained perfect condition.

The only thing that didn’t come back was the changed attitude of those around her. Perhaps due to those scandalous newspapers, everyone from the servants to even Nox spoke and acted cautiously around Cecilia.

Already living under overprotection, Cecilia was now treated like a fragile snowflake who could melt with a breath.

Even if she tried to be cheerful, playing the role of a doomed young lady swallowing her pain, Cecilia gave up trying to persuade anyone. The situation was too bad to keep pretending she was fine.

And so the uncomfortable luncheon began.

Arriving last, Cecilia sat in the Marquis’s left seat.

“Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries, you must be hungry, let’s eat.”

“…Yes.”

Their faces behind the appetizers looked drained.

She had heard Nox took charge of the investigation at the Holy Temple while she convalesced in the mansion. The Marquis was busy cleaning up the mess from the ruined ritual.

Watching her family struggle so much over her affair unsettled Cecilia oddly.

‘Should I tell them everything?’

Her diary, past incidents, her theories — should she spill it all and ask for help?

But as she pondered deeply, she chose silence.

‘No.’

They hadn’t confirmed either the mastermind or the culprit yet. Also, since the real Cecilia had relied only on Charles, meaning Resti, and not on them, telling them probably wasn’t the best idea.

While she sorted her thoughts, Nox’s investigation report continued.

“So what happened with the magical traces you mentioned?”

“We investigated thoroughly with Archbishop Kiar, but the magic was so subtle we couldn’t track its type or location.”

‘Archbishop is still alive.’

Given how badly she’d ruined the ritual, she expected the divine would have claimed him already. Whether this news was fortunate or unfortunate, she couldn’t tell.

While she wasted time on such trivial thoughts, the Marquis’s mood sank so low it had fallen underground. The spoon in his hand flexed with a sharp crack.

“Then, did you catch whoever damaged the barge?”

“The barge sank to the bottom of the lake before we could retrieve it… We plan to salvage it, but since it was deliberately damaged, there’s no evidence or culprit. Finding the perpetrator is unlikely.”

Thud!

Silverware slammed violently onto the table.

“Why is there no evidence? Isn’t the very fact that magic was used to cause this accident proof that Dillanché did it?”

The maids carrying the main course froze at the head of house’s fury.

His anger over nearly losing his precious daughter twice was understandable.

But even if his claim was true, it was more likely just an opinion.

‘No matter how much the Grand Temple steps in, without evidence, it’s hard to challenge the Imperial House.’

A perfectly cooked salmon dish was set before Cecilia like it was someone else’s problem.

She poked at the fish flakes with her fork and subtly shifted the topic.

“Father, since the investigation is still ongoing and I’ve recovered, wouldn’t it be better for me to visit the Grand Temple myself?”

She knew public opinion was poor toward her now. But since she’d effectively stained the Grand Temple’s reputation, shouldn’t she offer an apology in person?

Maybe her involvement would even help uncover a clue.

But the answer was firm.

“I regularly visit the Temple on your behalf. If there’s anything you need, just tell me.”

“No, I should apologize to His Holiness the Pope or other priests myself, and help with the investigation…”

“You’re still not fully recovered. We’ll handle it — we want you to take care of yourself.”

With the Marquis and Nox both gently cutting her off, Cecilia quietly shut her mouth. She read the unease and difficulty beneath their awkward tones.

The realization came swiftly.

‘Ah, even within the Grand Temple, some must be looking down on Cecilia now.’

The senior priests testified to sensing magical traces, so even if no one voiced it openly, some doubt must exist. The accident’s location was the problem.

That a cleric with even an ounce of holy power nearly drowned in the lake was no trivial matter — it could call into question the Saintess’s very qualifications.

Cecilia set down the knife she hadn’t even used to cut her food.

‘What now?’

‘Me’ doesn’t have to be a Saintess, but ‘Cecilia,’ who’s lived as one, cannot.

Her diary showed she had doubts about life as a Saintess, but that didn’t mean everything she’d built up should be torn down overnight.

So to restore Cecilia’s reputation, she had to be officially acknowledged as a ‘Saintess.’

More than that, bearing the title would let her verify the things she needed to — the dreams and experiences recorded in God’s records, and maybe a way home.

She would have no choice but to go to the capital — for both Cecilia and herself.

As if confirming this path, the Marquis handed her a letter.

A luxurious black envelope sealed with gold wax and a lion’s stamp.

“Take a look.”

“This… is a letter for me?”

“Yes. It arrived from the Imperial House just after the Relief Festival.”

If the sender was the Emperor, she didn’t even need to read it to guess.

“It must be about approval.”

“It’s an invitation. Finally, they plan to name an heir and want a prospective Saintess to attend.”

Whether that pretext was true or not, the hidden meaning was clear.

House Weberdin and the Grand Temple’s treasures — Cecilia was being summoned to the capital.

After roughly reading the standard invitation, Cecilia replied plainly.

“I planned to go to the capital after the Relief Festival to get approval anyway, so this actually works out.”

But the Marquis’s view differed.

“No. After all that has happened, even the safest place like the Grand Temple saw an accident. We should decline this invitation and postpone the trip to the capital until next year.”

“…Postpone?”

“Yes, approval isn’t urgent. It’s not too late to go once the culprit is caught.”

The Marquis must be just as troubled by the situation as she was. Does he not care about the ruined reputation?

Actually, the criticism calling her a fake Saintess was mostly from a publisher influenced by the Imperial House. Most people had yet to move past suspicion.

Still, as long as the label ‘unapproved Saintess’ stuck, the gossip wouldn’t stop.

So no matter what she thought, going to the capital soon to get approval was the right thing.

Even if the place wasn’t safe.

Wait.

‘Could this have been the plan all along?’

Had the accident been staged to force her to come to the capital to get ‘approval’?