The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 41

Scanning the houses listed on the invitation envelopes, she found most belonged to the Emperor’s faction.

‘They want to gawk at me like a monkey in a zoo.’

Perhaps they even intended to humiliate the face of the Holy Temple, or break her spirit.

‘Well, I’m not going anyway.’

Cecilia flipped through the invitations with cool indifference.

She had no desire to throw herself into the middle of a power struggle, and more importantly, she needed to protect herself when she never knew what danger might come next.

But near the very last one, her hand stopped with a jolt.

A black envelope trimmed in gold, its ornamentation unmistakably familiar.

‘No way.’

Cecilia tore it open and checked the sender.

As expected, it had come from the Imperial House, but the sender was not the Emperor.

The one who had invited her was ‘Regina Hill Rishatria.’

The sole princess of the Rishatria Empire.

Cecilia recalled the information on the Imperial House she had gathered before departing for the capital.

The Emperor had two children: a princess and a prince.

Of the two, the Princess was said to take after the current Emperor — brilliant and exceptional — but born with a frail constitution.

Because of that, most speculated the next successor would not be the Princess but the Prince.

‘So why would someone like that want me?’

They had no connection whatsoever, and since they would see each other at the banquet soon enough, there was no reason to invite her privately. She couldn’t begin to guess the Princess’s intentions.

‘Times like this, I wish Rien were here.’

Setting aside the trust issue, his guidance and opinions would be quite useful.

But she quickly shook the thought away.

‘I’ll just ask the butler.’

Having reached her conclusion, Cecilia left the room with the invitation still in hand.

The estate seemed somehow quieter than usual. She had nearly reached the bottom of the main staircase.

That was when she spotted a lone figure standing stock-still near the entrance.

The identity of the suspicious man draped in a grimy robe — who had entered the estate without the knights stopping him — was easy enough to guess.

Cecilia approached him slowly as he stood unmoving.

“Rien? Did you just get back?”

“I’m home, Lady Cecilia.”

“Where on earth have you been all this time, and what have you been—”

Where had he been, what had he been doing that he’d vanished without a trace? That was what she’d meant to demand.

Cecilia stopped mid-sentence. Beneath the robe, his face was deathly pale.

Cold sweat beaded on his skin, and her heart plummeted.

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

She fumbled forward and pushed back the hood of his robe. Under the light, raw red scratches covered his cheeks, the corners of his eyes, and down his neck — none of them fully healed.

“What happened to you? Did you get in a fight? Don’t tell me someone hit you?”

As she ran her fingers haltingly along his jaw, examining the damage, the corners of his mouth curved up in a faint, weary smile.

“…You’re smiling right now?”

“Because I’m happy. That you’re worried about me. That you’re touching me without hesitation.”

I’m so, so happy.

Rien murmured softly and pressed his cheek into her palm.

The movement was harmless, like a young, fragile animal — but Cecilia flinched and drew her hand back. His body temperature was shockingly cold. Like a corpse.

But he seemed to take it as rejection, correcting himself in a bleak tone.

“That came out wrong. It’s just… your hand is warm. That’s all it is, so…”

Watching him gauge her reaction even while in pain drove something sharp and pointed into her chest, pricking again and again.

Heart heavy, Cecilia finally withdrew her hand entirely.

Stripped of that useless source of warmth, Rien looked as forlorn as a puppy rejected by its owner.

Cecilia curled her fist tight around the lingering softness in her palm. She swallowed the sigh rising in her throat and dropped her troubled gaze to the floor.

“…”

“…”

The uncomfortable silence didn’t last long. He called her name, his voice thick and hoarse.

“Lady Cecilia.”

“…Yes?”

“Have I done something wrong?”

She’d been trying so hard not to let her suspicion show, keeping her distance as much as possible. But that very effort had apparently made him notice the strange gap, the discomfort between them.

Barely able to hold himself upright, he clutched at her sleeve as if clinging to her.

“No — I must have done something stupid again.”

“…”

“Just tell me and I’ll fix it, whatever it is. So please…!”

His unsteady desperation made her lips part uselessly, then close again.

What could she say? That she suspected he was the one trying to kill her? That she could no longer trust even the emotions he showed her? That despite all of it, she kept caring like this, kept wanting to reach out, until her head was nothing but mud?

She couldn’t voice a single one.

Cecilia steered the conversation away, forcing calm into her tone.

“You haven’t done anything wrong. Come on — we shouldn’t be standing here. Let’s get you to your room.”

He looked ready to collapse at any moment; she needed to get him lying down. In her urgency, she didn’t call for the knights or servants — she supported Rien herself.

She guided him, moving far slower than usual, to the guest room assigned to him.

She sat him on the bed, which carried a slight chill from never having been used.

Before he lay down, she reached to help him out of his robe — but he shook his head slightly, looking even more dejected than before.

“You’ve helped enough. I’ll be fine after some sleep. So please, you don’t need to trouble yourself.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

He couldn’t even undress on his own, and he was saying this?

His condition was worse than she’d guessed.

His lips were pressed tight and tinged blue. His broad shoulders shook like an aspen in a storm. His chest heaved roughly, nothing about it stable.

‘Should I call Sir Miguel?’

Miguel’s considerable holy power might be able to improve Rien’s condition quickly.

‘No — holy power might be harmful to a mage’s body.’

They were fundamentally different forces, she’d been told, so rather than harmonizing, it could make things worse. And even setting that aside, in Rien’s current state, his identity would be exposed to Miguel.

‘Then I wouldn’t be able to keep him near me anymore.’

‘…Ridiculous.’

She couldn’t trust him, she was pushing him away — so why was she worrying about something like that?

The contradiction in herself was enough to make her sick. Cecilia smiled bitterly, then quickly shook off the stray thoughts.

For now, she’d at least call a doctor.

“Just hold on. I’ll bring a doctor.”

Cecilia turned to go. But before she could take a single step, fingers caught gently at her sleeve.

“I’m truly fine. It’s nothing serious — I can recover on my own.”

“Nothing serious? Look in a mirror before you say that!”

A surge of anger she couldn’t explain burst out of her.

She didn’t like how he’d gone quiet and deflated from the moment she’d avoided his question. She didn’t like how he pretended to be fine when he could barely hold himself together.

No — what truly frustrated her wasn’t any of that.

Why was he suspicious? Why did she have to suspect him? And why did that grate on her at every single turn?

Cecilia’s brow twisted darkly, and he faltered like a child caught in a terrible wrongdoing before finally confessing.

“No doctor, no healing mage, no cleric would be able to help me anyway.”

“Why? Is something seriously wrong? Are you saying you can’t be healed?”

“No, it’s not that… Sometimes, when I overuse magic, I end up bedridden like this. Until my mana returns, no treatment will help.”

If even the Magic Tower Master was bedridden — what kind of magic had he used, and why?

The questions surged to her throat, but she swallowed them in the end.

‘What am I going to do, interrogate a sick person?’

With a deep sigh, Cecilia trudged toward the door. And instead of storming out in anger, she called for a nearby servant.

For his sake, as he trembled down to his lips, she had the fireplace lit despite the season, and asked for warm water and painkillers to be brought.

After getting him to take the medicine, she wrestled his robe off with some effort and tucked the thick blanket snugly up to his neck.

“Rest for now.”

But even at her command-like instruction, Rien couldn’t close his eyes. He tracked her every movement with a stubborn, relentless gaze.

Afraid she would leave his side. Afraid she would abandon him.

He couldn’t even hide that anxiety. In the end, Cecilia dragged a chair to his bedside and dropped into it.

“I’m not going anywhere, so rest. Please.”

“…Okay.”

Only then did his eyelids drift shut. He must have been pushing himself after all — he fell asleep instantly, as if he’d lost consciousness.

Cecilia carefully blotted the cold sweat from his skin with a towel dampened in warm water.

‘What happened to him?’

What on earth did he do out there? What was he, really? Could whatever had left him like this be connected to her situation?

His long absence without explanation, his precarious state now — all of it was suspicious beyond measure. And yet if what she felt was not wariness but pity… what was she supposed to do?

She kept posing questions with no answers, gazing down at Rien as he slept.

The flickering crimson of the fireplace. Wrapped half in that sunset-colored glow, he looked as lonely as someone left utterly alone in the world. No — he simply looked pitiful.

The hair plastered to his forehead with cold sweat. The bridge of his nose creased in pain. The faint groans swallowed down his throat. And…

“…Don’t throw me away.”

The plea that slipped through his dry, parted lips, barely more than a dying ember.

Cecilia, who had been watching with a troubled heart, finally let her expression crumble around the eyes.

“…What exactly do you want from me?”

The hollow murmur left her lips, but still no answer came.