The Nerd Next Door Turned Out To Be The Magic Tower Master [Novel] Chapter 50

A place steeped in the sweat and tears of knights. Yet one with which she had absolutely no connection: the training grounds.

At their center, Cecilia stood stock-still, a single gun clutched in her hands.

In an oversized men’s outfit, no less.

There was exactly one reason she found herself in this state, enduring this ordeal.

‘Damn that Emperor! I hope lightning strikes him right on the head!’

She knew the odds of lightning hitting a person were one in 280,000, and still she wished for it with all her heart.

‘Or just turn back time. Preferably to when I was face-to-face with the Emperor — no, to before the banquet even started.’

Clinging listlessly to an even more impossible wish, she cast her mind back to the banquet.

Rien had escorted her close to the hall before disappearing, and by the time she returned to the venue alone—

The Emperor, back on the dais, had begun a major announcement.

[It seems everyone has enjoyed the banquet well enough, so I wish to make one announcement.]

[……]

[That is… I shall be holding a hunting competition!]

So he’s finally declaring the succession? The faces of those who’d been expecting exactly that turned peculiar.

But the Emperor pressed on, unconcerned.

[Do you all recall the last hunting competition? The year before last, it was the Princess’s escort knight who won. Last year, the Prince’s swordsmanship instructor.]

‘A hunting competition, out of nowhere.’

She’d planned to get her approval the moment the succession announcement was over and bolt.

Having lost all interest, Cecilia was listlessly scanning the crowd for Miguel when the Emperor suddenly declared in a booming voice:

[I think I shall grant one wish to the winner of this hunting competition. Whatever it may be. Yes — even a wish that determines the future of this Empire.]

The meaning behind those loaded words was unmistakable.

He intended to invest the winner of this hunting competition as his successor.

[Since I’ve put up such a grand prize, I’m thinking of running this competition in teams. How does that strike everyone?]

The Emperor smiled thinly, but the atmosphere froze over in an instant.

‘Teams.’

If the team the Princess assembled won, the Princess would take it. If the Prince’s team won, the Prince would. Which meant all manner of dangerous sabotage was about to run rampant.

Immediately after the Emperor’s shocking declaration, the Princess’s face crumpled. The Prince’s expression was harder to read, but it clearly wasn’t a positive reaction.

And here — one person even more shocked than either the Princess or the Prince.

[Come see me as soon as the succession is decided. I’ll approve it on the spot. Though I would appreciate your attendance at the investiture ceremony.]

In other words, she had to attend the hunting competition that would decide the succession.

‘No wonder he agreed to the approval so readily! This was his game all along?’

‘And a hunting competition, of all things. He’s telling me to show up at that deathtrap?’

It wasn’t animals that would be hunted — it was the perfect setup for Cecilia herself to become prey.

[Ah, and since it might devolve into a numbers game, I’ll cap each team at five members. Furthermore, as in previous competitions, magic will be restricted.]

He was even limiting the number of knights.

‘He’s literally trying to get me killed this time.’

At this point, it was as good as the Emperor laying out the board and telling her to walk out and die.

And so — today, one week before the hastily arranged hunting competition.

She found herself holding a gun at the training grounds behind the estate.

Having been told she’d be attending the competition, a woman who had never used her body a day in her life could hardly start swinging a sword or drawing a bow overnight. The only weapon left to choose was the gun.

‘I suppose I should count myself lucky guns even exist here.’

As devastating as their firepower was, guns were rare weapons requiring imperial approval to obtain — yet it was hard to call them overwhelmingly superior to swords and bows.

The reason being, guns in this world had some absolutely fatal drawbacks.

‘Loading takes an ungodly amount of time, and one mistake during loading can make the thing explode.’

And that wasn’t all. After a single shot, the weapon became utterly useless.

It was even worse than what people commonly called old-fashioned muzzle-loading guns.

She was eyeing the long-barreled, heavy lump of iron with distaste when a voice even more displeased than she felt drifted down from above her head.

“I really do think you should reconsider.”

Miguel, in training clothes, was pinching the bridge of his nose.

He’d been voicing fierce opposition from the very moment she’d said she needed to prepare for the hunting competition.

“Using a gun is one thing, but the competition itself is dangerous. This isn’t the Holy Land or Weberdin — it’s the capital. You can’t know what threats might come.”

“I’m well aware. But there’s no choice. I’ve already made a promise to His Majesty.”

‘If I don’t attend, he won’t grant the approval.’

Cecilia — who wanted to go less than anyone — smiled bitterly.

“Besides, Sir, you know what my holy power is like! With defenses like mine, it won’t be easy for me to get hurt, right?”

When she forced herself to sound brave, Miguel finally raised the white flag.

“Then at least we should raise your offensive capability.”

A sigh escaped him, the worry still unshaken, yet he reached over and carefully rolled up the sleeves that hung past her hands.

“I expected they wouldn’t fit you since they’re mine, but the clothes really are too large… Shall I go buy new ones now?”

For a noblewoman, the only comfortable outdoor attire was essentially riding clothes, and since she hadn’t brought any, she’d already rushed an order to a designer.

Even the most practical maid’s outfit involved a skirt, so she’d had no choice but to borrow Sir Miguel’s training clothes.

But he was so large that the trouser hems dragged on the ground and the waistband had to be tied several times over, while the shirt swallowed her whole. She looked exactly like a child who’d stolen her father’s clothes.

Still, she’d insisted on this outfit because after so long in dresses, putting on trousers felt like coming back to life.

“They’re way too big, but they’re comfortable, so I like them.”

“Even so… I did wash them thoroughly, but since they’re something I wore, they seem far too unclean for you to—”

“Unclean? They smell wonderful. That clean, crisp scent you always carry, Sir.”

Cecilia buried her nose in the sleeve fabric and mumbled that.

Far from any trace of sweat, there was only a cool scent like forest trees.

‘Do good-looking people even have better natural scent?’

Lost in such idle thoughts, she belatedly noticed the strange silence.

“Sir Miguel?”

To her surprise, the area around Miguel’s cheeks had flushed red.

‘Oops — that was probably a bit too stimulating for our pure holy knight.’

It seemed the constant flirting she’d done trying to seduce Rien had become a reflex.

Miguel barely managed to compose himself, gave a small cough, and hurriedly changed the subject.

“Then let me start by showing you how to hold the gun.”

Cecilia awkwardly braced the stock against her shoulder and hooked her finger over the trigger, and a rough hand came to rest against her fingers.

Miguel adjusted each finger’s position, then moved to stand close behind her.

“A gun is a fearsome weapon — powerful enough to take prey’s life in a single shot — but the recoil is equally severe, making aiming itself difficult.”

“Okay.”

“So keep your feet shoulder-width apart, brace your shoulder firmly against the barrel like this, and… pardon me a moment.”

His solid chest pressed lightly against her back. In a posture that was practically an embrace, he locked the barrel’s position in place.

‘That feels a little too close.’

She couldn’t tell whether the growing stiffness in her shoulders was from the heavy gun or from Miguel.

“Remember this stance.”

A low voice fell near her ear, and Cecilia finally flinched, tucking her neck in like a startled bird.

‘Hazardous.’

Miguel was every bit as hazardous as Rien. In fact, where Rien’s actions were deliberate, Miguel’s were entirely unintentional — which arguably made him worse.

“Cecilia?”

“I-It’s nothing.”

‘Your life is on the line here — get it together!’

Cecilia scolded herself harshly and pulled her focus back.

After learning from Miguel how to load and aim, his rather rigorous side emerged and he immediately proposed live practice.

“Shall we try a shot at the target now?”

“Yes!”

A torso-sized target stood roughly ten meters away.

‘Bullseye is too much to ask, but let me at least clip the edge.’

She gripped the gun the way he’d taught her, corrected her stance, and set her finger on the trigger.

And pulled.

BANG!

An enormous report echoed as a cloud of gunpowder smoke burst outward.

The recoil was far worse than she’d expected, and Cecilia’s body pitched backward.

Thud!

Fortunate or not, Miguel had been standing behind her for precisely this eventuality — and the back of her head collided with his chest.

“Ow…”

“Are you all right?”

Panic-stricken, Cecilia tipped her head back without thinking.

And met the eyes of Miguel, who was looking down at her.

From very, very close.