Translator: Nox

My Nerdy Neighbor Is the Master of the Magic Tower

Chapter 16

Chapter 16

[The Relief Festival will be starting soon. The festivities among the commoners begin earlier than the official events, so merchants from all over tend to gather around this time.]

Cecilia recalled the geography of the Empire she had recently studied.

The Weberdin fief was located at the southwestern edge of the continent. Furthermore, as a strategic point that had been close to the Holy Land in the distant past, one side was bordered by a waterway—the sea.

She had heard that for the Relief Festival, a massive influx of merchants would arrive via the waterway to make money, along with priests from all over coming to attend the event.

“It’s a festival large enough to rival the ones held in the Capital, so it’ll be beyond your imagination.”

“Is that so?”

A festival in another world.

To be honest, when she thought of festivals, she remembered her college campus the morning after—reeking of alcohol and half-digested food from someone’s stomach. But surely things would be different in a novel world of dreams and hope!

However, her budding expectations were soon ruthlessly crushed.

“Since you must attend the Relief Festival, My Lady, it’ll unfortunately be difficult for you to go sight-seeing because of all the preparations.”

Setting aside the fact that going out had become even more difficult since the last accident, the Weberdin bloodline had to help prepare for the ‘Relief Festival.’ There was no way she would be given time to enjoy the commoners’ festival.

‘Unless there’s a prince—ugh, no—an accomplice to sneak me out of here.’

Wait.

Wasn’t there someone perfectly suited to be an accomplice?

Cecilia easily thought of a certain robe-obsessed man who would likely accept her request and become an excellent helper.

She decided she should go threaten—no, ask—him immediately. It was at that very moment.

Noticing her master shifting in her seat, Melanie suddenly held out a letter on a silver tray.

“This is….”

“A letter from the Temple.”

The envelope was a stark, unsettling white.

The sender was none other than the Pope.

<To the Saintess.>

She slowly read through the neat handwriting, which reflected a steady and warm character.

The core message of the simple letter, which didn’t even fill half the white paper, was this:

<As the proxy who conveys the word of God, I wish for you to maintain a pious heart and a pure body. Therefore, I respectfully request that you entrust yourself to God at the end of the Month of Life.>

To put it simply, there was a lot to prepare before the Relief Festival started, so he was telling her to enlist—no, enter—the Grand Temple early.

‘I never even received an enlistment notice in 21st-century Korea, yet I’m getting one here? Is this for real?’

It wasn’t a notice that made her heart swell with pride; if anything, it made her feel petty.

Cecilia finally reached the end of the letter.

<P.S. Unfortunately, the ceremonial robes to be worn during the Relief Festival rituals are all tailored to my physique.>

Suddenly, a light returned to her eyes.

‘Right, if I use this as an excuse to refuse the ritual…!’

But it was a futile hope.

<However, you need not worry. I will send someone on the 20th of the Month of Life to tailor new ceremonial robes for you.>

The light in Cecilia’s eyes died out again as she asked weakly.

“When is the 20th of the Month of Life again?”

“It is today.”

“…….”

Wasn’t this a situation where she was justified in swearing?

Cecilia gazed longingly at a flower vase.

She felt like it would be better for everyone if she just hit herself over the head with it.

---

Unfortunately, Cecilia failed to hit herself over the head with the vase.

Furthermore, she failed to escape before the guests from the Temple arrived.

Having failed on all fronts, Cecilia found herself welcoming the guests with a grim sense of composure.

“Cecilia-nim, the guests have arrived.”

“Tell them to come in.”

As soon as permission was given, two tall men followed Melanie into the room. Because they were both so tall, their faces were visible right over the top of Melanie’s head.

‘Huh?’

There was a familiar face among them.

“Greetings to the Saintess.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you.”

The former belonged to Sir Miguel, and the latter to an unfamiliar priest.

Cecilia carefully observed the priest, whose presence was just as distinct as Sir Miguel’s.

‘He is a priest, right?’

The man, clad in black clerical robes, had wavy black hair that didn’t just cover his forehead but practically poked him in the eyes. The areas under his eyes were dark, as if he hadn’t slept for three days and nights.

Despite that, his skin was as pale as someone who had never seen the sun. Add to that his strangely unfocused eyes.

She wondered if he might be a priest serving a different god—the god of death or curses, perhaps.

However, the Temple badge shining on the man’s chest was the same as Sir Miguel’s.

Cecilia adjusted her squinting eyes and returned the greeting.

“I am Cecilia Weberdin. Thank you for making the long journey to the mansion.”

By the way, this was a rather unexpected pair to be helping with tailoring ceremonial robes.

Setting aside Sir Miguel, who had visited the Weberdin mansion occasionally, this man didn’t look like a tailor no matter how she viewed him.

Instead of the man, who seemed to have little will to exchange greetings, Miguel spoke up.

“This is an Arch—no, a priest from the Grand Temple.”

“God’s slave, Kiar Luceteim. You may simply call me Kiar.”

‘……Don’t people usually use the expression “God’s servant”?’

Instead of pointing out the eccentric self-introduction, Cecilia asked Melanie for some cold tea and simple desserts.

Then, she guided them to the sofa, which had recently been fitted with a summer cover.

Sitting with a straight posture on the slightly coarse, cool fabric, Miguel spoke cautiously.

“Have there been any issues with your health since then?”

“No. I wasn’t hurt in the first place.”

“It seems Knox wasn’t lying.”

Miguel’s eyes crinkled slightly as if he were smiling.

What on earth had her father’s son said? She could bet even Charles’s snacks that most of it had been nonsense.

“I’m a little afraid to hear what you were told.”

Only after Melanie, who entered at the perfect time, placed the teacups before them did Cecilia get to the main point.

“Anyway, I heard from His Holiness the Pope that he would be sending people to tailor the ceremonial robes….”

Why had a knight and a priest come instead of a tailor?

When she asked indirectly, Sir Miguel glanced at the man beside him with a troubled look.

The man—Kiar—was sitting with a hunched back and slumped shoulders, unlike the upright Miguel.

Only after dozens of seconds had passed did he realize both of them were looking at him, and he replied slowly.

“I am the tailor.”

“Pardon? But didn’t you just say you were a priest?”

“I am also a tailor. Though my skills are trash.”

“……Excuse me?”

‘Why did they send a tailor with trash skills?’

“Are you thinking about why a priest with trash skills came here right now?”

The accurate assessment startled her, but she did her best not to show it and shook her head.

“Of course not. You must be someone His Holiness handpicked himself. I have no doubt you possess excellent skills.”

“No, I can guarantee it. I will surely ruin everything.”

The man spoke with conviction. It was a reaction that made it impossible to tell whether he had confidence or not.

And Cecilia was also certain of one thing. This man wasn’t just a tailor. He was a complete lunatic.

Her judgment was not wrong.

Whatever ridiculous thoughts had filled his head—which was surely teeming with negativity—his already pale face turned even whiter.

“It seems I have disturbed the Saintess’s peace of mind. As expected, I knew I would ruin things before even starting.”

“No, my peace of mind is perfectly fine.”

“No, it isn’t. An idiot like this shouldn’t be entrusted with such an important task; I should rightfully apologize with my life.”

The man, reaching the peak of his negativity, began rummaging through his sleeves. What he pulled out from his dark clerical robes was a rope.

A very sturdy one that looked perfect for hanging oneself.

‘What are you planning to do with that?’

No, why on earth was he carrying something like that around in the first place?

As he tried to loop the rope around his neck, a startled Cecilia smacked the back of his hand.

‘There’s a limit to overreacting!’

She had hit him hard enough that her own palm stung, so the back of the man’s hand was surely hurting as well.

However, Kiar didn’t clutch his hand with wide eyes, nor did he get angry at her.

He simply stared blankly at the rope that had fallen to the floor.

“God has called for me….”

“No, He hasn’t.”

“Yeeess….”

Despite Cecilia’s repulsed answer, Kiar replied feebly.

After glancing at the high ceiling, the bright outdoors, and the shadows beneath his feet one by one, Kiar picked up the rope. Then, he approached her.

‘W-what? Is he going to tie me up and beat me just because I hit him once?’

It was just as she clenched her small fists behind her back.

He straightened the rope and held it against her arm. Then, he began scribbling numbers into a notebook he pulled from his chest.

It seemed he was measuring her arm length.

‘That rope was a substitute for a measuring tape.’

Looking closely, the rope had markings at regular intervals. Cecilia was momentarily speechless at his sense of style, which was more shocking than impressive.

But the person in question merely measured her leg length with a look of sheer exhaustion.

“Your limbs are shorter than they look. Hmm, I’ll have to take the robes in a lot.”

He muttered such things to himself.

‘Should I just strangle him with that rope?’

Insulted to her face, Cecilia glared at him with displeasure. The fact that he had no ill intent or hidden motive made it even more infuriating.

At that moment, Miguel, who had been watching the situation, added quietly.