This Isn’t an E*otic Game?

{Praise be to Lilia of Grace.

Her mercy is deep and vast, tending to the sick and the weak as a farmer tends to their fields.

Her chosen one will not be determined by wealth, gender, or birthplace; from the filthiest places, the holiest of souls will rise, testifying through their life.}

— The Scripture of Grace, Chapter 32, Verse 16 —

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It was my first time in the capital of the Arkal Empire, the city of Mars. It was enormous and dazzling.

Mana-engine vehicles like cars and trucks roamed the roads, and the densely packed architecture was reminiscent of the Belle Époque era.

Stepping off the train, I immediately began wandering through the bustling city, mentally revisiting the plan I’d crafted during the ride.

A saint.

The Arkal Empire had countless myths and legends about saints—individuals blessed by the gods, capable of performing miracles and supernatural feats.

Stories of saints suddenly appearing to heal the poor and sick, only to vanish without a trace, were so common they had become part of everyday lore.

I planned to use these legends to my advantage.

Like any society, this era had its slums.

And in the slums, there would undoubtedly be numerous sick and injured people.

I would use my Body Modification skill to heal them, letting word spread.

This wasn’t just any city—it was the capital of the empire. If rumors started here, they would spread across the entire empire in no time.

Once I became well-known enough, I’d search for the witch.

It wasn’t like witches or wizards were people you could meet just by wanting to, but if I gained enough fame, they would come to me.

There was even a chance the witch herself might seek me out.

Once I found her, I would heal her and prevent the apocalyptic dark fantasy catastrophe from happening.

Afterward, I’d disappear, just like the saints in the legends.

As a saint, I’d be performing miracles, so I wouldn’t be using unregistered illegal magic.

I’d keep up the act of being a saint only until I fixed the witch, then vanish like the wind.

That was the gist of my plan.

It didn’t take long for me to find the slums.

Before beginning my "healing mission," I took a deep breath.

This was nerve-wracking.

One wrong move and I’d be labeled a heretic, hunted down, and executed instead of hailed as a saint.

The empire was home to countless religious sects.

If I were mistakenly identified as a saint sent by a specific sect’s god, and the truth about my lack of faith came out, the best-case scenario would be mutilation. The worst-case? Execution.

Ideally, rumors would spread just enough for the witch to find me, allowing me to heal her before disappearing.

But if I were mistaken for an unregistered magic user or fraud, I’d be doomed.

Or worse, if a sect accused me of imitating their god’s saint and branded me a heretic, it would be over.

I knew the odds weren’t in my favor.

But I had no choice.

Doing nothing meant certain death. Taking action, even if risky, gave me a chance.

"Heal the witch and disappear. Heal the witch and disappear."

That was the scenario I clung to.

Of course, the worst-case scenario loomed in the back of my mind, but I forced myself not to dwell on it.

***

As I entered the slums, sharp, hostile gazes fixed on me.

This wasn’t the kind of place that welcomed outsiders.

The looks people gave me fell into two categories:

"Can I rob him?"

"Is he dangerous?"

Their chilling stares nearly made my legs give out, but I swallowed my fear and forced myself to walk with feigned confidence.

While wandering the slums, I finally spotted a suitable target.

A beggar with no trace of hope in his eyes sat scratching at boils on his skin, from which blood and pus oozed. He rattled an empty bowl in his hands.

"By the mercy of a kind god, spare a coin. Just one coin."

His voice was more a habit than a genuine plea.

Whether he died tomorrow or today seemed to make no difference to him.

"Spare a coin, please."

The beggar, reeking of decay, barely looked human anymore.

I slowly approached him.

"Kind sir, in the name of a merciful god, spare just one coin," he muttered, casting a fleeting glance at me.

This was my moment.

This wasn’t just a simple act of charity; it was a performance.

To spread rumors that I was a saint, I needed to create a scene.

The story couldn’t be that some outsider had healed people with heretical magic. The narrative had to be sacred.

Fortunately, I had an idea of how to create that aura of sanctity.@@novelbin@@

Who would have thought that my childhood Sunday school lessons would come in handy someday?

Jesus, forgive me for what I’m about to do.

"Why are you sitting here?"

"Spare a coin, please. Just one coin."

"Are you in pain?"

"Yes, sir, I am. Have mercy on this wretch and spare me just one coin."

"Do you wish for a coin to survive today? Or do you wish for a chance to change the rest of your life?"

The beggar blinked, clearly confused.

"A chance? Sure, I’d like one. But who’d give someone like me a chance?"

"I will. So, I ask again. Do you want a chance, or do you truly only want a coin?"

"I want a chance, sir. If there’s one to be had. But I have nothing to give in return."

"That is enough."

I placed my hand on the beggar’s head.

Unregistered magic use was a capital offense.

If caught, I’d be executed.

But I had no choice.

I activated my skill.

[You have used Body Modification!]

In the next moment, the beggar’s body appeared before me as a three-dimensional model in my mind.

It was like a character customization screen.

I could see not only the surface but also the internal structure of his body.

Heart, large intestine, small intestine, stomach, lungs, and more.

I could see every internal organ and alter or upgrade them as I wished.

This wasn’t just an erotic game skill—it felt more like a high-end medical simulator. The level of detail was absurd, but the beggar’s condition was horrific.

“One of his leg bones isn’t even shaped correctly. No wonder he’s been limping or crawling his whole life.”

His body was riddled with boils, with a particularly massive one on his back, almost the size of a head.

The stench emanating from his body? It was coming from that boil.

After reviewing his condition, I began customizing his body as if I were tweaking a character in a game.

First, I removed the massive boil on his back and the smaller ones scattered across his body.

Next, I straightened the twisted bone in his leg, restoring it to its proper shape.

I cleared his skin, improved his complexion, and adjusted his emaciated frame, adding healthy muscle and fat.

I even reshaped his gaunt face, which had been sunken from years of malnourishment.

As I worked, I realized something astounding: the Body Modification skill wasn’t just for superficial changes.

“Wait... he has diseases too? Let’s get rid of those. And lice in his hair? Gone. Parasites in his intestines? Deleted.”

Anything related to the body, I could alter at will.

While I was focused on "adjusting" his body, strange sounds began escaping the beggar’s mouth.

"Ugh... Oh... Oh my! Sir!"

The sounds of bones twisting, joints, muscles, nerves, and blood vessels being rearranged echoed loudly.

His screams, combined with the unnerving noises of his body being reconstructed, began to draw a crowd of other beggars and slum residents.

Good. Let them watch.

And spread the rumors.

After about three minutes of intense concentration, I finished remodeling his body to a satisfactory degree and pulled my hands away.

The beggar collapsed to the ground.

He ran his hands over his body in disbelief, then slowly removed the filthy, pus-stained rags he was wearing.

Stripping down to nothing but his bare skin, he stared at his reflection in a puddle, his expression impossible to describe.

By now, the crowd around us had grown uncomfortably large. People were staring at me and the beggar, murmuring among themselves.

Trying to maintain my role, I extended my hand to the beggar.

"Stand up and walk on your two feet."

The beggar grabbed my hand.

I pulled him up, and he stood—on both legs.

I released his hand and stepped back. Slowly, he took one step.

Then another.

Though his movements were slow and tentative, his steps were steady and strong.

He walked in a circle around the area before stopping in front of me.

Then, without warning, he knelt and pressed his lips to my shoes.

"A saint! You’re a saint!"

The beggar sobbed as he clung to my ankles, frantically kissing my shoes.

"A s-saint!"
"A miracle has been performed!"
"A saint is among us!!"

The surrounding beggars and slum dwellers all dropped to their knees.

Of course, their reaction made sense.

Everyone in the Arkal Empire knew the legends of saints, and everything I had just done perfectly fit those stories.

Perfect. Everything’s going according to plan.

I gently stopped the beggar from kissing my shoes and helped him to his feet.

"Saint... I have nothing to repay you with," he said, his voice trembling.

I racked my brain furiously for something saintly to say.

Think... what would a saint say?

Drawing on every self-help book I’d read and the vague memories of Sunday school, I came up with a line that fit my persona.

"I seek no payment. Repay me not with material goods, but with your life. Use the life I’ve given you to make a difference."

"I-I will! Saint, I swear it!"

The beggar sobbed into my chest, and I awkwardly patted him on the back before turning to the crowd.

All eyes were on me.

This was a critical moment.

I needed a grand statement to solidify the image I was building.

Guess I’ll have to borrow another line from Sunday school.

"Come to me, all who are weary and burdened, and I will heal you."

At those words, the crowd surged forward.

"Saint! Please heal my son!"
"My mother is blind! Please help her!"
"My son is dying, Saint! We couldn’t afford treatment—save him!"

The cacophony of voices was overwhelming, but one thing was clear: rumors would spread.

That was all I needed.

I planned to keep up this act of being a saint only until I could find and heal the witch. Then I’d disappear before anyone caught on.

Let’s stop the apocalypse before it even starts.

With that thought, I focused on using my Body Modification skill to heal as many people as I could.

At first, everything was going well. But then...

"The Saint of Lilia’s Grace is here!"
"The Goddess Lilia has sent her saint!"
"He is the Healer Saint! The Saint of Healing!"

Wait.

I didn’t say any of that.

I never mentioned the Church of Lilia or anything remotely close to that!

What the hell?

Why are people suddenly throwing around the name of a specific sect?!?!