This Isn’t an E*otic Game?

There is a name that anyone who walks the path of magic inevitably knows.

The Tower of the Sage.

More commonly referred to as the Magic Tower.

The inverted triangle emblem that symbolizes them is said to rival the imperial insignia of the empire itself.

A gathering of human weapons capable of single-handedly destroying entire cities, as well as a cradle of knowledge and technology that has propelled the empire's progress through numerous magical engineering feats.

With the annual academic conference approaching, the pinnacle of the Mars branch of the Magic Tower was bustling with numerous wizards and witches exchanging their opinions.

"We must submit the Trichromatic Theory as our representative paper from the Mars branch."

"I believe the Shadow Magic research is more compelling. It's a groundbreaking study in a previously overlooked field of magic."

"That's true, but the Trichromatic Theory is far more comprehensive. Considering its impact on the entire field of magic, the paper on Shadow Magic is less academically valuable than the Trichromatic Theory."

The wizards and witches gathered around the circular roundtable, their expressions serious as they engaged in heated debate.

Despite their solemn expressions, the atmosphere was amicable.

After all, competition among geniuses is something to be encouraged, not condemned.

The spirited discussions continued, yet no conclusion was reached.

The wizards and witches eventually turned their gazes toward the Tower Master, who sat silently on one side of the roundtable.

"Master Yorgen, you must decide. At this rate, we'll never reach a conclusion."

At the wizard's words, Yorgen, the Tower Master, softly stroked his gleaming white beard, his eyes playful as he glanced at the two witches who had remained silent throughout the debate.

"Tudel, Erfa. You two are quite the troublemakers, aren't you?"

"You flatter us, Master Yorgen."

The witch called Tudel lowered her head with a polite bow, while Erfa merely smiled faintly.

"Both of your papers are excellent. Deciding which one to submit has been a difficult task even for me."

Yorgen lightly drummed his fingers on the table.

Tudel anxiously swallowed dryly, her eyes fixed intently on Yorgen's hand.

After a long pause,

Yorgen finally spoke.

"The representative paper of the Mars branch for this academic conference will be the Trichromatic Theory."

Exclamations of astonishment and sighs of disappointment erupted simultaneously.

Tudel clenched her fists and tightly closed her eyes, while Erfa simply bowed her head silently.

"Tudel, your paper was excellent as well. However, this time, Erfa's paper had a slight edge. If you continue to work hard, I am confident you will achieve even better results."

"Thank... you."

Her response came after a long struggle, squeezed out reluctantly.

Yorgen smiled as he stood from his seat.

"You all worked hard during this lengthy meeting. Go and rest now."

One by one, the wizards rose from the roundtable.

"It's a shame the Shadow Magic research was rejected."

"The Trichromatic Theory will go down in history."

Engaged in such conversations, the wizards departed, leaving only the two witches behind at the roundtable.

"Congratulations, Erfa. You're on quite the winning streak, aren't you?"

Despite the smile on her face, Tudel's voice was chillingly cold, sharp enough to cut.

"Truly impressive. The next Tower Master is practically decided. A witch no older than 25 becoming the next Tower Master—how incredible."

"Thank you, Tudel."

Erfa stood up carefully.

Her left face was concealed by a silver mask, and below it, four arms were neatly folded.

"Next time, I'm sure you'll achieve great results too."

Her uncovered right face wore a polite smile.

Tudel found that smile unbearably repulsive.

Tudel hated everything about Erfa.

She hated that Yorgen himself had brought Erfa to the tower when she was just fifteen, calling her a genius.

She hated that the exposed half of Erfa's face was more beautiful than her own.

Unlike her own freckled skin, Erfa’s flawless porcelain-like complexion was detestable.

She loathed Erfa’s larger eyes, her perfect figure, her wide hips, and ample chest—the very things that had caused the wizard Tudel loved to reject her confession and declare his love for Erfa.

She even hated the fact that Erfa had rejected that wizard’s confession.

She despised that her paper was rejected in favor of Erfa’s.

She hated that a far younger and more talented witch existed in the same tower.

She simply hated everything about her.

"Do your best, spider."

Her words, dripping with venomous resentment, lashed out.

When alone, Tudel always referred to Erfa as a spider.

It was a taunt, mocking the four arms that made Erfa grotesque in her eyes.

Erfa offered no response to Tudel's venomous remark.

She merely glanced at Tudel with a fleeting look of pity before leaving without a word.

That silent gaze, devoid of any retort, struck Tudel's heart far more viciously than any insult could.

"Aaaagh!!"

In the now-empty roundtable room, Tudel let out a demonic scream.

*****

Returning to her private research lab, Erfa cautiously removed her wand from her waist and waved it.

The witch's hat and hood on her head flew up as if alive and landed neatly on a nearby coat rack.

With another wave, she firmly locked the door and approached a mirror with deliberate care.

One of her upper left hands trembled as it removed the silver mask covering her left face.

And underneath,

a sight that even Erfa found horrifying and grotesque was revealed.

Her blackened, distorted skin.

Clusters of numerous tiny eyes, so densely packed they evoked a fear of holes.

Another of her left hands hesitantly caressed the disfigured half of her face.

"Disgusting."

She murmured softly.

"Hideous."

A monster.

Even to herself, that was the most fitting description of her left face.

Despite being a prodigy witch who had conducted countless magical studies, including the Trichromatic Theory, nothing she tried could fix this horrifically twisted half of her face.

Not a single soul knew about this,

not even Yorgen, the Tower Master who had introduced her to the world of magic.

Now that her magical prowess had reached incredible heights, she had a faint understanding.

Erfa had been born with a talent for magic that was beyond excessive.

From birth, her body contained immense mana. She spoke at only three months old and could see spirits and magical phenomena by the age of three—a prodigy unlike any other.

And as the price for possessing such extraordinary talent, her body grew excessively and abnormally.

At the age of five, two additional arms began sprouting from her sides, and during puberty, instead of acne, her left face started to grow eyes.

Her parents, who had given birth to her, considered her a monster and abandoned her. Wherever she went, she was shunned for the same reason.

So, she immersed herself in magic.

Aside from eating and sleeping, she dedicated every waking moment to studying magic.

To restore her abnormal body to normalcy.

As a result, Erfa became the world’s foremost authority on body modification magic. Yet, even she failed to fix her twisted left face.

Erfa was afraid.

Great talent always invites envy.

It wasn’t just Tudel who envied her.

Surely, many others secretly harbored jealousy and gossiped behind her back.

If she were abandoned again,

if she were ostracized by everyone again,

would she be able to endure it?

What would those who saw her monstrous left face do?

"Please, there has to be a way to fix this," she murmured desperately.

She had finally found a place where her talent could bloom.

She had finally gained recognition.

She didn’t want to be cast out and left to wander as an outcast again.

She donned her silver mask once more.

Vowing to fix her disfigured face no matter what, she sat back at her desk, ready to resume her research.

‘The morning paper?’

As she adeptly sorted through the messy piles of research materials and papers with her four arms, she noticed the morning newspaper delivered earlier that day.

Erfa picked up the newspaper absentmindedly and froze when she saw the headline on the front page.

[Healer Saint Discovered?]

Healer Saint.

The title piqued her curiosity.@@novelbin@@

She stopped organizing and unfolded the newspaper to read its contents slowly.

The more she read, the wider her eyes grew.

"All kinds of rare diseases and genetic disorders cured on the spot? Is something like this even possible with magic?"

Miracles bestowed by gods and magic created through human effort were entirely different domains.

But whether miracles or magic, both were acts performed by humans.

In her quest to heal her left face, Erfa had studied countless fields, including the concept of miracles.

She had never heard of anyone performing such large-scale miracles without rest.

The idea intrigued her, but she quickly shook her head.

Her studies of miracles had led to one firm conclusion: humans are inherently wicked.

Those who flaunted their so-called miracles often turned out to be frauds, using simple magic to aggrandize themselves or outright con artists planning to flee after gaining trust.

A Healer Saint?

Perhaps if their fame endured for a year or more.

But spending time on someone who had only recently appeared? She had no such luxury.

Moreover, her left face was so grotesque that anyone who saw it would undoubtedly react with revulsion.

"I can’t trust it," she muttered, setting the newspaper aside.

Rather than rely on an uncertain miracle, it seemed more plausible to overcome her affliction with magic.

She returned to her desk and resumed her research with renewed focus.

*****

"Saint! Please heal my son!"

"Please help my daughter! Saint! Saint!"

The slums were so packed with people that there was barely any room to step.

In their desperation to be treated first, some people were injured in the chaos.

The scene of countless sick children, patients, and their families screaming and waving at me had turned into something akin to horror.

Jesus.

What am I supposed to do in a situation like this? Tell me what to do.

Of course, Jesus didn’t answer.

My eyes felt heavy from lack of sleep.

I couldn’t just rush through character customization, could I?

Concentrating on each one carefully had drained me to my limit.

There was no end to it.

No end.

Witches or not, I’d die first at this rate.

"I need to rest for a moment," I said cautiously, trying to step back. But the people showed no intention of letting me go.

"Saint! Have mercy on us! Saint!"

"Saint! Please have mercy!"

I’m going to lose my mind.

This is just too much.

I just need a moment to rest. Just a moment to eat, sleep, and then come back.

Naturally.

I need a way to get out of here without hurting anyone...

Oh, there is one.

"Saint! Please!"

Ignoring the cries, I activated yet another erotic-game skill.

[Skill: Time Stop activated!]

With this, I should be able to escape without trouble.

First, I’ll get out, get some sleep, and eat something.

...

Shit.

I can’t move either.