This Isn’t an E*otic Game?

When a second pair of arms began to grow beneath her own,
it must have been then.

That was likely when her mother and father decided to abandon her.

The additional arms grew rapidly, fully forming in less than three months.
When her parents discovered them, they decided to cut them off.

They tied her up and tried to sever them by force.

When her father’s saw dug into her lower arm, the pain and terror overwhelmed her. She instinctively used magic.

Her father and mother were thrown back, crashing into the walls.

Her father was injured, and her mother screamed at her in horror.

"We should have never had something like you."

She remembered her mother saying that.

She remembered her parents coming at her with kitchen knives and sickles, screaming that she was a demon and telling her to leave.

She had cried, begged not to go, but her mother slashed her face with the knife, leaving a deep wound across her left cheek. Only then did Erfa flee the house.

Her family had reacted that way. Why would others be any different?

After countless beatings, stones hurled at her, and being chased away, Erfa chose to live in the forest, where no one could see her extra arms.

Thankfully, her extraordinary magical talent allowed even a child to survive in the wilderness.

With four arms, she could work twice as fast as others.

But by the time she turned twelve, her left face began to change.

One by one, eyes sprouted.

It was a horrifying sight, even to herself.

So she began covering her left face with leaves.

In the forest, without anyone to teach her, she mastered all kinds of magic on her own.

A word could ignite a flame, fierce beasts fell dead before her, their meat cleaned, cooked, and placed neatly before her.

But no matter how powerful her magic, it could not fix her grotesque arms or her face.

One night, after a nightmare about her parents abandoning her, Erfa resolved to rid herself of her extra arms and her left face.

She fainted and awoke repeatedly as the fifteen-year-old girl severed her two extra arms and scraped away the eyes from her left cheek.

She burned her face with fire, cauterized the wounds on her arms, and hoped she would wake up normal the next morning.

But her body betrayed her hopes.

The next day, when she awoke, she found her arms had regrown.
The eyes, torn away, had returned, now twisted and discolored, mocking her as they blinked on her marred skin.

No matter what she did, no matter what magic she used,
they never disappeared.

For the first time, she desired to learn magic properly.

She wanted stronger magic.

If she could master greater magic, maybe she could get rid of her arms and eyes, become human, and live among people.

When Yorgren, the Magic Tower Master, passed through the forest and discovered her, he recognized her talent and invited her to the Magic Tower.

Erfa didn’t refuse.

She poured herself into her research, studying obsessively.

And then she discovered a way.

The Study of the Primary Colors was born from that desperate determination.

The study was about optimizing magic, maximizing efficiency. But beyond that, it was a means to control magical phenomena on a scale beyond human capability using the mana contained in the human body.

Through this research, she hoped to harness grander magic to restore her body to normal.

To restore herself.

But now—

“Ugly witch!”

“She makes me want to puke!”

“Disgusting!!”

Even if she restored herself, would they accept her?

Would the people who had already seen her grotesque left side treat her as an ordinary human, even if she appeared normal?

A clump of muddy filth struck her head, splattering across her face and turning it to the side.

Through the corner of her vision, she saw young witches and mages hidden among the crowd, laughing.

Was this a game to them?

Even in this moment, as her soul and life were being torn apart, was this merely a joke to them?

Why?

Because I’m ugly?

Because I don’t look like them?

Because of nothing but the way I was born? For no reason other than that, they’ve done this to me?

Rage consumed her.

Slowly, the immense mana within her body began to churn.
Her unmatched genius directed that fire toward a target.

If she combined the Study of the Primary Colors with her mana, she could likely destroy the entire capital.

Perhaps even the empire itself.

She was tired.

The years she had spent desperately trying to earn their approval felt like a pathetic waste. She no longer wanted to live.

She decided to burn it all.

Her mana began to boil, creating magic powerful enough to shatter the miracle binding her.

All she had to do was release it.

If she unleashed this magic and burned everything down with herself, it would all finally be over.

As she raised her head to unleash it—

“Stop!! Stop right now!!”

“It’s the Saint! The Saint is here!”

“Don’t throw anything at the Saint, you lunatics!!”

Through her despair-clouded vision, she saw a strange sight.

A man was walking toward her.

He was looking directly at her, unflinching, as he approached.

***

These goddamn idiots!

Why don’t they just do a tap dance on top of a nuclear bomb?

Does everyone here, myself included, have a death wish today?

They should all win a Darwin Award—together.

I saw the White Order priests struggling helplessly against the incoming hail of mud and debris, trying to restrain the four-armed witch as she was dragged along. I couldn’t hold back any longer and ran into the street.

The streets of this era were filled with mud.

While cars and trains existed, the world hadn’t even seen widespread radio use yet. From a modern perspective, it was a violent age where both romanticism and barbarism thrived.

Pushing my way through the jeering crowd, who hurled filth, rocks, and bottles without a shred of guilt or conscience, I made my way toward the witch. Naturally, the projectiles began to hit me as well.

Mud mixed with excrement, urine, and vomit splattered across my clothes.

A rock—or maybe a shard of glass—thrown by some moron struck my head, bouncing off and leaving blood running down my face and dripping onto the muddy road below.

Finally, the paladins of the Sun Church, the city’s police, and the poor I had been treating rushed out, trying to stop the chaos.

“It’s the Saint! The Saint is here!”

“What are you doing?! Stop this at once!!”

“Do not harm the Saint!!”

An overwhelming number of poor citizens flooded the streets, quickly taking control of the scene. The filth and stones aimed at the witch and me ceased entirely.

Tense, uncertain when the witch might explode, I moved mechanically, ignoring the blood streaming down my cheek. Slowly, I approached her.

“Stop! That woman is an abomination!”

“She is a bringer of calamity! Stop! Don’t come any closer!”

“If you advance any further, we will attack—”

The White Order priests raised their hands toward me, but their words were cut off as Sun Church paladins surrounded me, shielding me from them.

“How dare you speak such blasphemy to the Saint sent by the Goddess of Grace herself!”

“Show respect! He is chosen by the divine!”

I’m telling you, I have nothing to do with the Goddess of Lilia!

I’ve never even said her name!

Why does this nonsense keep spreading?!

I wanted to yell, but I was too terrified of provoking the witch into exploding to risk saying a word.

I continued to approach her slowly.

“S-s-stay… stay back…”

Her trembling voice came as I drew closer to the bomb that could go off at any moment.

The priests, mistaking my rigid expression for divine determination, stepped back in fear.

And with their retreat, the miracle binding the witch unraveled.

As the binding spell dissipated, the witch collapsed onto the filthy, muddy ground.

Carefully, I caught her.

Wow.

I was fucking terrified.

Really, unbelievably scared.

Not even the time I threw my first grenade during military training in my past life scared me this much.

This was too cruel a trial for a guy like me.

But what choice did I have?

If I didn’t act, everyone here would die.

Myself included.

Holding her gently, I began wiping the filth and mud off her face and body.

This felt like calming a cat about to be neutered.

“There, there. Good girl. Please don’t explode, okay? Don’t explode…”

Fuck.

Please, for the love of God, don’t explode.

“Are you okay?”

Without realizing it, my voice wavered, tinged with fear.

I was so terrified.

So much so that if I let my guard down for even a second, I’d probably piss and shit myself simultaneously. Holding back tears was the best I could manage.

Somehow, I succeeded in cleaning the mud and filth from her face.

And then, her face was revealed.

Oh, damn.

It was… grotesque.

But I didn’t care.

I was immune to this kind of thing.

Back in my past life, my hobbies included watching Japanese anime and gory horror films.

This might horrify the primitive people of this era, but for me?
This wasn’t much different from an arachnid monster girl in a questionable internet illustration.

“...Do you think I’m ugly too?”

The witch, nestled in my arms, murmured with unfocused, hollow eyes, gazing up at me.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

This isn’t good.

She’s going to blow, isn’t she?

I don’t want to die in a fiery explosion!

What do I do?!

Think, brain! Think of something!

But thanks to being a clueless virgin in my past life, I had zero experience comforting a woman on the brink of an emotional meltdown.

In the desperate moment, my reflexive choice was this:@@novelbin@@

Slowly, I lowered my face and kissed the grotesque left side of hers.

Praying with all my heart that she wouldn’t explode.

Her body flinched.

She began to tremble violently.

Oh shit.

I’ve made it worse, haven’t I?!

She’s going to blow, isn’t she?!

Of course she’d hate being kissed out of nowhere by some random guy!

I need a line!

A line that will move her to tears!

Something amazing! Something perfect!

But all I had were clichés from anime and horror films!

They say your brain works faster in extreme situations.

Finally, a line came to me.

Sorry, Miyazaki-sensei. I’m borrowing this one.

“You’re not ugly.”

I hugged her tightly.

“Live.”

I couldn’t bear to look at her face.

If her expression turned even slightly hostile, I’d lose all composure, soil myself, and faint on the spot.

Is this what it feels like to dance on the edge of a knife?

Fear and terror made my voice crack and tremble as I added:

“You are beautiful.”

Please.

Please.

Don’t explode.