This Isn’t an E*otic Game?

The news of the Saint’s disappearance spread throughout the capital in an instant.
Everyone was shocked, reacting in different ways.
“We must find him! We have to!!”

There were those who sought him.
“Why? Why did he leave?”
Some questioned his departure.

“Have you heard anything?”
And then there were those who went directly to his closest confidants, seeking answers.
Erfa.

The twin princesses.
And the High Priest Yodel and Jonathan Karma—people began flocking to them with questions.
But their answers remained the same.

“The Saint has left to fulfill the mission entrusted to him.”
“Go back to your lives and live as you always have.”
“Do not forget the Saint’s teachings—live with generosity and kindness.”

“That is all we can do.”
“Do not seek him out. You would only be hindering his mission.”
Even with such answers, not everyone could be deterred from searching for the Saint.

“We must find him!!”
“He must continue to lead us!!”
A group of paladins and priests from the Pantheon united to form an expedition to track him down, while the people of the slums pooled their money to gather information on his whereabouts.
Even when High Priest Yodel and Jonathan Karma personally intervened, urging them to stop, the people refused to listen.

While some tirelessly searched for the missing Saint, others reacted differently.
“He will return one day.”
“As long as the Goddess does not abandon us, he will never truly be gone.”

“Until he returns, we must work to fulfill his vision!!”
Some committed themselves even more earnestly to their daily lives, striving to live righteously in his absence.
With most of the slum’s population now devoted followers of Lilia, they prayed daily—begging the Goddess to protect the Saint and, one day, return him to them.

And then, there were those who sought to take their devotion to a greater scale.
“You wish to donate the tricolor research… to Karma Company? Without compensation?”
“Yes.”

Jonathan Karma shook his head at the sight of Erfa standing before him.
“I cannot accept such valuable research without royalties.”
“Please take it. I know that Karma Company operates in accordance with the Saint’s will. If this can be of any help to you, that alone is enough.”

“But…”
“There are still countless workers suffering under meager wages and excessive labor. I hope Karma Company can become a place that shelters and supports them.”
Jonathan Karma deliberated for a moment before finally accepting the tricolor research she offered.

“Research on magical efficiency… and power amplification… This could revolutionize mana engine fuel consumption alone. The potential applications are endless. Thank you, Erfa. With this research, I will ensure the Saint’s will is realized.”
Jonathan clenched his fist.
An elixir that flowed endlessly, self-generating in infinite supply.

And now, a study that allowed for more efficient utilization of that elixir—the tricolor research.
With the combination of these two, he envisioned the creation of a massive corporate legion.
And he had already chosen a name for this conglomerate.

‘Eleos Group.’
The One Who Shows Mercy.
A corporate alliance formed to spread his will.

Everything necessary was now in his grasp.
All that remained was to turn this arsenal into reality.
“Will you be able to visit the temple frequently? There is much to discuss regarding the practical applications of the tricolor research.”

“Of course. For the Saint. Without question.”
“For the Saint.”
Thus, Jonathan and Erfa forged a partnership.

It was at this moment that Karma Company’s influence grew even more formidable.
“Almene, you only recently recovered…”
Meanwhile, Almene and Iomene each pursued their own paths.

“I must study. Iomene has the White Order, but I have nothing. I need to develop my political acumen as quickly as possible. I’ve been idle for too long. Mother, I do not have time to waste. When the Saint returns, I must be ready to stand beside him.”
Almene immersed herself in law, the histories and geographies of neighboring nations, science, and magic.
With terrifying focus, she summoned royal scholars and studied until her nose bled, pushing herself beyond reason.

The Emperor and Empress, watching her, were torn between concern and pride.
“…Very well. If this is truly your resolve, I shall assist you. From tomorrow, you will attend the state council meetings with me. Stand at my side and observe how the nation is governed. Learn firsthand how it operates.”
The Emperor did not see her ambition as a fault.

Almene nodded, and from that day forward, she not only studied but also learned politics directly from her father.
She started with simple clerical work, yet even those tasks were handled with meticulous precision.
Watching her, the Emperor and Empress finally felt a small measure of relief.

Iomene, however, was different.
Unlike Almene, she did not study at her father’s side.
She did not learn politics.

She did not study governance.
Instead, she spent nearly all her time within the White Order.
“Teach me how to fight. Show me how to wield divine power.”

She chose to grow in her own way.
“I will teach you offensive miracles, various combat techniques, and the methods to slay demons and the Evil God’s followers. But be warned—it will be grueling and painful.”
“I don’t care.”

Iomene’s determination was unwavering.
“The Saint has gone to fight evil. He said he would do it alone, but… there may come a time when he needs my strength. I need to be prepared for that day.”
The White Order’s High Priest, Miromel, smiled at her words.

“If that is your wish, then so be it. I will teach you everything—every combat doctrine, every technique forged from our decades of experience. When this is over, you will stand as the strongest among us.”
A Saintess who had endured a lifelong curse—one who possessed immense resistance to hexes and black magic.
One who could see through hidden beings, no matter how well they concealed themselves.

A strategic asset of immense value.
Naturally, she had to be cultivated.
“Follow me.”

Miromel led Iomene deep into the White Order’s most restricted chambers.
When she arrived at an underground training ground, she found herself staring at towering figures engaged in brutal combat drills.
They stood well over two meters tall.

They wore armor so heavy and thick it seemed impossible to move in.
Greatswords, axes, war hammers, shields—alongside enormous firearms.
They wielded both melee and ranged weaponry with flawless coordination, training relentlessly.

At the sight of Iomene, these warriors halted their training and approached her.
Then, with absolute discipline, they bowed.
“We greet the Saintess.”

Miromel laughed as he watched them line up before her in perfect formation.
“These are the finest hunters of the White Order. Every single one of them is both a paladin and a battle priest. Each was handpicked as a prodigy among our youngest initiates and, for over a decade, has undergone divine augmentation rituals to achieve superhuman abilities.
From now on, they will be both your teachers… and your personal guard.”

Iomene gazed at them in silence.
Then, satisfied, she smiled.
“What are their names?”

Miromel’s grin widened with pride.
“Legiones Quattuor.
Dulaney’s greatest weapons.”

 
****
Scrap Yard.

A massive factory city that existed solely for the purpose of mining the underground.
As its name suggested, the entire city was filled with steam engines and metal.
A place that rejected magic, miracles, and faith—where only human ingenuity and machinery were worshiped.

The continent’s greatest producer of magical metals and the gathering place for its finest engineers.
A steampunk metropolis.
Perhaps because of that, the air was thick with the scent of metal.

I had more than enough money to survive for a while.
I planned to avoid interacting with people as much as possible.
Just living as if I were here and yet not here.

Like a ghost—passing through unnoticed before leaving.
I had no intention of indulging in luxury.
All I needed was a small house where I could live like a human being.

Basic food supplies to sustain me.
And enough gold to seek out black magicians or demon worshipers—if they existed in this city.
But…

“A house? In this city, there are only two types of housing. Either a luxurious mansion for the factory owners or worker dormitories for those who live day-to-day. Which one are you looking for?”
“…Both sound excessive. Isn’t there something in between? A decent, modest home?”
“There used to be. But last month, the factory owners tore down most of them and replaced them with new dormitories. Said there was no reason not to cram ten families into a space that used to house just one.”

Hearing the words of the grumpy-looking dwarven grandmother, I felt a headache coming on.
What the hell kind of situation was this?
“How much would a mansion cost, if I were to buy one?”

“Easily over 100,000 Salreds (around 10 billion). The upper class here aren’t just wealthy—they hoard all the magical metals and technology from the mines.”
100,000 Salreds.
Damn it.

Even if I sold all the gold I had—ten kilograms of it—it wouldn’t come close to that.
“Then, what about the dormitories…?”
“There are cheap lodgings for 50 Leons a month (around 50,000 won) and more expensive ones that go up to 3 Salreds per month. The higher-end ones are usually for skilled engineers with some experience.”

I didn’t have much of a choice.
“I’ll take the high-end dormitory.”
I had already exchanged my gold for local currency at a money exchange beforehand. Handing over the payment, I watched as the dwarf grandmother got up from her seat.

“Follow me. The engineer dormitories are crammed right next to the cheap lodgings. No soundproofing. You’ll hear everything. Smells will seep through, too, so don’t complain later.”
She led me straight to the building I’d be staying in.
“Unlike the cheap ones, this place at least has a bathroom and a small kitchen. The landlord will come to collect rent on the first of every month. As long as you pay on time, you won’t get kicked out. Here’s your key.”

With a nonchalant toss, she handed me the key and disappeared somewhere.
The moment I stepped into my new home, the reality of my situation hit me.
Crying children.

The sound of a couple arguing.
The smell of someone cooking something pungent.
Everything was shared—no privacy, no escape.

It was a cramped, run-down environment that reminded me of a gosiwon, those tiny one-room dormitories back on Earth.
Well, nothing I can do about it.
Sighing, I unlocked the door and stepped inside.

A filthy bed.
No soundproofing whatsoever—voices from all directions spilled into the room.
There was a kitchen and a bathroom, but calling them “small” would be an understatement—they were the most cramped, pathetic spaces I’d ever seen.

A four-pyeong room—barely 13 square meters—where everything felt suffocatingly jammed together.
It wasn’t what I wanted, but this was my home now.
I started unpacking, planning to head out and buy some food.

But the moment I stepped outside—
“Aaaargh!! AAAAAAH!!”
“You worthless labor-rights bastard! Stand up straight!!”

A horrifying scream rang out from a corner of the dormitory.
Instinctively, my gaze turned in that direction.
There, a group of police officers were ruthlessly beating a man with batons and the butts of their pistols.

“You dogs of the factory owners!! Beat me all you want!! The workers’ paradise will come—sooner or later!!”
Even as he was being brutalized, the young man’s eyes burned with an unnerving, fanatical intensity.
Beside him, a bloodstained book lay discarded on the ground.

Its red cover bore the title:
.
“The capitalism that thrives on burning away human souls and lives—will inevitably collapse!! The workers’ heaven WILL RISE!!—Uuurrgh!!”

“Take him away!! Lock this bastard in a reeducation camp and don’t let him out until he’s been completely reformed!!”
The police dragged the bloodied young man away.
As the commotion drew more and more workers out of their dorms, the officers deliberately held up the battered book for all to see.

“There will be NO MERCY for those who read forbidden texts!! If ANYONE is found reading this red book, report them immediately!!”
With that chilling warning, the officers vanished, hauling the unconscious man with them.
…

I had seen this before.
Somewhere, in another time, in another world.