{When they lifted their eyes to the saint, they saw him bleeding and weeping.

He willingly wallowed in filth and muck, loving and pitying even the most vile and unclean.

He called the wretched “beautiful” because, since the beginning of time, true beauty had never existed.

Through this, you shall witness the grace of the living goddess.}

— The Book of Grace, Chapter 51, Verse 12

It had been about three minutes since I tightly embraced the witch, patting her back gently.

I could feel my shoulder growing damp.

The witch in my arms was crying.

I couldn’t tell if she was sobbing because she was calming down, moved by emotion, or—hell—so furious that she needed to vent before setting the world ablaze.

I pulled her even closer.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay.”

It’s not okay. Damn it.

Can’t you please stop crying and calm down?

I can’t tell if this is the prelude to an explosion or if you’re actually cooling off.

As I half-lost my mind, continuing to pat her back, the priests of the White Order erupted behind me.

“No matter how saintly you are, this is unacceptable!”

“That is an abomination! A calamity! It will bring ruin upon the world!”

“We must act quickly! Saint, step aside! We cannot let this stand!!”

“A calamity that will bring ruin upon the world,” huh?

Yeah. They’re right.

She is a calamity.

But seriously, can’t they see I’m bending over backward to save their miserable lives?

You idiots! If I don’t console her now, she’ll blow!

Still raw from my near-death experience earlier, my nerves were on edge. I glared at the priests, raising my voice.

If I wanted to survive, I had to take the witch’s side.

“Why do you call her a calamity?”

At my question, the priests pointed at the witch, their voices frantic.

“She’s an abomination, Saint! Abomination!

Look at those spider-like four arms, her twisted left face, and those hideous, bulging eyes!”

“It’s not some rare disease! She’s cursed! That’s why she’s so grotesque!”

“She will bring ruin to the world!”

These crazy bastards!

The witch can hear you, you know!

What are you going to do if she blows up?!

I shouted furiously, “Are you saying she’s a calamity because she’s ugly? Is that all it takes to destroy someone’s soul and life?”

Still holding the witch, I stood up.

Maybe it was because my life was hanging by a thread, but my voice came out terrifyingly loud—even to me.

It was the desperate cry of someone clinging to survival.

“What truly makes someone ugly?! Is it a distorted face and body? No! It’s not! That’s not what ugliness is!

The real ugliness is in your hearts!”

I turned to the citizens who had been hurling filth and mocking her moments ago.

“You’re the truly ugly ones! Throwing trash at someone, destroying their life and soul just because of how they look!”

Next, I glared at the wizards and witches who had been chuckling and whispering.

“You’re uglier still! Laughing and gossiping like it’s a joke while someone is falling apart!”

And finally, I directed my voice at the priests of the White Order.

“And you! You claim to hunt evil, yet your hands are stained with the blood of the innocent. That’s the ugliest thing of all!”

The priests faltered, stepping back.

With how booming my voice had been, I couldn’t blame them.

To be honest, I didn’t even know what I was saying anymore. It was more or less verbal diarrhea born out of my desperation to stay alive.

“...A distorted appearance doesn’t just happen. It’s a curse from the gods, Saint.”

“Indeed. If you let her live, she will eventually... inevitably, cause ruin, Saint.”

“Leaving such an abomination alive puts the empire at risk. We are only acting to save everyone, Saint.”

The priests stammered out a feeble reply.

Well,

They have a point.

Honestly, everything those priests said is correct.

The White Order, famed for their demon hunters, certainly lives up to their reputation. How else could they have pinpointed this dark sorceress and witch, escorting her here like this?

But I had to stop this witch from going berserk.

If they kept pushing her, we were all going to die!

“Sure, some gods might curse people. Not all gods are benevolent, after all.”

I needed to dissuade these priests.

How could I do that?

Stick to my original plan, twisted as things might have become.

I had to fix her face.

“And if there are gods who curse, there must also be gods who lift curses.”

I gently placed my hand on the witch’s head and activated my skill.

A familiar customization window appeared, displaying a 3D model of the witch’s body.

After modifying countless impoverished folks, this interface had become second nature to me.

Slowly, I began to alter her body.

I removed the extra pair of arms protruding from her lower torso.

The grotesque burn scars marring her left face were smoothed away.

The cluster of bulging eyes was eliminated.

Piece by piece, I cleaned up everything.

When I was done, there was nothing more to adjust.

Her natural features were already stunning—once everything was fixed, she was breathtakingly beautiful.

“Ah! Uh...! Ngh!”

The witch let out odd noises as her body transformed.

It wasn’t unusual; most people made strange sounds when their muscles and bones shifted during modifications.

But why was her body starting to glow?

Wait. What was this?

Why was her body emitting light?

As the process concluded, a sudden burst of brilliance radiated from her body, so bright it felt like being blinded.

The light faded, leaving behind a single figure—a woman so beautiful she sat dazed in the muddy ground, her radiance almost otherworldly.

“W-What in the world…”

“Oh my gods…”

The priests of the White Order were so stunned, they collapsed to their knees.

“Saint! Saint!!”

“A miracle! You’ve performed yet another miracle!!”

The commoners followed suit, dropping to their knees and bowing toward me.

“Rofus!”

“By the Sun, I swear I have never seen a truer saint.”

“The Goddess of Grace is truly among us!”

Even the holy knights of the Sun Order crossed themselves and bowed deeply to me.

All of this… because of that final flash of light.

Honestly, even I couldn’t deny it looked like a miracle.

I slowly examined the witch.

Hmm.

Wow!

She’s stunning!

Good enough to debut as a top-tier idol in Korea right now!

This should count as a complete recovery, right? No more berserking. Hopefully. Please.

“Whether it was a curse, an illness, or scars inflicted by others, they’re all gone now. Woman, live a righteous life from now on and sin no more.”

The witch tentatively touched her once-scarred left face, then looked up at me. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks.

Perfect.

Judging by those tears, it’s the kind of crying that happens when someone’s moved to their core!

Great!

I mean, if she exploded after this, that would’ve been ridiculous.

“You are beautiful. Truly.”

I smiled warmly as I said that to her.

With a compliment like this, there’s no way she’s going to blow now.

The healing’s done. Now, all that’s left is to slip away quietly before the Lilia Order catches wind and arrives at the capital.

Erfa touched her left cheek.

The once-bumpy texture of hideous, horrifying eyes was gone. All she felt was smooth skin.

Everything was exactly as she had dreamed it to be.

A human form.

The extra pair of arms were no more, and the grotesque eyes had vanished.

Unconsciously, tears began streaming down her face.

To be honest, she had doubted the man standing before her up until moments ago.

She was a genius among geniuses, yet despite all her years of effort, she had never been able to change her appearance.

How could this man achieve in an instant what she couldn’t in a lifetime?

But she had been wrong.

Something inexplicable had occurred—a phenomenon beyond the realm of magic.

Her extra arms disappeared, and her distorted face returned to normal.

At the moment of transformation, she had been so astonished and overjoyed that she’d lost control of her magic, inadvertently releasing it. That release had caused a blinding burst of light.

Even as she touched her face now, she couldn’t believe it.

Erfa slowly rose to her feet and looked at the man before her.

The gentle smile on his face, even as blood trickled from his injured forehead, was radiant.

Even the sight of him bleeding seemed holy.

Just standing there, he exuded a sacred aura so overwhelming that it was difficult to meet his gaze.

Now she understood why the impoverished called him a saint.

He had performed a miracle.

Not just by changing her appearance, something nearly impossible even with magic.

If she had employed some advanced magic techniques using tricolor theorem, perhaps she might have been able to alter her own looks.

But even if she had done so, it would not have erased the twisted hatred and resentment buried deep in her heart.

Nor would it have changed how others, who had once seen her hideous face, now gazed at her with astonishment and reverence.

The man before her had achieved all of that at once.

So simply.

He had overcome challenges that no human effort could surmount.

Her heart began to race uncontrollably.

Erfa had never experienced love—not once in her life.

She had always been grotesque, repulsive, and dirty.

A few men had approached her, enchanted by the right side of her face, but they had left the moment she showed them her left side.

She had convinced herself that love was not for her, suppressing her emotions, burying herself in research.

She had lived as a recluse, isolated and determined.

But not anymore.

“Your name. I want to know your name.”

Erfa  grabbed the saint’s  sleeve with a trembling voice, her face flushed deep red.

“I am but a humble servant caring for the lowly, Witch.”

The saint smiled warmly as he tried to gently pull his hand away, but she couldn’t let go.

“Please… please tell me your name.”

Erfa stepped closer and firmly clasped his hand.

At her touch, the saint’s body trembled, his hand shaking as if he were a leaf in the wind, damp with cold sweat.

Erfa understood what was happening.

She knew that priests who performed powerful miracles sometimes exhibited these physical symptoms afterward.

As someone who had once researched miracles in hopes of healing her own body, she recognized the signs.

A miracle so profound that even she, a magic genius, couldn’t replicate it—it must have taken an unimaginable toll on his body.

Seeing the blood streaming from his forehead, she suspected he might also have an infection.

“The saint is trembling! This is the aftershock of using a miracle!”

Erfa’s cry spurred the Sun Order knights and White Order priests into action.

“Is he in divine rapture?”

“Yes! He is! He’s sweating and shaking! He must rest!”

“Rofus! For all the destitute lives you’ve saved…!”

“Hurry! We need to prepare a place for him to rest! If we ignore this, it could end in disaster!”

At her words, the White Order and Sun Order began moving in unison.

“The Sun Order’s base is closest. I’ll lead the way!”

“Saint! Please, let me carry you!”

A knight hoisted the saint onto his back as Erfa and the White Order priests followed closely behind.

“Make way! The saint is unwell! Clear the path!”

The impoverished parted to form a path, and the knights quickly carried the saint through it.

Erfa followed.

Her face, her appearance—it all ceased to matter anymore.

That man being carried on the knight’s back—he was her life now.

He had kissed the left side of her face, the side she had found so revolting that even she couldn’t look at it.

“Live. You are beautiful.”

The saint’s words echoed vividly in her mind.

As she ran to keep up, Erfa’s face burned red, hotter than she’d ever felt.

One thing was certain: this was no ordinary blush from strenuous exercise.