"—Agh, dammit! Why did it have to be that manga's world? I barely dodged the wipeout ending—the one from the original story. If I hadn't known better, I would’ve been torn to shreds while still alive and turned into monster fodder. Haa... seriously, what am I supposed to do now? I’m blind in my right eye, and my left leg is gone. Can I even survive like this? Well, I’ve made it this far, so I’ll manage somehow... right? Can I? Really? Shit, this is that depraved dark fantasy. That scoundrel of an author... goddammit, screw that. I refuse to accept anything but a happy ending!"
Through a field of vision where the right half was dark and crushed, even the ordinary ceiling of the church looked like it belonged to a different world.
I suppose I had been careless.
I had assumed this was a standard "sword and sorcery" fantasy world—the kind of trope-filled setting you often see in light novels or manga.
But reality was a massive, crushing mistake. As it turned out, this was the world of a certain dark fantasy manga that had been somewhat famous in my previous life.
Specifically, it was a "cover fraud" manga. It masqueraded as a trendy isekai adventure story, only to be utterly merciless with human lives.
It all started when I was captivated by its intricate illustrations and casually clicked on it while browsing a manga site.
The result? My emotional stability was left in ruins.
The reason was... well, let's just say the author's fetishes were a bit much.
"Dark fantasy" sounds sophisticated, but in that story, it was nearly impossible for a man to die with his body intact. As for the women, being violated and tortured to death by monsters was common. It didn't matter if they were men or women, main characters or background mobs; the story felt as though its sole purpose was to inflict as much pain as possible on the cast. To a die-hard happy ending supremacist like me, it was a traumatic experience.
It made perfect sense why the protagonist eventually turned into a dark, fallen Berserker.
The sheer absurdity of the plot made me throw my smartphone for the first time in my life. I doubted the author's sanity constantly. I thought the guy was a monster. But I loved the art too much to quit. Every time it updated, I’d peek in with fear and trepidation, trapped in a nonsensical loop where I admired the artistic skill while my spirit was being crushed.
I stopped getting emotionally involved and treated it purely as an art book. To me, it was that kind of manga.
Since I only cared about the art style, I didn't remember the story or the settings in great detail. I never could have imagined I would be reincarnated into the world of a work I held such mixed feelings for, which is why it took me this long to realize where I was.
I had been reincarnated into the early stages of the original work. Apparently, I was one of the members of a mob party destined to be sacrificial pawns for the Life Reaper, the Grim Reaper, in the first dungeon the protagonist enters.
I didn't even remember this character's name or face. However, the scene depicting the party's demise was burned into my retinas. "I" was supposed to be torn apart while still alive. As for the young girls who were my companions, they were to be stripped of their dignity before meeting a gruesome, miserable end.
I grew furious as I recalled one of the most disgusting scenes in the book. I didn't care about the guy. But girls are supposed to be happy, dammit!
Survival was nothing short of a miracle.
I never truly expected to keep my life. I don't remember the fight well, but at that moment, I must have been in a state of absolute, frantic desperation.
Of course, "survival" didn't mean I came out whole. As the price for our lives, I lost my right eye and my left leg. My leg was cleanly severed from just below the knee, and a jagged scar remained across my right eye, running from my forehead to my cheek—the kind of flashy wound you only see in fiction.
But I wasn't grieving. Not only did I protect all my comrades, but I also kept my life. Considering the original ending, I felt a sense of accomplishment. I’d done well.
So, we avoided the bad end and everyone lived happily ever after—or so I hoped.
The reality was that I was currently in a lot of trouble. There were the physical difficulties of my injuries, but beyond that...
Ever since I woke up, the members of my party had been acting... strange.
"Hmm, the bed here is terribly hard. Wolka, is it difficult to sleep? Indeed, tomorrow I shall have them prepare a much finer bed. Rest easy; as thy master, I shall not let my disciple suffer any inconveniences. Leave everything to me."
"...Master."
"Hmm? What is it?"
"I appreciate the guard duty, but there's no need for you to sleep in the same bed as me."
"—Am I in the way?"
"Huh?"
"A-Am I... in the way? Ah, haha, I suppose so... someone like me, who let her disciple suffer such pain... it must be an eyesore to have me around. To act like a master at this stage, it must be a nuisance. I don't have the right to be with thee..."
"Wait, what are you even talking about—"
"B-But I'll do my best! I won't let anything like that happen again! This time, I will definitely protect thee! So please, I beg of thee, don't abandon me!"
"Whoa, whoa, wait! What are you saying? Hold on, don't cry, let's just talk—"
Even my master, the "legal noja loli," Lieselalte, was like this.
"Well then, Senpai, if there's anything I can help with, please tell me!"
"No, you don't have to be that considerate..."
"No! Senpai needs to stay on bed rest. You don't have to do anything, so please leave everything to me!"
"What do you mean by 'everything'?"
"Everything means everything!"
"...Hmm?"
"Is there anything you need? I'll bring it, so just say the word. Even the smallest thing is fine, because Senpai's safety is the most important thing. I'll be making your meals every day, so let me know if there's anything you want to eat. Also, if there's somewhere you want to go, you must call one of us. You mustn't use the wheelchair alone! The Sister said it's dangerous if there isn't someone properly pushing it from behind. From now on, someone will always be by Senpai's side. We all talked and decided on it. So we can support Senpai. So that no matter what happens, we can protect Senpai this time. So don't hesitate—rely on us for everything! I'm so worried because Senpai always tries to do things alone. I'll never let Senpai go through something painful again. I won't let you do anything reckless ever again. Senpai doesn't have to do anything; you can just rest. Leave everything—absolutely everything—to us. From now on, we'll always—"
"Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait!"
Even the youngest swordsman in the party, the earnest and overprotective Yulitia, was like this.
"Wolka. The monsters around here... I've hunted almost all of them."
"...Sorry, I didn't catch that. What did you say?"
"I hunted almost all the monsters around here. It will be safe for a while now."
"..."
"I'm... a little relieved now."
"That's a bit excessive, don't you think?"
"...I failed to protect you. I was the one protected, and I let you get seriously injured. My grandmother taught me that such a sin is what our God hates most. A comrade's wound is the tribe's wound; a life saved must be repaid with a life. That is our law. That is why I dedicate everything—every hair, every shard of bone, every drop of blood, every bit of my soul—to you. I decided... to die for you."
"........................"
Even the tomboyish heavy warrior, Atri... I felt like everyone's words and actions had become slightly—no, clearly—heavy.
When I thought about it, it made sense. If a comrade hovered on the brink of death and ended up with permanent disabilities, those who were safe would naturally be devastated. In a world infested with monsters, it wasn't strange to feel overwhelming guilt or crushing regret.
If the roles were reversed, I would have hated my own powerlessness too.
The problem was that while I was wandering between life and death, my comrades had developed a massive, twisted complex about it.
Naturally, my stomach twisted into knots from the sheer mental weight of their devotion.
I’ll say it again: I am a die-hard happy ending supremacist. I flatly refuse any development where the light disappears from a girl's eyes. It was bad enough seeing it in fiction, but if I were the cause of it, the light would disappear from my own eyes, too.
I was glad they cared about me. But this couldn't go on.
This was a dark fantasy world created by a depraved scoundrel. I knew that now. But "Wolka" was the person I had been for seventeen years, and these girls were my irreplaceable friends.
I wasn't going to let this turn into a "broken party" ending.
I had to help them pull themselves together. Now that I’d overturned the original plot, they actually had a chance at a happy future. They needed to get over the fact that I lost an eye and a leg so they could find their own happiness—otherwise, I wouldn't be able to rest easy.
My mission was clear.
I would never accept a "bad end" for them!
/
Determining to act was one thing, but the reality was...
"...I'm so bored."
A severely injured man who had just lost an eye and a leg couldn't exactly jump into action. I was forced into a tedious hospital life, confined to a bed.
In truth, I didn't even remember how I defeated the Grim Reaper.
When I finally woke up in the church infirmary, ten days had already passed. It seemed that because I fought with such suicidal desperation, my mind had simply purged the memory. I really was lucky to be alive.
Apparently, the one who saved me after I collapsed was the original protagonist. He’d performed emergency first aid and even used a precious Teleportation Pyroxene to get me to this church.
Now that I thought about it, while that protagonist was basically an emotionally stunted Berserker, he had a backstory that made him refuse to abandon anyone when monsters were involved. That mad warrior, interested only in slaughtering monsters, had already left the city in search of his next target.
I hoped to thank him one day.
As for "Wolka," the adventurer—the "me" of this world.
I didn't have a single memory of him from the original manga. I didn't even know if his name was ever mentioned. He might have been a complete mob character who died without a single line. He was likely created just to be killed off to establish the story's dark tone.
My face wasn't half bad, though. My eyes were a bit sharp and I looked unsociable, but objectively, I was decent-looking.
Then again, this world was full of beautiful people. Before, I just thought, "Isekai is amazing," but now that I knew this was a manga world, it made sense. Even the gluttonous, wicked nobles in that manga were handsome in their own way, and the background characters were drawn with care. Apparently, Wolka had received the same treatment.
Though only seventeen, I had already lost most of my boyishness, possessing the rugged face of a man. I was fairly tall, too; I didn't recall meeting many people my age who towered over me. I had dark ash-gray hair that I grew long and tied back at the nape of my neck. In this world, that was a common style for men.
As for my personality... let's just say I was grateful the concept of being "socially awkward" didn't exist here.
I was a swordsman in the A-rank party, Silvery Grey. Since we were A-rank, I assumed I’d been fairly skilled—though now that I was missing parts, that was ancient history.
And then there was the fact that my party members were all girls. I was in a position that looked like a harem protagonist's dream.
Of course, it wasn't a harem in the original story. The author probably just wanted to make the party’s destruction feel more tragic. He likely thought, "A party of only girls is unrealistic, so I'll toss in one guy and have him torn to pieces first."
That was the extent of Wolka’s existence.
But that didn't matter now.
It didn't matter who "Wolka" was supposed to be. I was the one who had lived here for seventeen years. I was "me."
I had already overturned the fate that said I was supposed to die.
"—Phew."
Even so... I was really, really bored.
I knew I was injured, but being stuck in bed was depressing. This fantasy world didn't have TV or smartphones, so being bedridden was pure torture.
I was currently staying in a church near the dungeon.
The Chryscles Holy Church. It sounded imposing, but it was essentially a combined church and hospital. Like most fantasy settings, medicine here revolved around magic. They handled birth, aging, and death through "pious faith."
For adventurers, it was a second home—a place they visited every time they got hacked up. In this country, "the church" always meant the Chryscles Holy Church.
...Alright, maybe a short walk.
My wounds had closed, and I wasn't strictly forbidden from leaving the room. My body was getting stiff, so a little movement was practically a medical necessity.
Ideally, I’d like to do some strength training, but Master would probably have a heart attack...
I tried to slide out of bed, thinking about my plan.
"Ghu-ack!"
I fell. I didn't just lose my balance or get dizzy; I toppled over like a felled tree, landing hard on my side.
I was stunned for a second, wondering what had happened, until reality set in.
"...Oh, right. My leg."
It was gone. I’d completely forgotten.
In my defense, it didn't feel like it was gone. I wasn't being sentimental or delusional, but the physical sensation of my left leg being attached was still there. Phantom limb, I guess.
Because of that, whenever I got lost in thought, I’d try to move like I always had—and this was the result.
I was glad the room was empty. It would have been embarrassing if the girls saw me, and they would have worried themselves sick. As a happy ending supremacist, I couldn't afford to put any more stress on their—
"—Wolka!"
With the desperate intensity of someone whose family had been taken hostage, a silver-haired girl burst into the room.
She was the definition of a "witch."
She wore an oversized, triangular witch’s hat, a robe that looked like the night sky, and a short skirt. At barely 130 centimeters tall, she looked like a child in a costume, but her silver hair and golden eyes had an ethereal glow. It was hard to believe someone like her was a disposable mob character.
"—"
"...Ah—wait. This is... I just tripped, that's all."
For the moment, I just lay there on the floor, wondering how on earth I was going to explain this to my Master, whose face was turning deathly pale.