The Outer God Needs Warmth

Chapter 15

The next day.

A man I had seen only once before opened the door to my room and stepped in.

“Are you the apostle the leader has spoken of?”@@@@

His hair was neatly combed, and he wore clean, well-maintained clothes. Though he didn’t have the distinctive tonsure of a monk, he sported a bowl cut. His complexion was healthy—unsurprising, considering he was one of the four people present at the time of my summoning.

So, only one of them remains now?

In any case, I greeted him.

“Hello.”

“Ah, hello. My name is Andrew. You’re... somewhat different from what I expected.”

Well, of course. A title like “apostle of a god” conjures images of someone extraordinary. It’s not a title that suits me at all.

If anything, I’m farther from being divine. If existence is a spectrum that spans beast, human, and god, I’d be on the opposite end of humanity.

A faint hint of disappointment crossed Andrew’s face.

Was I not the person he had hoped for?

I wasn’t sure of his intentions, but he had timed his visit well—Joanna was away, and he had waited until there was no one else around before coming here.

I didn’t ask any questions. It’s better to let him think what he will. If he has something he wants to know, he’ll ask. After all, asking questions can reveal your level of understanding in an instant.

Not that I can hide my ignorance forever.

A person in a high position within a cult is likely skilled at reading others. Given the leadership of those under him, Andrew was certainly no ordinary individual.

So.

I simply stared at him, and Andrew stared back at me.

But isn’t Hieronymus supposed to have surveillance mechanisms in place to monitor me? How can Andrew enter my room so confidently?

Is he unaware?

Even Hyungkeshni only approached me when Joanna was present. Judging by her eerie staff and her self-proclaimed title of “witch,” her affiliation with this cult might be more of a side hustle.

I’ve seen this cult through four different perspectives, and no one here carries a staff like hers. Not even the magic users in the training grounds of the cult’s militant sect wield long staffs.

It’s highly likely that Hyungkeshni’s profession as a witch is unrelated to Future Hope Sect. Perhaps she’s merely using them for her purposes.

Maybe she was confident in her power, or perhaps she just felt like coming to see me. Either way, she seemed casual about it.

But this man is different.

He’s deliberately analyzing me. The fact that he chose a time when no one else was around suggests he has ulterior motives.

Is he planning to ask questions that a member of Future Hope Sect shouldn’t?

“Do you find your current situation satisfactory, Lady Rebecca?”

There, see? That’s the kind of question he’s asking. He’s trying to gauge whether I’m content with my circumstances. Most people would answer no. So, I’ll say the same.

“No.”

I genuinely don’t like it here. The room is relatively spacious, but it’s a closed-off space without windows.

Not that I feel claustrophobic, though.

On the contrary, I feel expansive, wide open. Infinite, yet utterly empty and bitterly cold.

If only I could fire something like a “Rebecca Beam” to harvest warmth. Unfortunately, it seems I don’t have any offensive capabilities. Lost in such idle thoughts, I continued to gaze at Andrew.

“Oh, does that mean you harbor resentment toward Hieronymus for confining you here?”

Now, let’s see.

Only then could I obtain warmth.

For a harvester to function properly, chaos is essential. Isn’t that how it always works? Look at the Romance of the Three Kingdoms. In times of peace, the figures who became heroes were mere shadows. But when chaos reigned, they emerged as legends, taking center stage in history.

And behind those legends, tens, hundreds, thousands of lives were lost.

Only then does the harvester begin to steal warmth from others.

When Isitur subdued an opponent, no warmth flowed to me. Killing, however, is necessary.

Wide demonstrated this clearly. By simply killing, warmth naturally flows into me.

“Yes, I understand, Lady Rebecca. Please look forward to good news.”

Andrew seemed to feel he had gleaned everything he needed from our conversation. With a polite bow, he took his leave and exited the room.

Ah, what a shame.

I’d have liked to sink my essence into him as well.

But there’s still another seed remaining.

The one into whom I’ve already imbued part of myself. Tistha.

A boy who is now discovering his newfound abilities, diligently training under an instructor to learn the art of combat. With his enhanced regenerative powers, he’s able to focus entirely on honing his skills, disregarding any damage to his body.

He’s a revolutionary type—a boy who questions the logic of the current world, finds its flaws, and seeks the right answers.

I’m sure he’ll provide plenty of entertainment.

In fact, he’s already fascinating. Surprisingly, Wide has taken Tistha under his wing, supporting him. To Wide, Tistha appears to be someone desperately striving to overcome being unchosen.

But the more Tistha tries, the starker the difference between him and Wide becomes. It’s plainly visible to anyone: no matter how much effort Tistha puts in, the gap only widens.

And that difference inflates Wide’s ego.

It amplifies it even further, as his peers and instructors look at him with admiration and envy.

Among them, the whispers begin:

“I wish I could receive the blessing.”

How endearing.

As expected of Wide.

The number of people who actively desire to become harvesters themselves is steadily growing.

No, let’s simplify things. From now on, we’ll call it a blessing.

That works nicely. It sounds like they’ve received something wonderful. In reality, it’s just me, poured into their vessel.

But that doesn’t mean the “me” in them is separate from the rest of me.

To explain it simply, imagine a large basin filled with water. That water is me.

When I imbue someone, it’s not like scooping water into a cup. Instead, it’s like turning the cup upside down and submerging it in the water.

Air pockets form in the cup, but—oh my, would you look at that—if they accept the contract, the air escapes.

The reality is a little more complex, but it’s roughly like that. All the water is connected. How many cups I can submerge remains a puzzle for later.

Because now, I hear the heavy sound of footsteps approaching from afar.

The sound stops abruptly just outside the door. Then, Hieronymus enters, his expression carefully neutral.

He looks tense as he glances at me, then scans the room before returning his gaze to me.

Something has clearly happened, but he seems unsure of what. So, I decided to do what I always do.

“Hello, Hieronymus.”