The Outer God Needs Warmth

Chapter 3

The world is bright!

All I did was push a little more of myself in, and the once dim interior became brightly visible. Now I can clearly see things that were hidden before.

The lower levels are filled with cultists, and above, there are figures with iron masks aimed in my direction.

The masks have slits for the eyes, yet somehow I can see their entire faces. Most of them emit faint light, dim and weak.

These small traces of warmth will inevitably fall to me soon enough. If I were to trigger just one, a cascade might follow, but gathering scattered embers won’t warm me. Instead, it only reminds me how cold I am—how desperately I need more warmth.

More warmth.

Hehehe.

Luckily, this place is filled with beings who seem ready to give me what I need. Let’s see what I can do with them!

Now that this stiff body is moving more comfortably, I decide to take another look around.

In front of me stands a large man with tattoos that seem to carry religious significance. He’s clearly the leader here, at least in this place.

I can tell because many of the people stationed above seem concerned about him, and none of the weapons aimed at me have a line of fire that includes him.

Huh?

How do I even know they’re worried about him?

Even if I could read facial expressions, these figures include not just humanoid beings but a variety of forms that don’t resemble humans at all.

Strangely enough, I can almost grasp their emotions. I can’t tell what they’re thinking, but the taste of their emotions is tangible.

Taste?

Ah!

The countless lights I’ve licked before!

When I tasted those lights, their memories flowed into me. I’ve consumed so many that I now understand the beings here—at least on an emotional level.

I can tell, for instance, that the large man in front of me is incredibly angry. But for now, my focus shifts downward—to the scattered fragments of light below.

No! My warmth!

Clink.

Something restricts me. Without even looking, I know what it is—my limbs are bound with metal cuffs, and those cuffs are chained to the chair I’m sitting on.

Ah, I forgot about that.

“Please, calm yourself. I am not your enemy. We humbly ask for the great god to hear our plea—please grant our wish.”

So many thoughts cross my mind. If I truly am a god, who would listen to one bound and chained like this?

Above me, I see several figures aiming weapons in my direction. Not guns—bows, or perhaps ballistae. Their size is immense, resembling siege weapons I’ve seen in games.

The tips of the arrows glow with an unfamiliar energy, and I can tell that if one strikes this vessel, it will shatter for sure.

That won’t do.

Hmm.

There’s warmth in front of me.

But I don’t want to be cast back into the abyss without achieving anything.

I turn my head. Not my head, technically—the girl’s head. As her brain processes the situation, fragments of memories emerge, just like when I tasted lights before.

She was the child of a relatively well-off family.

She grew up loved.

She even possessed some kind of special ability that promised her a bright future.

But then the cultists came with their weapons. They killed her parents, her family, and even the servants. After slaughtering everyone, they tested something by placing strange objects on their tongues, then knocked her unconscious.

When she woke up, she was surrounded by people chanting strange spells. She tried to scream, but her body wouldn’t obey.

And then, just like that, her heart was carved out.

She died, watching a bizarre blade pierce her chest amidst excruciating pain.

Her heart was gone.

The S-shaped blade used to cut it out now hangs at the man’s waist. Even a subtle glance around reveals no trace of the heart.

I reach the last pile of corpses and step into the warmth.

The light that climbs up my body as I taste it belongs to someone who was incredibly wealthy. Yet they were wicked, gleefully murdering people for sport and dissecting them.

Even such a person holds warmth.

So, warmth has nothing to do with good or evil, after all.

I ascend the stairs once more.

Having claimed so much warmth, I should offer some form of repayment.

The stone chair is unappealing, but I’ll sit in it regardless.

Standing on the chair, I face the leader who summoned me.

“Well, I’ve answered your questions and gathered plenty of warmth. Now, before this heat fades, tell me the details you left out earlier.”

Oh.

For a moment, the man’s face contorts with disgust. He looks at me as if I’m something grotesque.

He’s not wrong.

The fading memories of a human man within me whisper:

“What kind of lunatic plays on top of corpses?”

Exactly. But sometimes, there are things more important than being human.

I am that man—a man who fell into the void, soaked in cold that burrowed deep into his bones, desperately craving warmth.

So, strictly speaking, I am insane. But without experiencing it firsthand, they cannot understand me. Instead, they’ll simply label me as mad.

As I stare at the man, he finally begins to speak, detailing his wish.

“To annihilate the kings, queens, nobles, and leaders of temples across all nations. And to bring unavoidable death to the objects of revenge for our followers.”

Hmm.

I see. The first part lacks sincerity—it’s essentially propaganda. This cult wants revenge, and by supporting their cause, others might join their ranks.

It’s nothing more than an invitation.

The second part, however, carries genuine emotion.

This temple is proof of it. The structure radiates resentment—every inch etched with the hopes and prayers for someone’s destruction.

Of course, only those consumed by such intense hatred would fall for a cult like this.

Even so, their numbers seem excessive.

Some are likely here for personal gain, others because their hearts have changed, and a few may simply be distracted by unrelated goals.

But there’s a problem.

“How?”

I don’t know how to grant their wish.

All I know is that when I pour myself into the lights I touch, explosions occur in the physical world.

It was then—

“You’re not Krssaksshibal!”

A voice roared from the shadows of the ceiling. One of the figures who had been aiming a weapon at me suddenly launched their ballista.

The bolt, fueled by rage but devoid of despair, soared toward me. It was incredibly bright—a warm light.

How strange.

Normally, such lights exist far beyond my reach. They only fall to me after losing much of their warmth in an explosion.

But now, I can touch it.

The bolt tears through my head, ripping away most of my face. But the warmth it carries is far more important.

Still!

It’s warm!

The warmth!

I reach out and grasp it.