The Outer God Needs Warmth

Chapter 5

I may not have been their god, but it seemed they liked me well enough.

The man who called himself Hieronymus escorted me to a stone chair, seated me there, and bowed deeply, declaring that their answer had come.@@@@

The surrounding cultists, who had been scurrying about in confusion, followed suit, bowing in unison.

With their faces hidden as they bowed, it was impossible to tell what they were thinking. However, I licked the fallen "warriors of faith"—both the boy and the girl—and managed to get a general sense of the situation.

While I absorbed warmth from the corpses below, they were already so cold that little remained of their memories.

It was like watching a buffering video: unbearably choppy, skipping entire moments and jumping around. Every ten seconds, something would appear, but piecing together any context was impossible.

So, I only took their warmth.

But those two were different.

From their memories, I managed to learn the name of this cult.

Future Hope Sect.

What a straightforward name. It wasn’t so much a cult that worshipped a unique deity as it was a pseudo-religion created for personal gain.

I’d heard that as cults evolve, they tend to separate their deity from their leader. In essence, the "god" becomes a figurehead, while the leader reaps the actual benefits.

This division prevents the cult from collapsing with the leader, addressing the so-called "owner risk."

By splitting the object of worship from the source of wealth, it also becomes easier to pass the cult down through generations, as one might with a family business.

Here, the mysterious phenomenon was positioned as their "god," and they used it to attract followers.

They demanded exorbitant donations, exaggerated their proselytizing efforts to isolate followers socially, and crushed any sense of independence through repeated failure.

Once branded as a member of the cult, escape became impossible. The masks they wore to cover their faces also served to suppress horizontal relationships among the members.

Every relationship had to flow vertically—from the top down. This structure was incredibly effective.

Psychologically tormenting individuals, severing their connections with others, and forcing them to look only to those above them—this was no different from the work of skilled torturers.

But I disliked it.

Stripping people down like this robbed their light of its warmth.

From my experience, light brimming with hope carried warmth akin to heat. How could I make it shine brighter?

Even with their faces obscured by cloth and masks, if their eyes were turned toward me, I could see their expressions clearly.

Roughly half of them harbored discontent. Yet, none openly voiced it, likely due to the commanding charisma of Hieronymus.

He must have been quite capable.

I was curious about how he would use the abilities I offered him.

Surely, someone with deeper knowledge and expertise than me could come up with more elaborate plans.

While I considered injecting my power into him directly, I dismissed the idea.

A goose that lays golden eggs must be nurtured patiently, not butchered in haste.

So, I followed Hieronymus obediently.

He declared the ceremony complete, proclaiming that their savior had arrived—a shallow lie he didn’t even believe himself.

As a result, not many people seemed fooled.

The ultimate skill of a liar is believing their own lies, but Hieronymus hadn’t reached that level yet.

He led me to a place unknown even to the so-called warriors of faith.

Warriors of faith.

As we passed by, I examined them carefully.

To taste warriors who would lay down their lives for their god—how unexpectedly abundant their warmth was.

The cold core within me still hadn’t thawed, but perhaps with enough warmth, I could melt it away.

When Hieronymus brought me to a room at the heart of the underground complex, I wasn’t surprised at all.

“Rebecca Rolf, will you truly use that name?”

“Names are necessary to designate individuals, are they not?”

“I thought gods valued names greatly.”

Do names hold importance?

Perhaps they do. Many of the major religions I’d observed had prohibitions against speaking their gods’ names carelessly or attributed power to names.

So I replied:

“I am not a god. I’m simply colder than others and need warmth. That’s all I require.”

I didn’t even need a name. I’d only taken this body’s name because it would’ve been inconvenient otherwise. Unlike consuming light, I could recall memories from this body through my mind.

Might as well use it properly.

Emotions?

But her light was small, her warmth faint. She was a person utterly consumed by despair.

A person whose hope was so fragile that clinging to the idea of a god was all she had left.

Her body bore no signs of health. She was missing fingers, and her skin was swollen with edema. As I examined her, I noticed Hieronymus observing me carefully, his gaze appraising.

The look of a man watching an animal he intended to raise.

An old, sickly woman. But she had faith. His gaze seemed to ask: Would this creature be worth feeding to their god? If this offering could sustain me, it would make for a cheap and easy way to maintain me.

How amusing.

Hmm...

What to do?

This felt like neglect. The light was too dim.

But it might be worth experimenting. Until now, when I reached out from below, lights had always burst instantly. However, now that the light was right in front of me, and I could speak to it, perhaps another path existed.

I approached the elderly woman and took her hand.

“I am not Krssaksshibal,” I said.

First, I wanted to break her assumptions.

The moment I grasped her hand, her body flinched, and despair spread across her face. Next came confusion—doubt directed at me.

“I am a cold ocean, longing for warmth from the depths below.”

In truth, sincerity came effortlessly to me, even when I didn’t mean it.

“I have no power to grant wishes.”

Yes, the only thing here was me. If I had such power, I might have run around declaring myself the protagonist of some fantastical reincarnation tale. Or perhaps I could have been like those novels where a monster becomes the hero.

But I wasn’t that type. I wasn’t high quality.

“All I can offer is myself, so I give myself to you.”

A faint tendril of dark purple mist—no, my very being—extended from my hand, touching her.

The moment it came into contact with her light, I resisted the urge to devour it for its warmth.

Sowing seeds required patience and effort.

I pushed myself into her. Having done something similar earlier, I felt more confident now.

“In return, when you complete all your tasks, I will take everything you have,” I said.

The woman, her expression blank and dazed, slowly nodded. As she agreed, the dark purple mist began to seep into her.

Agreement enabled absorption. Yet, until now, every attempt had ended with my hosts bursting apart.

Please don’t burst.

Please, just hold together.

Be my tenant.

Crack.

What? Is she breaking apart?

A crack appeared on the woman’s face. But instead of shattering completely, a new layer of smooth, white skin emerged beneath.

Her name flickered clearly in my mind: Joanna Smith.

Born the daughter of a landlord, she married into a prestigious family. But her husband turned out to be abusive, and after losing her child to a miscarriage, she was abandoned. Broken and homeless, she drifted until joining the Future Hope Sect thirty years ago, where overwork and exploitation ravaged her body.

Clatter.

Fragments of her old, cracked skin fell to the ground, revealing a younger, revitalized body.

It was as if she’d shed a plaster cast, emerging as a rejuvenated woman. Her skin was unnaturally pale, but she had clearly not only healed but grown younger.

Her light, now tinged with a dark hue, still carried warmth.

Good. The seed has been planted.

The next step would be to nurture it.

“Joanna Smith. How do you feel?” I asked.

She touched her newly transformed skin with trembling hands before prostrating herself on the ground, her forehead pressed firmly to the floor.

Even before she spoke, I knew what her answer would be.

“I will follow and serve you for the rest of my life.”

Heh.

I’d gained a tenant.