The Outer God Needs Warmth

Chapter 8

I woke up.

To be precise, the body I inhabit woke up.

My consciousness, however, had been following Joanna all along. She was doing exactly what someone newly empowered tends to do—realizing her newfound strength, discovering its potential, and beginning to feel just a hint of greed as she imagined what she could become.

It feels like watching a reincarnation story.

Isn’t this what I’m like, too?

I gained power, didn’t I? Acting as though I follow rules while revering strength and completely ignoring narrative flow—a munchkin.

Munchkins are great.

They do whatever they want.

The game master and fellow players might hate it, but is there anything that triggers dopamine like straightforward power?

Moreover, surpassing the very being that granted you strength? That’s the most exhilarating feeling of all.

Not that I care.

As long as I continue receiving warmth, I don’t mind if those empowered by me become heroes or mass murderers.

I’m not here for an RPG; I’m here for an automated factory simulation.

So, let’s set some goals. First, I need more harvesters. When I immersed myself into faint lights, they gave me bright, warm light in return.

Doesn’t that mean I used resources to harvest warmth?

I sat up from the altar where I’d been lying and removed the soft hat I was wearing.

Whoosh.

The hat dissolved into smoky, dark-purple mist.

I need to figure out whether this power is mine or if I am the power itself, and how it all works.

Main Goal: Increase the number of harvesters.

Secondary Goal: Test my abilities.

In a secluded place like this, testing my abilities comes first. I tried changing my clothes. Rebecca Rolf’s memories contained a few images of outfits for special occasions.

With just a little bit of effort, I pushed a sliver of myself into Rebecca Rolf’s body. Cracks appeared on the skin, and dark-purple mist seeped out—not literal cracks, but something that looked like them.

This time, I managed to release the mist more slowly, allowing it to engulf the pajamas I was wearing and return them to mist form, leaving me naked. The mist then reformed into a deep-brown outfit centered around a stiff, thick jacket.

It’s not exactly seasonal attire.

When Rebecca Rolf was kidnapped after her family was murdered, it was short-sleeve weather.

Not much time has passed since then, so it must still be summer.

If I’m trying to appear unintelligent, wearing seasonally inappropriate clothing would make me a different kind of fool. How about something like... a white dress?

Oh. That worked.

It’s a long dress with a deep back and a skirt that’s relatively modest. The outfit even shapes the body in a flattering way. Wait—did Rebecca even own something like this?

It doesn’t seem like she did, but since it’s here, I won’t complain.

It’s overall pretty, which is nice. It feels more like decorating a doll I control rather than dressing myself, so I prefer it to be attractive.@@@@

Even in games, don’t we usually pick female characters?

Sure, there’s a strange sense of compression on the body, but there’s no feeling of “cross-dressing” despite having been male before. Those sensations from back then have completely faded.

Instead, I feel cold.

Still cold.

We’re not enemies yet.

Not yet.

In a hierarchical society like this, there’s only room for one leader. If I want to set up a warmth-harvesting factory, I’ll either have to recruit or remove him.

Luckily, he’s part of a cult, so I wouldn’t feel guilty no matter how he died.

With ordinary people, I might have felt a twinge of remorse.

But this place is full of wicked individuals. Their tragic pasts may have brought them here, but that doesn’t excuse them.

Yes.

Even if this were a benevolent, righteous religion saving everyone, I’d still demand they serve me.

As we exited, Joanna was waiting by the entrance. She quickly bowed when she saw me.

Without a word, she naturally fell in behind me. The three of us headed toward the room Hieronymus had prepared.

We encountered only five people on the way—all high-ranking officials from the first circle. Three men, one woman, and one with a dog’s head.

A dog!

Oh, that’s right. This world has beastfolk. They don’t seem to belong to the upper or lower echelons of society but are more like a racial difference akin to white and black people in my world. There’s discrimination, of course.

Discrimination is inevitable.

Living beings need ways to distinguish between themselves and others—basic programming for survival.

I admit I’m tempted to touch their fur and see how fluffy it feels. They probably radiate plenty of warmth.

With such thoughts in mind, I entered the room designated as mine—a cage, really. The ceiling held something that emanated ominous energy.

This is why Hieronymus is a potential enemy.

Had he been less cautious, I might not have been so wary of him.

But it’s precisely because he’s this calculating that he managed to expand this cult and summon me.

I quietly sat on the luxurious sofa and addressed Hieronymus.

“Provide me with food. And I need warmth.”

“Warmth? Shall I fetch clothing?”

At his words, Joanna began walking toward a drawer, but Hieronymus stopped her.

“Please prepare the meal. I doubt the warmth this being speaks of is the sort you imagine. You’ll need to see it for yourself.”

Joanna nodded and left, heading toward the kitchen. Before her skin had swollen with lesions, she had worked in the dining hall.

Turning my attention back to Hieronymus, I spoke.

“Hieronymus. Can my power be used?”

To this, he replied:

“Yes. If possible, could you create more of it?”

Oh-ho.

I wanted to answer “everything, right now!” but chose to drag things out. I need time to explore this world, one piece at a time.

“I think I could make five or six people like Joanna in a day. But if luck isn’t on our side, they might explode.”

Hieronymus pondered for a moment before nodding as if his calculations were complete.

“Then please do so when I request it.”

“Yes, I’ll do that, Hieronymus.”

The harvester production plan was in place.