The Outer God Needs Warmth

Joanna Smith is looking up at me.

With her gaze, her breath, her heart, I can see the world.

In other words, the live service has started!

Until now, I’ve lived by picking up a few decent videos after watching a ton of broken ones. But this time, it’s live service—it’s completely cutting-edge technology!

As I’m moved, she’s looking at me, amazed by the miracle happening to her body. From Joanna’s hair, whitened by awe, an indescribable amount of pleasure-inducing substance is overflowing.

Oh, you know this much?

It’s quite different from just seeing a game character. Unlike looking through a screen, there’s a tactile sense of awareness. At least to the extent that I can feel some emotions.

I can’t quite grasp exactly what she’s thinking. Unfortunately, reading minds is out of my reach.

Or maybe a person’s thoughts aren’t output in a rigidly logical manner like in cartoons.

I turned my head and looked at Hieronymus.

He’s feeling a bit of fear, a bit of curiosity, and other mixed emotions swirling around, but overall, he’s surprised by the current situation.

“I’ve seen what I needed to.”

“Is that so? I thank you for your blessing.”

Hieronymus is watching Joanna Smith from a step back, as if he’s ready to take action at any moment if anything happens.

He didn’t just become a leader of some cult, after all. According to Joanna’s memory, he wasn’t a cult leader a long time ago.

Back then, the cult more resembled a ragtag group with no proper leader. It changed once he stepped in.

Joanna estimates that someone appeared around ten years ago, but from what I see, it seems more likely that this author made the cult into a proper cult a little earlier than that.

Because between 30 years ago and 13 years ago, no one had bizarre patterned clothes or masks. In other words, ranks appeared only after that.

From 13 years ago, those started to show up a bit in her gaze.

The ragtag group transitioned into a pyramid structure with proper organization.

And one more thing.

The cult itself is a much older religion. Browsing through what this guy has seen and learned, it seems more akin to primitive faith.

I can tell the person in front of me is quite powerful.

This person is the top of the current religious group, and to gain warmth, I need to make good judgments about how to communicate with this man, Hieronymus.

While I’m pondering this, Hieronymus is alternating his gaze between me and Joanna before telling her to return to him.

After calling her twice and receiving no answer, he adds that I shouldn’t be a distraction.

Joanna, startled, gets up and greets me repeatedly while exiting with him.

Ah, I’m left alone again.

Is it okay to leave something this dangerous all alone? A doubt lingers, but the location is what it is.

Since I don’t have a particular affection for the organization, there’s a possibility that it could collapse at any moment. We’re deep underground, after all.

Joanna had been there since the beginning and was able to enter.

No matter how exclusive the place may be, there’s a need for someone to handle menial tasks like cleaning.

Cleaning, meals. A person to do these basic tasks is absolutely necessary.

If a high-ranking person is asked to go back to the bottom level now, who would be willing to do that?

Someone to give orders is essential.

Joanna is that kind of person.

So, Joanna is outside, feeling perplexed by Hieronymus, who is cautiously interviewing her while checking on her condition.

Why is he talking to me like this?

Of course, I can’t be sure he’s thinking exactly that. Confusion and embarrassment, joy and fulfillment—picking through this tangle of emotions, I speculate that he might be thinking that way.

But why is he being so cautious?

Ah, I see.

He witnessed a transformation where a boy who got left behind at the dining area ended up shooting someone in a grotesquely changed state, and that dead person also transformed into a similar monstrosity.

Back then, I was confused, but Hieronymus is grasping it even better than I am.

It doesn’t seem wise to show off my intelligence frivolously.

A child with foolish intelligence can easily become an object of ridicule and manipulation.

If I show I trust myself, I can utilize that for a long time. For now, let’s keep it that way.

Perhaps he’s watching me just as I’m watching him. Leaving me here alone might indicate that there’s something safe about it.

With one part of my mind on Joanna and Hieronymus, I walked towards the center of the altar.

Standing in the highest spot, I look down below.

A radial area.

A subtly elevated position.

The designed layout makes it so that the gaze is directed upward.

Imposing and grand. Turning around, I see a light source behind me.

It’s a straightforward design.

From up here, it’s really easy to see everything. Other than that, I don’t know much. It wouldn’t be strange if there were more mechanisms, but there’s no sign of someone hidden or surveillance cameras.

Of course, in a world where magic and curses exist, it wouldn’t be odd for such items to be around. I sensed an ominous aura from an arrow, and the feeling that something restrained me when my head flew off still lingers.

When the warmth was stolen by a boy’s light, it vanished.

Looking back, it seems like that wound healed, right?

Here, warmth might be required to maintain this body. Then I need to think about eating as a human. Food must be considered.

I need basic necessities.

As it dawned on me, I wondered why no one is saying anything about my being naked.

Aren’t they thinking I need clothes?

While thinking this, I looked down at my body, seeing my front caked in blood. It’s smeared down to my lower half, making it look like a demon from some game about capturing demons.

Definitely.

In this state, it would be easy to see it as something horrific rather than just pitiful.

I don’t want to look this disgusting, but is there any way to fix this? There’s no water nearby.

Or can I do something myself?

I have powers. People transformed when they came into contact with me. To the extent that their very races changed, could it mean I have the possibility to do something?

Pour a bit more of myself into a vessel.

Maximizing restraint and pressure while letting my thin hand touch the light.

Ah.

A dark purple mist begins to trickle out of my body.

Oh? And I discovered something interesting.

Hieronymus hurriedly turns his head towards where I am. So he has been observing this place.

After calming Joanna, he takes her into some room. There, they hand out clothing and a mask. It’s clothing for the third rank. Hieronymus’s actions reveal a bit of urgency.

How amusing.

Joanna looks incredibly moved by it, and yet Hieronymus’s gaze is pointed toward the void. In other words, he’s watching me.

I can’t quite tell where he’s looking.

Meanwhile, he inspects the dark purple mist flowing from the cracks in my body.

Is that really me? If so, could this possibly become clothing?

It’s all an experiment. I hope the outfit Rebecca Rolfe was most comfortable in comes out.

Oh?

It appeared.

The dark purple mist flowed into my body, transforming into a soft pair of pajamas! Not arranged, but exactly as Rebecca had worn—pajamas of white and pink hues.

No, I did ask for the outfit she felt most comfortable in, but pajamas might be a bridge too far.

Look!

Hieronymus, who was watching me from afar with some special power, is also thoroughly confused.

But the blood and bodily fluids stuck to me have disappeared, and physically, I now have warm and fluffy clothing.

Still, this cold isn’t dissipating.

It’s not that there’s anything wrong with this clothing; it’s just that my body is cold. It seems I might be the cause of it. I can’t gain warmth through physical means.

I wonder how it will be in the desert, but I’ll experiment with that a bit more slowly. I’ll try to act like a child.

So, I’ll curl up on the altar and pretend to sleep.

I’m not really sleepy, though.

However, the body of this girl, Rebecca Rolfe, is longing for rest.

Does she have a soul? I can’t say for sure. When I arrived, I couldn’t find the light or warmth—only memories plucked directly from her mind.

I closed my eyes and curled up. It’s a little suffocating because of my large chest, but I can pretend to sleep.

Then, I focused the remaining awareness on Joanna.

*

Hieronymus sighed in relief inwardly.

Suddenly, an immense presence exploded from the place they kept hidden. It wasn’t magic and neither was it a curse source.

An unknown, mysterious power.

A particular genre-savvy magician would call it the power from the void or some other dimension—a force existing outside this world.

Something that handles such power was shoved into the girl’s body.

There are gods in this world. Hieronymus, whose real name is Yasle, knows that. Of course, this god isn’t an omnipotent absolute being.

Compared to intermediate beings, it’s a truly powerful existence that’s deemed a god. Among them, from the perspective of a religious leader, it has issued commands for purging and has even killed before.

The weapon wielded by the combat group known as the Faithful Warriors was intended for that purpose.

Yet, he emerged unscathed.

No, considering that I’m currently making clothing and sleeping, perhaps I’ve taken on quite a bit of damage without realizing it. Pondering this while looking at Joanna Smith, the woman in front of me.

Originally a middle-aged, sickly woman, now there’s no trace of her—by appearance, she seems to be in her late teens or early twenties. The only problem is that her skin has turned almost completely dark purple, but given what kind of power granted it, it’s a relief it ended there.

The first person to encounter her clearly transformed into something inhuman.

And in walking here, dialogue revealed signs of distortion in her heart too.

This woman was initially in a completely broken mental state. Someone who passively obeyed commands, found joy in doing so, and sought nothing beyond that—a clearly trained laborer of the sect.

But the person in front of me is different. There’s no longer a shrinking demeanor in response to words.

Of course, in such cultic groups, some undergo changes the moment they feel they’ve been selected.

Yet, she has no pride in feeling chosen as a special person. She merely thinks her body has healed due to a miracle.

But now, I see a strong sense of self-esteem glowing in her eyes. Perhaps this is a result of the transformation she’s undergone donning the skin of Rebecca Rolfe.

Yasle still doesn’t know what the warmth being spoken about by that being really is. He thought it was a monster that kills and absorbs people. So he took her before it.

It didn’t devour her.

Instead, it’s more like a gift.

Yet, his long experience tells him this gift is far from good.

The desires of the being donning the girl’s skin are apparent in her expression. As if the sentence of an insatiable hunger—like that of the god Cruxshibal—has been stamped right on her face.

At that moment, Yasle chuckled inwardly.

Cruxshibal.

That’s a name he made up himself. No one knows the identity of the god he believes in, so he created the name infused with resentment and complaint.

Combining it with the knowledge of a mage that spilled out from somewhere and the image of rescuing someone from the very bottom where they originated, he’s kneaded it into its current form.

Perhaps, it might be that the true entity, devoid of a name, has arrived.

If that’s the case, then so be it.

If he can get revenge, he should take advantage of it.

First, let’s see how transformed Joanna has indeed become. If this altered human proves powerful, it may reinforce his status under the guise of a blessing.

Moreover, it can become a weapon that can directly stab at the target of his vengeance.

Thus, Yasle, wrapped in the skin of Hieronymus, feigned the kindness of a religious leader, elevated Joanna’s rank, and set her to work.

Seeing Joanna’s face light up with joy from that statement, he greeted her, and Yasle walked towards the room where something that bore the name Rebecca Rolfe lay sleeping.

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