The Outer God Needs Warmth

I wasn’t their god, but I guess they liked me in their own way.

thoughts swirling

The man named Hieronymus took me to a stone chair and, bowing his head as if the answers were descending upon us, he seemed rather ceremonial.

shuffling

The pagans around us awkwardly followed suit, bowing as well.

You can’t see their faces when they bow, so it’s hard to know what they’re thinking. Still, I managed to get a rough idea of the situation by licking the silly title of ‘warrior of faith’ off some boys and girls nearby.

shiver

I got warmth from the corpse below, but it was already pretty cold, so while there was warmth, there weren’t really any proper memories attached.

buffering noises

It was like watching a video that was less loading and more like rewindx10, teleporting random bits in and out. There was something happening every ten seconds, making it impossible to understand the context.

blank stare

So, I just had the warmth.

But two of them were different.

I barely managed to learn the name of this cult from their memories.

Future Hope Church.

lightbulb

A pretty straightforward name. It’s more like a cult made for private purposes than a pagan religion worshipping some special god.

In fact, it’s said that the more a cult develops, the more it separates the deity from the leader. The guru usually gets the most important part, of course.

Because if you focus on the leader, the cult can easily wobble depending on them. Much like the concept of ‘owner’s risk’, cults face the same danger.

But if you separate the object of faith and the one who gains from it, it’s much more convenient later on. Just like when passing down a cult through generations.

Here, they’ve tied an unknown phenomenon to a cult’s god and have been recruiting followers.

They demand exorbitant amounts of money, preach in exaggerated ways so as to suppress social lives, and crush people’s independence through continued failures.

Once you’re marked as a cult member, escaping is nearly impossible. And the masks they wear do wonders in keeping their faces hidden.

This prevents horizontal relationships among the followers. Relationships should only flow from top to bottom to be effective.

whiplash of realization

Psychological torment, cutting ties with others, making everyone look only upward—it’s practically the same job as a torturer.

I don’t like it, no.

If you scrape away too much, the light loses its warmth.

In my experience with the light, when hope is great, the light feels warm like heat. How can I raise that even more?

Even with a cloth draped over me or a mask covering my face, as long as the gaze is directed here, I can see all their expressions.

About half of them are dissatisfied. But maybe this Hieronymus guy has such overwhelming charisma that they don’t voice their thoughts.

Must be capable, right?

I’m curious how this man will use the abilities I have.

He likely knows more specialized knowledge than someone like me with shallow information. He could plan something more intricate with that.

Of course, I’ve considered the option of shoving my powers directly into this guy, but nah.

You don’t slice open the goose that lays golden eggs; you nurture it with patience.

So, I quietly follow Hieronymus.

Hieronymus casually lies about our Lord coming as he says the ritual is finished. He spits out a fib he doesn’t even believe himself.

Consequently, not many are fooled.

The ultimate trickster believes his own lies; he hasn’t reached that level yet.

He led me to an unknown place, the realm of the ‘warrior of faith.’

As we passed by, I took a careful look around.

I never imagined I’d get to witness a warrior willing to give their life to a particular deity, but hey, there’s a lot more warmth here than I expected.

It’ll be warm from now on!

I still feel like the core of my body is frozen solid, but if I can gather more warmth, maybe I can shake off some of this chill.

So when Hieronymus took me to a room in the underground cave, I was not surprised at all.

“Rebecca Rolfe. Are you really going to use that name?”

“I need a name to specify who I’m referring to,” I said.

“I thought gods valued names,” he replied.

Is the name that important?

Maybe? I suppose it could be. The grand religions I know of have verses saying not to utter names carelessly, while others speak of the power of names. There are tons of variations.

So,

“I’m not a god. I’m just colder than most people and need warmth. That’s all I need,” I explained.

No need for a name, really. Just using a pronoun to refer to me would’ve been fine. It’s different from when I lick the light, but I can still trigger memories in my brain.

In that case, I should use it well.

Emotions?

You might think the person in front of you is ugly and scary. But compared to the cold, that’s nothing.

Therefore, it’s virtually non-existent.

“Then Hieronymus, do you expect me to act like a god?”

Before deciding what to do next, I threw the question at Hieronymus. He pondered for a while before speaking.

“No. You already disclosed your name. It would be inappropriate to call you Lord Cruxshibal now. That would scare off any believers.”

“Then what shall we do?”

“Do as you please.”

decisions, decisions

With that said, Hieronymus frowned deeply. From the outside, it looked stern, and back when I was human, I might have thought it was just expressionless.

But I can see it.

Light can’t be hidden.

“Just do what you want. And give me your power whenever I need it.”

power exchange

Need it.

That’s probably when Hieronymus needs it, not when I do, huh? Well, I need to say this.

“Bring someone with faith. I need the warmth.”

brrr…

It’s so cold.

I’m holding back. But seriously, it’s unbearable how cold it is. Even though I’ve gained more warmth than before, my heart is still freezing.

A fundamental question crosses my mind: does gaining warmth truly make the heart warm? But I ignore it.

I’d rather search for warmth than lose myself and feel the increasingly cold depths forever.

“Please wait a moment. I’ll bring someone shortly.”

With disgust, fear, and a faint hint of hatred rising and falling, Hieronymus left me alone in the room.

surroundings scan

Looking around, I saw several extinguished candlesticks and a wooden chair. The arrangement radiated outward toward a focal point; there was a pulpit.

Or perhaps an altar?

It’s a place of prayer. But space is tight.

The place doesn’t look like a typical venue for all believers to pray. It feels more like somewhere special people come.

That seems more reasonable. Even though I know the general shape of a cult, I wouldn’t know the details, so I thought the upper echelons would just be a group happy about forming wealth. But seeing this, it looks like it’s not that simple.

Or maybe not—thinking of that cult that wrote the same word three times and evaporated under a cartoon hero, perhaps that’s not it either.

deep thoughts

But that man, Hieronymus, doesn’t appear to be one immersed in obsession. He looks at his own religion with a detached gaze, just using it because he needs to.

Such a person indeed seems better at utilizing the cult’s system. A cult.

brain wheels turning

This is new.

Every time before, I’d shot from the bottom, like a little fish splashing to catch bugs in the light, only to explode and catch warmth from sinking.

Compared to those days where I could only stare at nothing, this is a giant leap forward.

And if I miss this opportunity, I might never step into a world with a body like this again.

This may be a once-in-a-lifetime chance.

So, I need to utilize it as best I can. Forever, if possible.

I don’t want to play god, but I’ll need to plan for that if it comes to it.

Having screamed at the light and never seen a glimpse of those deities, if they exist, I’d love to lay eyes on one.

But compared to warmth, that’s a lower priority, so I’ll tuck that thought away until I stabilize my life.

As I was meticulously sketching out a rough direction of what to do next,

knock knock

A voice—a male voice—emerged.

Ah, it’s Hieronymus.

He’s back.

When I called him in, he entered with a woman.

unexpected company

The person who came along was a rather plain older woman wrapped in a dull cloth.

Was there a rank lower than those on the third ring? Even they had patterned clothes. Even if we play pretend that the mask was removed upon seeing me, they seem to have a lot more members than I expected.

A much larger cult than I thought.

“Oooh, Lord Cruxshibal…!”

She instantly kneeled and bowed before me upon seeing me.

facepalm

Aha. They brought me here by pretending I was a deity. But the light is way too dim, and so is the warmth. A person in utter despair.

Hope is tiny; all that remains is a broken soul clinging to a god.

Her body shows signs of massive suffering—fingers missing, skin clinging from edemas. Meanwhile, the man who brought her watches me with a gaze as if observing livestock.

A beast of burden that’s wrinkled and ill. Yet she’s faithful. The guy’s probably wondering if this flawed creature will consume the food correctly.

facepalm again

Oh boy.

Hmm…

What should I do?

This is neglect. Too frail.

But perhaps it’s worth experimenting with. The last time I stretched from the depths, it exploded in an instant. But if she’s right in front of me now, perhaps there’s a different path.

I approached and took the old woman’s hand.

“I’m not someone named Cruxshibal,” I said, starting off.

follow through

Her grabbed hand twitched, and a dull despair spread across her face. Next came questions about me.

“I am the cold sea wishing for warmth beneath the bottom.”

grim determination

That’s always a potent weapon. When I talk, I say nothing, yet my sincerity shines through!

“I have no power to grant wishes.”

Right. It’s only me here. If I had a real power, I might’ve been shouting ‘harem’ like some protagonist in a reincarnation fantasy. There are stories where monsters in astrology are the protagonists; if only that could happen…

I’m more on the lower-quality end.

“I’ll give only myself to you.”

A hint of violet mist slipped from my hand. Wait, is that my body? It touched her.

The moment it did, I wanted to snatch it away for warmth, but I held back.

patience is key

To sow the seeds and plant, effort is necessary.

I’m pushing myself into her.

Since I tried something like this before.

“I’ll receive everything you’ve got once you finish up later.”

She nodded slowly, a dazed expression on her face.

So, the same power I’m gifting her gets sucked in by the violet smoke.

So, agreement leads to absorption, huh? But until now, it just blew up.

cross fingers

Please don’t explode!

Don’t explode, please!

Become my tenant!

snapping sound

What? Is it going to burst?

A crack appeared on her face. Oh! I see the name. No, I see her gaze. I look at her, and she looks back at me.

Joanna Smith.

Born the daughter of a landowner, married into a good family, but her husband was a nasty piece of work, leading her to suffer abuse and lose a child. She ended up wandering the streets for thirty years after losing her mind—or rather, thoughts of going back home never crossed her mind.

And now, only a woman thoroughly damaged from overwork and toil remains.

snap

Face fragments fell to the ground. But beneath, I saw white skin. Joanna Smith seems to feel energetic. Her body shattered like a statue, revealing a new one within.

It’s like shattering a plaster statue and having someone burst out—but the only downside is her skin being a tad too pallid. She actually rejuvenated!

Though the light may have tarnished her skin a little, warmth still lingers.

Alright, it seems the sowing part succeeded!

Then the next step is to help her grow.

“Joanna Smith. How do you feel?”

She touched her now pale skin, approaching me before prostrating down, her forehead almost touching the floor.

But I already knew her response before she bowed.

“I will believe in you and follow you for life.”

smirk

Hehe.

I’ve got a tenant now!

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