The Outer God Needs Warmth

It’s the weekend!

Ever since meeting Polaris, I was expecting someone to approach, be it Theodore or anyone else, but nope!

Predicting the future is hard, after all.

Regardless, in the meantime, I gained certainty that the people I know and those living in this world are the same.

The Purples Twilight Society.

They didn’t know where the funding came from. So when the funds were cut off and their charitable activities started to diminish, suspicions immediately crawled up.

People wondered if someone embezzled the money or if they were just pretending not to know after receiving everything they should have.

Everyone suspects each other, and those managing the funds or leading things got loads of backlash.

When goodwill continues, there are those who take it for granted, you know?

That’s it.

Since they weren’t provided with what they were entitled to, the people above must be the bad ones!

Of course, the person in charge insisted the support was cut off, but some didn’t believe it. Although it was a minuscule portion over the overall ratio, there were always those loud voices.

Some were educated, while others were not.

They blew the matter out of proportion, ignoring the efforts of those working on site, claiming the desk workers were exploiting the benefits.

Looks like they forgot that the Purples Twilight Society is a charity.

Hehe.

Yet.

Yet, they haven’t fought fiercely enough to kill one another yet.

But now, the faction mixed with harvesters and non-harvesters is planning to fervently attack the office workers to wring something out. Cowardly, they devise plans to incite people to fight while keeping themselves safe.

Those trying to profit while others are at each other’s throats.

To them, the truth doesn’t matter anymore.

What matters is they didn’t receive what they were due, and all that’s in their minds is that the other side is at fault.

How splendid!

If possible, I’d love to make the person next to me a harvester too. The image of the harvester has already been painted by the Dornmiyens royal family.

So they don’t need to worry that the image will be tarnished and they’ll be treated like a public enemy in the second world.

In a few days, I should be able to obtain warmth.

The problem is that conflicts decrease the numbers…

Wait a minute.

Now, there’s no need to care about the image of the harvesters, right?

I have to increase the harvesters. It’s fine if they gain warmth while struggling and fighting. But there’s a problem.

The experiment I’m involved in.

Daegon and the Primordial Heavenly Sovereign. Which technique can send people to the afterlife more easily?

Culture turns into dough through blood. When bricks of technique are piled up, blood spills, and that dough, covered by culture, stops it from collapsing. But if the technique rises faster than that, it rises in a tattered state.

And someday, when blood and flesh scatter on the ground, it becomes unreachable. Then the tower will eventually crumble under the flowing blood.

When it collapses, it’s not the technique that falls apart. It’s humanity.

After that, even if the bricks of technique are piled up, a tower of humanity will not be built. It just lies scattered on the ground.

There were many faded memories too.

In countless factories, even if one worker dies daily, nothing changes. They can chatter in words, but it’s easily forgotten.

When a person’s life is deemed smaller than the inconvenience of countless others, the world comes to accept that grinding people down is normal. Just once is all it takes.

Just once.

Then, it’s over.

It won’t return to the way it was. Once a hurdle is crossed, crossing it afterward becomes easy. After that, no matter how many die, it becomes just the usual.

Now people say things like this.

“Why act all holier-than-thou?”

Broken morals are wonderful.

It means a world where warmth can be consistently obtained.

That’s precisely what I desire.

A world that yells about the value of people but doesn’t actually move for that value.

Without veering into extremes, living people ignore the dead due to the awkward comfort inside. Such a world is going to stagger while advancing far ahead.

It means warmth can be obtained for quite some time. And as the number of people increases, so will the warmth.

But if the number of harvesters decreases too much from this fight, the development of techniques will slow.

So for the sake of the future, I need to supplement things in advance.

Without hesitation, I headed outside. If I didn’t step out, I would have stayed locked up in my room all weekend long.

Funny enough, none of the workers ask me where I’m headed. They just change my clothes and send me right out.

So I step out of the house and walk straight along the main road.

The location? The slums of the capital.

If this world is just starting to develop, there should be tons of what I’m searching for there.

People crushed and rotting, desperately wishing to become my harvesters.

Those who will rush at even the smallest light.

Willing to mindlessly follow like lemmings, racing headfirst into the depths.

Thud thud.

With my short legs, I’m working hard to walk.

*

A faint yet penetrating rotten smell. The stench of fish and sewage mixed with the rancid odor of some awful chemicals fills the air.

The ground isn’t the neatly paved stone like the places I passed before but almost completely shattered and worn down to dirt.

And dirty-clothed people are bustling about over it.

A man whose face is beet red, either from booze or drugs, staggering. A woman who stepped out in thin clothes, selling herself. An old man crawling because he has legs but no feet.

Beggers and vagabonds. A place where the leftovers of society gather.

I remember places like this used to be pushed far away, not placed right in the city center. Because I’ve caused explosions in the depths of human despair.

To avoid that, the exploiters would have cast them out.

But here they are, right in the heart of the city.

Did they forget?

Or do they not realize these people are in such a serious state?

Of course, they don’t explode anymore out of regret, but I find it a bit puzzling.

While pondering this, I stepped into the middle of the street.

At least it’s nice that there’s no smoke. Often, places like this accumulate all sorts of pollution, but there’s none of that here.

Probably because the city used up too much magic, it might be on the verge of experiencing side effects like those that occurred in Bern City due to the lack of magic, but all I smell is the odor of unclean refuse and spoiled life.

Unlike places like faded memories of Whitechapel, I can still breathe here.

As soon as I entered, countless gazes stabbed at me as if welcoming me.

My attire is quite clean, after all. They can kill me and strip me or catch me and sell me.

I start walking deeper into the alley.

There are not just gazes but people following me too.

I stop my steps in the middle of the street. Waiting for the bait to be taken. If a young girl in expensive clothes stands there blankly, someone is bound to approach her.

And just as I expected, a man with a face blackened by grime walked toward me. He placed his hand on my shoulder, grasping it as if to prevent me from escaping.

“Hey, kid. Lost your way?”

“Hello.”

The person I wanted has arrived!

The man’s face is filled with desire. Time to use those memories to break the ice.

“You’re screaming.”

“Hey, the girl’s saying something!”

“Heeheehee, the one screaming is not me but you.”

Guffaw!

Skinny men approach from the side. I got hit once while trying to escape, and here I am again. They don’t immediately capture me, probably because this is their territory, huh?

“Everyone should do what they want to do.”

As I say my catchphrase, the surrounding crowd bursts into laughter.

“If you can, I’d love for you to strip right now!”

“Whoa, look at that fair skin!”

“Isn’t that a bit too white?”

I just keep my eyes on the first man who spoke and continue the conversation.

“There are things you want to do, but you’ve forgotten. There’s nothing to hold onto, so survival took precedence. But once, you had dreams, didn’t you?”

Smack!

I got slapped.

“Is your head a flower garden? Do you think this world is a fairy tale? What weird stuff did you come across?”

Other crude jokes mix in. But no one around shows pity for me. Just the perfect rotten place.

I mention the contract document because I want to create harvesters.

“I’ll give myself to you. In exchange, after you finish everything later, I’ll take everything you have. How about that?”

As soon as I finish speaking, the men surrounding me snicker in glee.

“Whoa, she’s offering herself up! A saint has come here!”

“Hehe, wow. This is a real unique flavor, isn’t it? Let’s hurry up and take her.”

“Aw, come on now! Hurry up and do it. This brat’s gotta be flat-chested, huh?”

With so many around, surely one of them would agree.

Saying I’ll do anything, it digs into their minds like magic. Especially if it’s someone weaker than them, it sounds like a call for submission.

One man’s skin transformed like porcelain. Then crack! The skin started breaking apart like shattered pottery.

Screaming, the men step back.

“What the hell did that bitch do?”

“What? Did she come here to cast evil magic? Witch!”

They scream in surprise, glaring at me. Raising their voices even louder to hide their fear. But I pointed at the harvesters.

“Whoa. What’s this? My hand. It’s white. Strange. My body feels cool. Not itchy at all.”

A man whose hair turned purple and skin turned pale looks down at himself with a dazed expression.

“I’ve given myself to you. It’s okay for you to dream.”

Eyes focus on me.

And amid the murmurs, someone began talking about me, referencing the incident in Bern City.

The royal family had started advertising in earnest.

With so many people around, odds are one of them had to have heard about it.

Questions quickly turn into realizations, and realizations become desires again. Usually, they’d urge people to believe in a god to lead them into their lair, but it’s evident the royal family dislikes any religious hints, so they changed it to dreams.

“Everyone has the right to dream. You should do what you wish and attain what you desire, painting a wonderful future.”

While deliberately taking my time, I make eye contact with those watching in the crowd.

“Stop screaming! I’ll change it for you.”

I didn’t say it would get better. It’s more horrific than pushing them into a slaughterhouse, but until they draw their last breath, they’d remain oblivious to their real identity.

So, I finished it with these words.

“Everyone here.”

I said I’d make them harvesters. As I conveyed that meaning, they exchanged glances. People tend to look around when they feel weak.

Yet there are some who feel urgency.

In a slum, it’s only natural for there to be such people, which is why I came here.

Those with abundance would see it as a scam and ignore it. Or they might take a moment longer to think it over. But here, that’s not the case.

“Are you saying you can make this better?”

Look at that.

A big man with half his face cauterized by burns comes walking up to me.

I immediately recite the contract document, and the man accepts. He became healthier beyond simply recovering. Watching him touch his now flawless face, those around him rushed toward me.

Fearing they might miss their turn, they hurry over.

After that, it was easy.

I contracted with everyone, regardless of gender or age.

In this place, I acquired a total of 15,239 harvesters.

Now, I’ll push the memories into them. If the experiment succeeds, the lowest of the low will possess impressive techniques.

To the world.

Has the value of the societal underdogs increased?

It’s obvious, even without saying it.

Now, all I have to do is wait.

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