Chapter 2

It feels like I should ask if they want power here, but right now everything’s so complicated my head hurts.

Hmm… Is this body feeling weirdly stiff maybe because of rigor mortis?

If it’s about summoning offerings, I kinda wish it could be wrapped up easily with a card or something.

Or at least, I wish they’d prepared a functional body for me…

*Charrlek*

When I checked what was going on, chains were locked around my wrists and ankles. And there are nasty blue bruises below the chains.

There are signs of resistance.

If this is an offering, did I give my body willingly? Or, since my heart was ripped out, does that mean physical damage to the body isn’t even considered?

Plus, being naked makes it seem pretty perverted.

No, given that a murder has happened, the issue isn’t perversion—it’s a crime!

Of course, if they have a culture like the Aztecs, it wouldn’t count as a crime.

Or maybe they’re rich enough to smooth over even murder.

By the way, this body is pretty solid. It’s not from training or being stiff as a corpse though.

It means it’s different from the light I’ve encountered before.

Looking from the perspective of the ground rather than a person, I’m not sure if this will work—can it contain me?

*Smerlsmerl*

Purple-black mist rises from my body. Trying to describe the sensation is bizarre—it feels like someone watching me from behind then zooming in.

It’s completely different from the sensation of reaching out and lifting myself before.

The more I do it, the clearer the sensations become.

I can see much better now. The texture of the stone I’m sitting on, the wetness soaking my chest, stomach, and lower body, the strong smell of blood, and the breathing of people around me—all these things.

Of course, there’s pain too, but it doesn’t feel like pain. It’s more like seeing my HP decrease through a monitor—it feels detached from me.

This won’t kill me.

“Lord Cruxshibal. I am your servant. It is an honor to meet you.”

The big guy in front cautiously asks me. He’s quite muscular, with a scruffy brown face half-covered in tattoos.

Interestingly, his eyes are completely dull, without a single spark of light—like someone who’s endlessly despairing. You often see that when you lick light to peek into memories beyond a mirror.

Ignoring the swear-like name, I wonder how exactly he perceives me.

Recalling the introduction sentence he just said, I can roughly guess how he figured it out. But the light I’ve observed comes from worlds where we don’t even live in the same reality.

Some places were in the primitive age, some in Western medieval times, others in Eastern medieval settings, and many had completely alien cultures. There were even people who seemed more advanced than modern times.

Back then, getting warmth was enough, so I didn’t care. But thinking about it now, they were all different worlds.

In other words, the possibility of them knowing anything about me converges almost to zero, right?

If I go outside, I’ll have to look up the name “Cruxshibal.”

If I can get out, that is.

All that keeps flowing from my body is dark purple mist, but nothing else changes. Is this a special effect that happens because I’m inside?

Ah, my hair color is purple.

Taste of purple.

The world is fascinating, but first, I need to try speaking.

Problem.

Words aren’t coming out.

Ah, right. Moving the diaphragm compresses the lungs, which pushes air out, and when the air passes through the vocal cords, combined with the tongue, it produces speech.

But while my diaphragm seems alive, there’s a hole in my lung, so sound won’t come out.

Can I repair the hole in my chest?

At least with the power I possess, there must be something I can do.

Oops, mistake.

Blood gushed out from the hole.

If anyone finds that appealing, they’d probably be thrilled, but no one like that seems to be around. Fortunately, this group of heretics doesn’t seem to have a thing for corpses.

Oddly, the air is trembling, meaning the man in front is suspicious of me.

Naturally, since I wasn’t summoned by him in the first place.

The threads of light reaching me might have originally been meant for someone else. Maybe I just intercepted them.

It’s suffocating. Either way, dying this way or that way feels the same.

Dying might be fun, but if there’s a chance, I should test it out.

Since this body is very sturdy, I should try putting more of myself into it.

***

A pitch-black underground space.

Inside, circular candle stands are placed at regular intervals, faintly illuminating the darkness. Circular patterns cover the interior walls, along with tiny writing, hinting at the purpose of this construction.

Create a temple, offer sacrifices, call upon the deity, and curse your enemies.

Images filled with hatred for vengeance are depicted across every surface, each in unique forms. Numerous masked figures surround the area, their faces hidden behind masks.

Three large circles exist, growing shorter as you move inward.

People wear similar colors but slightly different designs depending on which circle they’re in. The innermost circle wears far more intricate patterns.

Everyone stares toward the center.

At the focal point stands a stepped pyramid altar.

On one side of the pyramid, steps lead upward, with four people of varying builds standing in front.

On either side of the steps.

Along the stairs, torn corpses are placed on each level.

At the bottom step beneath the top tier stands a large man.

And atop the highest tier rests a stone chair, where a naked girl is bound by chains on all limbs.

Despite being naked, the atmosphere is extremely tragic. A gaping hole exists where her heart should be.

Blood flows down her body and cascades down the pyramid, confirming she cannot be alive.

This is a ritual.

In some worlds, mediums are used as offerings to summon their gods.

A certain pseudo-religion amassed vast funds and labor through fraud, extortion, coercion, pyramid schemes, human exploitation, and various methods to construct this massive temple.

They achieved their goals using every form of evil imaginable.

Some say:

A vengeful god grants immense power to those in dire situations.

A death deity takes lives as payment but offers the most base pleasures to the most desperate.

An outsider filled with malice, arriving from beyond, never appearing in any temples.

Some wizards claim it’s the void’s force bursting forth from the holes created by the despair of humanity, annihilating reality in a double-suicide explosion.

None of these hold true facts, but at least one thing is certain: someone exists.

Someone acts towards those who have fallen to the lowest depths of life.

Thus, the pseudo-religion spread based on this fact.

To the downtrodden, a god promising even a single punch of retaliation was incredibly sweet. Until now, their only fate was to endure and die, but now there’s a chance for revenge before death.

Of course, believing gives hope, so aside from the fact that they may never meet their desired entity, it’s a wonderful god.

Even if it’s fake hope born from despair and resignation.

Conversely, it was a thorn in the side for the powerful, implying that those at the bottom could gain the power to kill them.

So, this world suppressed the religion. Yet, the more they suppressed it, the more it spread like wildfire.

After all, there are always more exploited than exploiters.

Occasionally, their prayers actually came true—an unknown force caused an entire city to vanish in a mysterious explosion.

Upon investigation, they discovered a force that shouldn’t exist in this world, leaving them powerless.

Ironically, the more news of this unknown force spread, the more the pseudo-religion grew.

Thus, they easily constructed such massive altars.

A pseudo-religion seeking salvation.

Even if the name is wrong, it’s not strange for it to reach the main character causing it.

So, their god descended into the offering.

The mere movement of the heartless girl is already an abnormal phenomenon.

Especially since her originally blonde hair turned purple after waking up as a corpse, clearly indicating something entered her.

Verification is necessary.

For now, it’s just a dead body moving. In this world with magic, moving corpses isn’t unheard of, so doubts arose among the people present.

The person most calmly verifying the truth is the leader conducting the ritual.

His real name is Yasure.

Once a spiritual leader of a religious state, he lost everything—family, friends, neighbors, and country—to invading forces.

He turned away from the god that offered no help, eventually becoming the leader of this current pseudo-religion, which was growing in influence but lacked proper leadership at the time.

Unlike the silent gods he once believed in, this one actually responds.

As a religious leader, Yasure knows this god truly answers. A deity granting the weakest the power to retaliate.

It was sufficient to exploit.

Though perhaps slightly off in terms of belief.

So, combining various rituals to summon the malevolent outsider god with the current pseudo-religion’s method, they attempted a fusion.

And the result is now before them.

Something simply awakening, looking blankly around and inspecting its own body.

Initially, when eye contact was made, he thought it might have failed. The face staring at Yasure looked like someone cluelessly dragged here.

But soon, that changed.

An endless, eerie chill emanated from the wounds on the body in the form of dark purple energy.

The wounds began to heal, emitting ghostly polyhedral shapes like countless overlapping afterimages.

Rather, it wasn’t healing in a conventional sense. While the results showed recovery, the process was entirely bizarre.

The chest wound closed, and a loud heartbeat echoed once.

But there were no more heartbeats after that. Instead, a rotating sound emerged.

Instead of a beating heart, it sounded like something spinning. Yasure stopped analyzing the strange phenomena occurring within the girl’s body when it lifted its gaze directly at him.

Because at that moment, he realized his summoning had succeeded.

The inappropriate greed and longing for warmth in the girl’s eyes emitted unsettling violet light from behind the mask.

Eyes are organs that receive light. But whatever is wearing this girl’s face emits light physically—not metaphorically as a window to the soul.

Just looking at it evokes discomfort—a sign of alienation.

Unconsciously, Yasure bowed his head.

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