Chapter 7

I’m totally not sleeping!

Sure, I might be in my PJs, curled up, eyes closed, and barely receiving any sensory input…

But is this really sleeping?

Because I’m definitely wide awake. Even though the data streams from Rebecca Rolfe’s body have decreased, out of hundreds of screens, only about six are off—my senses are still going strong.

Hmm, something feels off about my state…

I’m lying here breathing evenly, but at the same time, I’m observing everything around me in a third-person view.

It’s like being immersed in a computer game whenever the girl is awake.

Now it feels like stepping back from the computer to take a break—except instead of looking at a phone, I’m observing Joanna Smith, this woman I inhabit.

I’m gradually learning more about myself.

Yeah, I know I’m weird, but maybe… could it be that I’ve gained new abilities?

Like, smarter brains, better looks, stuff like that.

Isn’t that what usually happens when you reincarnate? Sure, I’ve only seen it in fictional works, but isn’t that the point of fiction—to give us catharsis compared to real life?

But this *is* reality for me.

A reality that, ironically, lacks realism. The only thing that feels real to me right now is this coldness.

So naturally, I crave more warmth.

While I’m thinking this, Hieronymus walks into the room, tiptoeing as if approaching a sleeping wild animal.

I kinda wanna yell and scare him, but that’d probably cross a line. Like, “Oh no! My true nature has been revealed!” and then the body I’m in might get wrecked.

Just now, I pushed away the warmth that came near me—I need more!

But I can endure the cold for a bit longer.

Staring at the light, doing nothing but enduring, somehow helps in moments like this.

Where have I seen this before?

They say hunting and farming both require patience.

Hunting: Study your prey, predict their path, set an ambush, and strike—but most attempts fail. So you start again.

Farming: Pour endless labor into growing food. Plant seeds, protect them from countless threats, and hopefully harvest the fruits of your labor—but ultimately, success depends on the sky.

Patience is key, but so is luck.

To reduce reliance on luck, you need information.

For now, I’ll stay hidden and gather more data.

Anyway, will he just check if I’m asleep and leave? It would’ve been nice if he took some other action—I might’ve reconsidered things.

Guess we’re just mutually using each other then.

Elsewhere, Joanna Smith stands inside a room.

She awkwardly examines her own blue hand. More specifically, she keeps folding and unfolding one finger, seemingly fascinated by its return after it was once gone.

In front of an ancient mirror, she curiously studies her reflection through her own eyes.

It feels like watching a picture within a picture within a picture.

Judging by drag marks on the floor, she didn’t originally want to look at herself. Maybe her memory tells her she avoided mirrors before.

But now, she seems happy with her changed appearance. Occasionally, she starts to call out to someone but stops herself.

Huh?

Unfortunately, I can’t clearly tell what she’s thinking, so I don’t know what she wants to say.

Still, I can guess based on her words, gaze, actions, and physical state. That’s called cold reading—inferring someone’s thoughts from unconscious bodily cues. It’s a skill used by both pseudoreligions and savvy businessmen.

People often considered socially skilled unconsciously use this technique too; they just categorize it better linguistically.

Joanna soon mutters a sentence.

It’s the command Hieronymus gave earlier.

“Become a warrior of faith and care for those who blessed you.”

Simple enough.

And highly motivating.

As long as I’m not completely oblivious, it’s easy to figure out how she thinks of me.

Faith. Worship.

Though people may eventually fall away, for now, she’s still devoted.

She focuses on the latter part, but the truly important part is the former. Before, the delicious bait was merely the intangible blessings of a non-existent god. Now, she’s experienced physical blessings.

Thus, she chooses to become a warrior of faith—a role where belief itself can kill.

This situation mirrors ancient assassin cults perfectly. They’d give followers hallucinogens to experience euphoria, promising access to paradise if they obey orders. These assassins would fearlessly kill others—and even themselves—believing they’d reach paradise afterward.

Why fear death when eternal bliss awaits?

Moreover, the environment discourages questioning. Structures ensure trust in the leader and the promised paradise.

Surrounded by people sharing identical beliefs, wearing masks and indistinguishable clothing, deeper connections become impossible. Individuality is reduced to patterns on masks or robes.

To assert individuality, one must display ever-greater loyalty!

Heheh.

What a vile pseudo-religion. But since I intend to exploit this place as a feeding ground, I’ll adapt.

Before judging good or evil, survival comes first, right?

Soon, Joanna dons a hooded cloak covering her head and steps toward the training grounds for warriors of faith.

I already know without anyone teaching me.

Because she’s cleaned every inch of this underground lair. Thanks to her, I now have the entire map.

Hehe.

Wow, I even know all the secret locations.

People dismissed her as a frail old woman, treating her like a cleaning robot—existing only when needed, otherwise ignored completely.

That’s why she knows every area. Did you know? She even knows escape routes because they require maintenance too.

She checks light sources along escape paths and ensures there are no collapses.

Of course, maintaining these routes isn’t technically her job—it should be handled by someone higher up in the hierarchy. But why bother when you’re privileged?

Human error strikes again. Remember, security systems aren’t compromised by their sophistication but by the people operating them.

While walking, I rummage through Joanna’s memories.

Even though I wonder what Hieronymus is doing while he’s absent, his invisibility demands my focus here.

Meanwhile, Joanna arrives at a location filled with warriors of faith. Surprisingly chaotic.

Among them are individuals who were present upstairs during my summoning earlier. Neat rows of armor stand nearby.

A trainer-like figure stands before the lined-up recruits, clad only in underwear, forcing them into difficult stances while whipping them angrily.

Listening closely, he accuses them of endangering the master or firing without orders, shouting about collective responsibility.

But upon closer inspection, he seems mostly afraid of taking the blame himself. Whether Joanna realizes this or not, she appears unfazed by the scene.

From her memories, I see she frequently witnessed similar scenarios.

She doesn’t pity the abused either, knowing full well that once the trainer leaves, these victims will mistreat those beneath them.

Thus, Joanna learned to quickly avoid such situations.

She’s an unfortunate, abused person.

Which makes her evil.

Virtue is effortless for those living happily but a luxury for those enduring hellish lives.

That’s why acts of kindness from the downtrodden carry immense value—they’re miracles.

Here, however, no such miracles exist.

Now it’s time for evil-to-evil communication.

Joanna explains first, stating her intention to become a warrior of faith as per Hieronymus’s orders. A faint flicker of jealousy and curiosity crosses the trainer’s face as he scans her, trying to identify her.

Unsurprisingly, he fails.

When asked her name, Joanna replies, but he still doesn’t recognize her.

Because she’s never introduced herself before. Until now, she was just an NPC standing idly along the path without any quests.

The trainer introduces himself, assuming Joanna is new, though she already knows who he is.

He calls one of the recruits he was beating earlier.

Then, declaring the need to assess her skills, he orders Joanna to fight.

Strangely calm, Joanna accepts.

Aside from her healed body and dark purple skin, she hasn’t demonstrated any special powers yet. Watching her through her perspective, she’s never experimented with newfound strength.

Confusion fills me, the trainer, and her opponent alike.

The trainer shouts “Begin!”

Simultaneously, the opponent kicks her head.

*Clang*

Her mask shatters.

Despite the pain, Joanna shows no fear or flinching. She accepts it stoically, not even touching the injured spot.

When another kick comes, her eyes lock onto the attacker—not directly at his gaze, but slightly lower.

Briefly tracking the incoming kick, she then blocks it effortlessly without needing to follow its trajectory further.

An incredible impact hits her wrist, crushing it, yet strangely, she feels no pain. Instead, she grabs the attacker’s leg, pulls him closer, and stabs his chest with her other hand.

Not exactly the heart.

Physically speaking, it looked like she aimed for the heart but missed slightly—or perhaps stabbed the center.

But I know better.

She targeted the light within him.

And as her hand touched the light, warmth reached me.

Heh, hehe.

This is the true joy of automatic hunting!

Doing absolutely nothing and still gaining warmth—what a miracle!

Joanna wipes blood casually, dismissing the incident, while the shocked trainer and armed warriors aim weapons at her. But none of that matters anymore!

Ah!

Finally, I’ve learned a new method.

Something I can actually use.

If possible, I want to unleash myself more recklessly. Since Hieronymus seemed to observe everything calmly, negotiation is necessary.

I need warmth.

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