Chapter 9

Hieronymus said he had some business to take care of and went outside. I’m not sure if it was to choose someone to make a Harvester or to find someone to supply warmth to me. So, I shifted my attention to Joanna Smith.

I thought there’d be European-style bread in this world, but watching Joanna cook in the kitchen—it’s quite different. She takes these lumps of dough made from ground grain mixed with water, brings them from one side of the kitchen, and bakes them over fire. It’s like the naan they eat in India. Separately, she pulls out preserved meat, slices it, and either fries it or boils dried vegetables with sauce.

It’s calorie-heavy cooking, for sure. There’s also some fruit on the side. Judging by its appearance, it seems pretty fresh. There must be a nearby place where she can get it, and someone supplying it regularly. Unfortunately, Joanna doesn’t know how it’s done. If I could figure out the food situation, it would help when expanding the Harvesters later—kinda disappointing.

Food management, space control, happiness regulation… These are common elements in simulation games. But in reality, it’s not much different because human factors like embezzlement or laziness are often removed in idealized games. To harvest more warmth, increasing the number of Harvesters to gain more warmth sounds like the way to go.

Hmm…

That’s all for now.

Rushing won’t help anything. Back when I was human, I wasn’t particularly smart, so there’s no way my current self can do everything.

If I contaminate minds, or gather followers or hosts in large numbers, maybe I could use grid computing to boost intelligence… though if I could, I’d try. But using the brains of Rebecca Rolfe and Joanna Smith doesn’t seem to make me any smarter. It’s just noisy.

If the Harvesters increase too much, there’s a chance I won’t be able to handle it.

Eh… We’ll see when we get there.

As I was planning for the future, Joanna came into the room carrying food. Soon after, she opened the door carefully and walked in. She moved cautiously toward the corner before stopping and walking straight to me.

My memory still holds onto Joanna. When she enters a room, she opens the door silently without saying anything, moving through spaces that aren’t easily noticed. Along the way, people barely recognize her presence—even if a cleaner is sweeping the road, they often don’t even remember seeing her.

But once her status improves and someone notices her, she’s surprised. This pleasure is what drives people in cults to seek higher positions. Humans are social creatures who find comfort in society. The brain rewards recognition, which is why people often change as they climb the ranks. Pleasure corrupts more easily than pain.

I wonder how Joanna will change gradually. Looking at the dark purple light within her, it doesn’t seem like it’ll lead to good outcomes.

“Excuse me. Here is your meal.”

I looked at the food Joanna brought. It’s something Rebecca Rolfe has eaten before—a fairly normal meal. For me, though, it’s the first meal since becoming this body. Knowing how to eat, I took a bite. But none of the flavors match what I’ve known before. Rebecca’s body recognized it as regular food. The sensations feel dual or independent, making it strange.

It feels like completing a daily quest. Now, do I need to deal with bodily waste later?

Just ask about the bathroom if you have to go.

Anyway, the most important thing is whether I can get warmth from the food. Though the cooking itself generates heat, eating it doesn’t give me any sense of warmth. I’m still cold.

Apparently, physical warmth isn’t what I need. If physical warmth were enough, I’d have jumped into a blazing fire by now.

Still…

Isn’t the portion a bit too much? I’m already full after eating less than half.

Since there’s no reason to eat more, I left the rest. Joanna Smith paused mid-action, tension evident in her body. By the way her mouth opened and closed, it seemed like she wanted to ask something.

“Do what you want, Joanna Smith.”

When I told her to go ahead, Joanna was extremely surprised—more shocked than necessary. Her heart raced, and with it, excitement and devotion surged.

But she still hesitated several times before asking me.

“What should I call you?”

Ah, starting there?

Didn’t Rebecca Rolfe introduce herself before? Is there some rule here about not taking God’s name in vain? Of course, if someone worshiped can be called easily, their authority diminishes—but yeah, sure.

Oh right.

Didn’t I introduce myself as the cold sea seeking warmth from the depths?

It makes sense she wouldn’t know. Rebecca wasn’t around when I introduced myself.

No need to dwell on naming conventions.

“It’s Rebecca Rolfe. It’s the name of this body, but I use it too. Call me by that name.”

“Yes, Mistress Rebecca.”

Her gaze shifts rapidly.

Joanna has colors that wouldn’t seem out of place if she were an undead or demon in a game. Her skin is dark blue, and her scalp shows hints of purple hair.

Rebecca turned completely purple, but Joanna retains parts of her original self—though faded to white.

In my human days, someone in their late 50s wasn’t old, especially if well-cared for, looking like they’re in their 40s. But originally, Joanna could’ve passed for an 80-year-old elder. Hardship aged her face.

Now, she looks like she’s in her late teens to early 20s.

And she’s ascended to the rank of Faithful Warrior. This pseudo-religion seems to have separate rankings for priests and warriors.

Body and hierarchy—both improved.

Now I’m curious how she’ll evolve. Ideally, she’d become someone akin to an isekai protagonist or returner—swinging desires freely while pretending to follow rules, eliminating those they dislike.

They’d be the perfect harvester.

Pretending to follow rules makes it harder to be designated an enemy by groups, improving survival rates.

Swinging desires means eventually meeting others doing the same. That’s when their trait of removing disliked targets shines.

Killing enemies gives me their warmth.

Hehe.

Though it’s unfortunate that her ability to think independently seems diminished due to relying too much on the pseudo-religion.

Thus, she’s wicked. Ordered to bury people, poison others, deceive innocent newcomers into joining the pseudo-religion—all under instruction.

Of course, humans are complex. Good to some, evil to others—they can’t be defined by one aspect alone.

So, let’s judge based on only one side.

Joanna Smith quietly repeated my name a few times before looking at me again and speaking.

“Did this meal not suit Your Grace?”

Her tone feels awkward, like she’s mimicking someone else. Maybe trying to be polite?

“You can speak freely. I’m just full—that’s all.”

Upon hearing my words, Joanna blinked, then gave a slight nod. It’s close to accepting without fully understanding.

True, considering how little Rebecca eats despite being short but having a large chest, it does seem small.

But really, my stomach is full, so eating more would be tough.

At that moment, the door to the room I was in opened.

Hieronymus entered with two big men and a younger boy. One of the men, familiar to Joanna, is a Faithful Warrior. The other man in similar attire is likely the same. The boy they brought in is chained, his face and body covered in blood.

Joanna stood up urgently, but Hieronymus gestured to calm her down and sent her behind me.

Then Hieronymus knelt before me.

“Mistress Rebecca. As you requested, I have brought the offering.”

As soon as Hieronymus spoke, the boy shot up but was forced to kneel by the two men grabbing his head and kicking his legs.

An offering.

This means Hieronymus intends for me to use him as such—not for another purpose.

If offered, I won’t refuse.

Resources should be used to create more Harvesters, but I don’t know how long I can restrain myself.

I stood up and approached the battered boy.

His left side is swollen beyond recognition, but his right eye glares defiantly at me. Where did they capture him?

The light inside his chest is significantly large.

It’s full of warmth.

There’s hope here—hope for life, optimism for the future, belief that he can survive.

The state of his body seems to have no effect on the warmth.

I extended my hand toward the boy. My arm split, releasing dark purple smoke that quickly enveloped and consumed the light in his chest.

Warm!

But only for a moment.

Coldness rushes back in. Much warmer than usual, but the duration… hmm.

Dark purple smoke dissipates. Inside the boy’s chest remains a blackened, twisted light. Compared to Joanna, whose light merely turned dark purple, this boy—Istur La Planza—is now reduced to a crumpled black mass. A faint glow indicates this was once the light of life.

Once the smoke fully disappears, the boy slumps forward.

He’s still breathing, so he’s not dead.

Through Joanna’s eyes, Hieronymus stares intently at me and the boy, observing. One man feels uneasy, the other stands stoically.

The boy slumps forward.

But only briefly.

Purple mist gathers around his body, causing it to twitch. Alien organs sprout on his face, his back swells with bulging muscles, and one arm elongates, creating asymmetry.

But before he mutates further, his head is severed.

The man behind him cut it off with a sword. There’s something similar to what I felt from the arrows last time clinging to the blade.

Instead of red blood, fluorescent blue liquid spills as he dies.

I saw the blood on the blade when it cut his neck. It repelled from my hand, bubbled, then vanished.

Ah, indeed.

I realized something.

This mutation wasn’t caused by me forcing power into him. Instead, anyone holding light who loses all warmth gains the ability to use similar powers to mine.

The purple smoke absorbed by the monster wasn’t from me.

Keeping this in mind, I greeted Hieronymus.

“Thanks for the warmth.”

Hieronymus responded with a lengthy poetic expression of humility.

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