I woke up.

To be precise, the body I inhabit woke up.

My consciousness, however, had been following Joanna all along. She was doing exactly what someone newly empowered tends to do—realizing her newfound strength, discovering its potential, and beginning to feel just a hint of greed as she imagined what she could become.

It feels like watching a reincarnation story.

Isn’t this what I’m like, too?

I gained power, didn’t I? Acting as though I follow rules while revering strength and completely ignoring narrative flow—a munchkin.

Munchkins are great.

They do whatever they want.

The game master and fellow players might hate it, but is there anything that triggers dopamine like straightforward power?

Moreover, surpassing the very being that granted you strength? That’s the most exhilarating feeling of all.

Not that I care.

As long as I continue receiving warmth, I don’t mind if those empowered by me become heroes or mass murderers.

I’m not here for an RPG; I’m here for an automated factory simulation.

So, let’s set some goals. First, I need more harvesters. When I immersed myself into faint lights, they gave me bright, warm light in return.

Doesn’t that mean I used resources to harvest warmth?

I sat up from the altar where I’d been lying and removed the soft hat I was wearing.

Whoosh.

The hat dissolved into smoky, dark-purple mist.

I need to figure out whether this power is mine or if I am the power itself, and how it all works.

Main Goal: Increase the number of harvesters.
Secondary Goal: Test my abilities.

In a secluded place like this, testing my abilities comes first. I tried changing my clothes. Rebecca Rolf’s memories contained a few images of outfits for special occasions.

With just a little bit of effort, I pushed a sliver of myself into Rebecca Rolf’s body. Cracks appeared on the skin, and dark-purple mist seeped out—not literal cracks, but something that looked like them.

This time, I managed to release the mist more slowly, allowing it to engulf the pajamas I was wearing and return them to mist form, leaving me naked. The mist then reformed into a deep-brown outfit centered around a stiff, thick jacket.

It’s not exactly seasonal attire.

When Rebecca Rolf was kidnapped after her family was murdered, it was short-sleeve weather.

Not much time has passed since then, so it must still be summer.

If I’m trying to appear unintelligent, wearing seasonally inappropriate clothing would make me a different kind of fool. How about something like… a white dress?

Oh. That worked.

It’s a long dress with a deep back and a skirt that’s relatively modest. The outfit even shapes the body in a flattering way. Wait—did Rebecca even own something like this?

It doesn’t seem like she did, but since it’s here, I won’t complain.

It’s overall pretty, which is nice. It feels more like decorating a doll I control rather than dressing myself, so I prefer it to be attractive.

Even in games, don’t we usually pick female characters?

Sure, there’s a strange sense of compression on the body, but there’s no feeling of “cross-dressing” despite having been male before. Those sensations from back then have completely faded.

Instead, I feel cold.

Still cold.

The chill extends deep into my spine, and it’s unbearably, endlessly cold.

If this were a real body, the cold might become so intense that it feels hot, or it might transition into pain.

But there’s none of that.

The cold seems endless.

Yet that’s how I perceive it, and that perception is what matters.

It’s why I crave warmth.

The fact that my clothing is feminine, or that this body is female, or that I can simultaneously observe both Joanna Smith’s and Rebecca Rolf’s bodies, is irrelevant.

For now, the dark-purple mist flowing from me can transform into all sorts of things, which is enough.

At least I don’t have to worry about choosing what to wear.

The secondary goal is complete.

Now, it’s time to return to the main goal of increasing harvesters.

Yet, even after some time, Hieronymus still hasn’t shown up.

While waiting, let’s review Joanna Smith’s progress.

The first harvester has already climbed a rank overnight. Judging by the sigils, she’s now among the second circle of those we observed on the first day.

Her room and belongings have changed. Standing before a clean mirror, she fully examined her transformed self, knelt, clasped her hands, and prayed silently without sleeping.

Then Hieronymus entered earlier.

He gave her a mission: to take care of me. He then escorted her to a room and introduced it as the place where she’d care for me.

The room was empty, but Joanna’s gaze lingered on something unsettling. Camouflaged as a decoration, it filled her with unease, though she didn’t voice it.

She lowered her eyes, concealing her anger and suspicion. I couldn’t tell if Hieronymus noticed, but the meeting ended without incident, and they came to fetch me.

During this, I waited patiently on the altar.

Hieronymus opened the door to my room after passing through a long corridor. Simultaneously, a large man with facial tattoos entered from my direction.

“Greetings.”

So, I greeted them first.

“Ah, greetings to you as well. I trust you spent the night comfortably? A room has been prepared for you, and we’ve come to escort you there.”

He was definitely watching me, though there was no need to point it out. I stepped off the altar and approached him.

“This body needs food. Living bodies are strange.”

It was a statement to emphasize my inhuman nature while acknowledging the need to follow biological rules. By requesting food, an incomprehensible being is reduced to a creature needing sustenance—perhaps even killable.

A faint trace of murderous intent flickered across his expression.

Heh.

The unfortunate always seem to recognize the intent to kill in someone’s face.

I’ve seen that expression countless times. I’ve licked countless people for their warmth.

“In that case, the one assigned to care for you will prepare a meal. Please, follow me, Rebecca Rolf.”

Shouldn’t he have extended a hand to me? But after witnessing how those connected to me transform, I doubt he’d want to risk touching me.

I followed Hieronymus out of the private sanctuary.

According to Joanna Smith, this place is where high-ranking members pray. It’s likely where Hieronymus trains his elite.

This might be the endgame of this cult. Of course, there’s always the chance Hieronymus will try to expel me first!

We’re not enemies yet.

Not yet.

In a hierarchical society like this, there’s only room for one leader. If I want to set up a warmth-harvesting factory, I’ll either have to recruit or remove him.

Luckily, he’s part of a cult, so I wouldn’t feel guilty no matter how he died.

With ordinary people, I might have felt a twinge of remorse.

But this place is full of wicked individuals. Their tragic pasts may have brought them here, but that doesn’t excuse them.

Yes.

Even if this were a benevolent, righteous religion saving everyone, I’d still demand they serve me.

As we exited, Joanna was waiting by the entrance. She quickly bowed when she saw me.

Without a word, she naturally fell in behind me. The three of us headed toward the room Hieronymus had prepared.

We encountered only five people on the way—all high-ranking officials from the first circle. Three men, one woman, and one with a dog’s head.

A dog!

Oh, that’s right. This world has beastfolk. They don’t seem to belong to the upper or lower echelons of society but are more like a racial difference akin to white and black people in my world. There’s discrimination, of course.

Discrimination is inevitable.

Living beings need ways to distinguish between themselves and others—basic programming for survival.

I admit I’m tempted to touch their fur and see how fluffy it feels. They probably radiate plenty of warmth.

With such thoughts in mind, I entered the room designated as mine—a cage, really. The ceiling held something that emanated ominous energy.

This is why Hieronymus is a potential enemy.

Had he been less cautious, I might not have been so wary of him.

But it’s precisely because he’s this calculating that he managed to expand this cult and summon me.

I quietly sat on the luxurious sofa and addressed Hieronymus.

“Provide me with food. And I need warmth.”
“Warmth? Shall I fetch clothing?”

At his words, Joanna began walking toward a drawer, but Hieronymus stopped her.

“Please prepare the meal. I doubt the warmth this being speaks of is the sort you imagine. You’ll need to see it for yourself.”

Joanna nodded and left, heading toward the kitchen. Before her skin had swollen with lesions, she had worked in the dining hall.

Turning my attention back to Hieronymus, I spoke.

“Hieronymus. Can my power be used?”

To this, he replied:

“Yes. If possible, could you create more of it?”

Oh-ho.

I wanted to answer “everything, right now!” but chose to drag things out. I need time to explore this world, one piece at a time.

“I think I could make five or six people like Joanna in a day. But if luck isn’t on our side, they might explode.”

Hieronymus pondered for a moment before nodding as if his calculations were complete.

“Then please do so when I request it.”
“Yes, I’ll do that, Hieronymus.”

The harvester production plan was in place.