Summoned by the Heretics – Even in Another World, the Zealot Who Worships Death Remains an Outcast - Vol 3 Chapter 62

“What the…”

Horo’s eyes widened as he let out a faint voice. Sukui, however, paid him no attention, steadily stepping forward into the village.

Horo attempted to hold him back with a raised hand, but no words left his mouth, and their eyes did not meet.

Horo simply stood there at the entrance of the village, silent.

Even if he were told to move, it was doubtful he could have.

Sukui walked through the village.

He was confirming something. Slowly, dragging his bad leg with deliberate steps.

Within the village, several corpses were scattered.

Faces he recognized.

People who, only a few days ago, had revered and thanked him.

They were the ones who had worked with him to restore the village.

Sukui’s face betrayed no emotion.

He wasn’t thinking about anything.

He opened the door of a random house. No one was inside.

He closed the door and walked again, opening the next house.

This repeated several times.

The corpses of twin children lay before him.

The two were entwined, making it impossible for an outsider to tell them apart.

The lower body of one was missing its head, while the other, lying draped over the first, had its torso shredded from the back.

But Sukui knew.

He knew exactly who was who.

Step after step, Sukui continued walking.

Neither joy nor sorrow accompanied the death surrounding him.

He simply inspected the state of the village with a blank expression.

That was all.

“Open it.”

A voice seemed to echo.

Even without looking around, Sukui knew no one was nearby.

“Open it.”

Sukui understood that he was different from others.

“Open it.”

Even so—

“Open it.”

He was fully aware that he was not so weak as to hear hallucinations.

“Open it.”

Sukui could comprehend the meaning of words.

“Open it.”

Even a single word, given context, could be understood perfectly.

“Open it.”

And so, Sukui—

Following the voice’s command—

Opened the door to the kitchen.

The scene before him was not one of brutality.

No blood-soaked carnage, no violent chaos.

Just silence.

Quiet, as though nothing had ever happened.

In that stillness, surrounded by half-prepared food—

Mei and her father lay there.

Their bodies contorted, unmistakably lifeless.

To anyone’s eyes, the scene was unmistakably horrific.

They were dead.