“So tell me, Sam,” she said, tucking a lock of white hair behind one curled horn, her voice soft but steady. “I don’t want to poke too much into your past, but Father Mathias said you were from quite far away… and that you probably have a million questions. I’ll be the one taking care of you, and I’ll do my best to answer what I can.”

  Well, ask and ye shall receive. I nodded while absolutely obliterating a piece of cured meat and bread like it owed me money. My body was devouring food like it was trying to make up for the calories it lost during my impromptu graveyard spa retreat.

  “So… what does the Church do exactly? I mean, are you guys just praying, baking bread, and making cheese?”

  She blinked, clearly not expecting that combo.

  “I’m not sure how best to answer you,” she said with a slight laugh. “But… yes, we do pray to the gods, and yes, we bake bread and prepare food in-house. It helps keep costs down. But the Order has many responsibilities. We provide healing, education—both to the poor and nobles. We manage a bank accessible across all nations except Valakia to the north. We offer aid during natural disasters, plagues… and we’re also charged with handling matters involving the occult. Evil sorcery. That sort of thing.”

  I raised an eyebrow, mid-bite. “What kind of evil sorcery are we talking about? Like… throw some holy water and say a few words and boom—bad vibes be gone? Or is it more like… full-blown mystical rituals and shadow-banishing stuff?”

  Okay maybe that sounded a bit more flippant than I meant. I held up a hand quickly, mouth still full.

  “Sorry. Back where I’m from, churches don’t exactly have the best reputation. I don’t mean to insult what you do—I just want to understand.”

  She giggled softly, her golden eyes catching the morning light. “Well… I don’t know what things are like where you come from, but no—splashing someone with water doesn’t usually do much besides annoy them. What we’re dealing with is far worse. There are cultists out there who sacrifice the living—men, women, children—to demons in exchange for power.”

  Her voice grew colder, sadder.

  “Some of them become… something else. Twisted. Not quite mortal anymore. The Order exists to root them out. To stop the corruption from spreading.”

  I stared at her for a second, then asked the one question that leapt into my brain like a curious raccoon.

  “Did you hunt those monsters?”

  She looked down, a little embarrassed. “No. I’m just a minor priestess. That’s where my title of ‘Sister’ comes from. A high priestess is called ‘Mother.’ Some Sisters do join the field missions, especially in the outer provinces, but only Mothers and above are allowed to take part in actual purges. It’s… dangerous work.”

  “Can I ask,” I said, breaking the silence between bites of dried fruit, “why you were singing back there? Over at the pit, I mean. Did… did you lose someone? Or is it like, a church ritual to keep the bad juju away?”

  Hope gave a soft laugh, the kind that made you feel dumb and warm at the same time.

  “No, no one I know rests there. We chant prayers over exposed remains and fresh burials,” she explained, brushing invisible dust off her robes. “If we don’t, the dead might rise—turned by lingering grief, rage, or curses. And worse, they’d spread miasma. Poison for the living.”

  She shrugged, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

  “I bless the pit weekly, but normally someone lets me know when a new body’s been added so I can come sooner. Speaking of which…” she leaned forward, narrowing her eyes like a cat that just spotted a bird on the windowsill. “Why exactly were you stabbed through the heart and still breathing? Who stabbed you, and why?”

  Ah. There it was.

  She stabbed that question back at me without warning, and I had to scramble mentally not to trip over my own story.

  So I gave her the short version. The forest, lightning, the pain, the sudden darkness. I told her about waking in the grave pit, barely holding my guts in. What I didn’t tell her was anything about Canada. Or Earth. Or my coma-dream.

  That part? Definitely classified.

  “Strange,” she said, tilting her head. “The wound you had… should’ve killed even a dragon.”

  “Yeah, well, maybe I’m just too stubborn to die,” I said with a tired grin.

  Her smile returned, soft and amused, but it faded as her tone turned more thoughtful. I saw her curiosity bubbling beneath that calm surface, so I flipped the script.

  “What god does your church serve?” I asked. “And are there… other religions? Or is it all one big choir?”

  Her expression softened further—now we were in her domain.

  “Every church of the Order serves the God-King and His seven children of virtue. They’re the central pantheon. But we do recognize many others—lesser gods, local deities. Their worship is permitted, even within our halls.”

  “Huh. Open-minded church. That’s rare.”

  She nodded. “We believe all gods are a part of the tapestry—even if they’re not all kind or benevolent.”

  I leaned back, digesting both the food and the info. “So what exactly is a god in this world? Not to sound rude, but where I’m from the term gets thrown around a lot.”

  Hope folded her hands in her lap, thinking.

  “Gods are the embodiment of a concept. When a being—mortal or otherwise—rises high enough to fully embody a universal truth or principle, they ascend. Some claim abandoned domains. Some create new ones. Others… steal them through force.”

  She looked at me, her eyes catching the light like molten gold.

  “They don’t just influence reality, Sam. Their existence shapes it.”

  “Hmmm… that’s a lot to take in,” I muttered, scratching my head. “So there are dwarves, humans, and, uh… fuzzy folks. Are there more races I should know about? Y’know, trying to figure out where exactly I landed in the whole fantasy lineup.”

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.

  Hope chuckled, flicking one of her curled ram-horns playfully.

  “Yes, many. I’m what’s called a beastfolk—there are dozens of us, all part-human, part-animal. We come in all shapes. Ramfolk like me, foxfolk, wolfkin, avian clans, and more. Elves and dwarves are common too, at least in trade cities. Then you have the dark races.”

  She hesitated slightly at that.

  “Like vampires?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Please don’t say zombies are a race.”

  “I do chant at the dead pit every week, Sam,” she said dryly. “But yes, vampires, Devilkin, and others that once served the old Devil Courts. Most of them live beyond the northern frontier now.”

  “Why the separation?”

  Her tone darkened.

  “There was a war. A bad one.”

  “How bad?”

  She didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the food on the tray, her ears twitching slightly.

  “Millions died,” she finally said, voice quiet. “Whole cities vanished. Villages turned to ash. The bloodiest war in known history. All sparked because one greedy noble wanted more dirt to grow his crops on.”

  I winced. “Hell of a price for a garden.”

  She nodded grimly. “The Empire won. Barely. But the cost was enormous. The northern lands were sealed, and the dark races haven’t been allowed back since.”

  I looked at her, trying to gauge just how much she’d seen firsthand.

  “So… nobles started this mess?”

  “Not all nobles are villains,” she said carefully, then added with a little more bite, “but enough are. Especially in Norestria. Our duke fell ill two years ago, and ever since, the Marquis has taken control of the province.”

  “And let me guess,” I said, already bracing, “he’s not a people person?”

  “Not unless you count squeezing them for coin and labor,” Hope replied. “If it weren’t for the Church stepping in, this whole province would’ve collapsed.”

  I leaned back and exhaled. “Okay… so avoid nobles, dark races, undead pits, and questions about where I’m from. Got it.”

  Hope smiled faintly. “You learn fast, Sam.”

  And tell me—where I'm from, people often fantasized about magical worlds having some sort of organized way to identify power. Like a level or ranking system, allowing one to figure out where they stand on the ladder.I might’ve sounded a bit too enthusiastic with my question, but I had to know if there was some cool way to power up other than just hitting the gym and marching around with a heavy rucksack.

  “Ha, well actually…” she said, amused. For a moment, I felt like she could see straight through me.“There is. It’s quite simple: it goes from level 1 to 100. Then, once someone reaches level 100, some people experience a breakthrough, becoming what we call a Stage 2. Not everyone gets a breakthrough in their life, though.Stages go from 1 to 6. People who can manipulate energy have a better chance at a breakthrough. I’m a Level 69, Stage 2—which, might I say, is quite impressive,” she said, clearly boasting a little.

  “Nice,” I said without thinking, grinning like an idiot the moment I heard her level.She gave me a curious look.

  I quickly deflected. “I just mean… having a clear system to track progress would be such a blessing. Makes improving feel possible, you know?”

  She smiled, then pulled out a square piece of glass about the size of her hand and a brass quill.“Would you like to see your level?”

  Oh, hell yes.

  I grinned wider. My body looked around twenty years younger than before, and in peak shape. I was probably gonna have a solid level, maybe even surprise her.

  She pricked the tip of my index finger with the quill and let a drop of blood fall into the center of the glass.

  “Well that’s weird,” I muttered, squinting at the text. “I can read this no problem, but… that’s not my name. And High Human? What the hell even is that?”

  Apparently, the tablet translated itself based on the reader’s language, since Hope was just as baffled as I was.

  “I’ve never heard of a High Human before,” she said, frowning. “And the fact that there’s absolutely no mana or runa in you is… impossible. What is it that powers your soul? Is there another kind of energy where you're from?” She looked truly puzzled now. “I’ll have to consult the Book Keeper.”

  She stared at the tablet again, then at me, her brow furrowing deeper. “Also… how can you be Level One? It’s like you were just born a week ago. But the amount of intelligence and awareness you've shown would usually bring someone to at least Level 10, maybe 15.”

  I gave her a half-shrug, trying not to let my unease show. “Well… I’ve always been a bit of an overachiever,” I said with a nervous grin.

  Hope shook her head, clearly rattled but trying not to show it. “Alright. How about we change things up a bit? I’ll go grab a wheelchair, and once you’re settled, I’ll give you a little tour of the church. Maybe seeing more of this place will help stir your memory—or at least help you feel more grounded.”

  Hope picked up the empty plates and left with the platter. My legs were still like Jello, but at least I could move them a bit now. My arms still felt like ants were crawling under the skin, but I could start to move them too, which was extremely reassuring after spending so much time being completely vulnerable.

  I wanted to train. See how this new body of mine moved—how far I could run, how fast too. I had a ton of tests to carry out. I wondered how long it would take to level up.

  It was hard to tell the time without a clock, but it felt like at least an hour had passed before Hope came back. I heard her voice through the door before I saw her. She was speaking to another man, but I couldn’t make out what they were talking about.

  “I’m back, and I brought company!” Hope exclaimed as she stepped in.

  “Sam, meet Harold. Harold, meet Sam,” she said, gesturing to us both.

  In front of me stood a short, stocky, and extremely robust bearded man. My brain froze for a second. Could it be?!

  A dwarf?!

  My heart skipped a beat. Dwarves were definitely the coolest of the fantasy races.

  ''Wait… I could have been a dwarf?! NOOOOOOOO. What a waste of potential.'' I sighed.

  Wait. Am I saying this out loud…?

  “Sorry,” I mumbled, suddenly flustered. “Just… uh… processing things.”

  Harold chuckled under his beard, his grey monastic robes bouncing up and down over his round belly.

  "Now I understand what they meant when they said a curious fella came in. Can you walk?"

  I shook my head with a sigh.

  "Well then, come here, you big ugly vegetable," he said, scooping me up like a sack of potatoes. "Ain’t gonna let the lady do all the work."

  "I have a feeling you and I are gonna be good friends, sir."

  He plopped me into the wheelchair like it was nothing before correcting me with a grunt.

  "I’m no sir, young man. Do I look like a knight to you?"

  "Apologies. How should I address you then? Because princess doesn’t seem to fit either."

  He let out a wheezy laugh. "You really are a clueless one, hey! Just call me Brother or Harold. That should do just fine for now."

  Hope stopped us before the banter could escalate again and gently began pushing me out of the alcove into a narrow corridor.

  She showed me around—first the kitchens, then the library, the great hall, the dormitories for residents, and the hospital wing.

  We greeted a lot of people on the way. Hope was definitely a favorite around here, and I couldn’t blame them. She radiated Love—with a capital L.

  Her presence sparked something in me, something I hadn’t felt in a long time.

  Back in my old life, I’d divorced during my third combat tour and never stepped back into the dating scene. I threw myself into my career instead—working too much, drinking too often, surviving without really living.

  Well, she is a priestess, so I’m guessing that’s a no-go.

  But one day, I’d have to thank her—for reminding me that some people really are worth trusting.

  Next, she took me to the training grounds—an open, circular arena with a dirt floor, hardened by years of stomping feet and relentless sparring.

  Racks of arms lined the outer walls—wooden weapons of every kind—and seven piles of stones, each a different size, were neatly stacked at equal intervals around the perimeter.

  A dozen shirtless men were sparring in pairs, each wielding a different wooden weapon.

  They weren’t just monks. No way.These guys moved like trained soldiers—sharp, focused, scars peeking out from under sweat-slicked skin.

  The clash of wood-on-wood echoed like a war drum, swords and shields cracking against each other in a brutal rhythm.The sound hit me right in the chest.One solid thump from the heart, loaded with power and will.

  "I wanna play too," I mumbled, barely realizing I’d said it out loud.

  Without thinking, I started to rise from the chair. It looked like the kind of brutal fencing club I would've paid to join back home.

  And then—I was standing.On my own.

  I took a breath.Then, I took it.

  My first step in this new world.