I found Sister Elara tending to a small herb garden behind the church. She was younger than the other nuns, with a calm demeanor and an air of quiet diligence.

  If I was going to get information, she seemed like the best person to ask.

  "Excuse me, Sister Elara," I began, keeping my tone polite.

  "Can you tell me more about the gods worshipped in this world?"

  She looked up, surprised but not displeased. "Of course, Grimm. Most people grow up learning about them, but I suppose it must be unfamiliar to you."

  She dusted off her hands and gestured for me to sit on a nearby bench.

  "There are six main gods that rule over this world: the Gods of Life, Sky, Water, Fire, Night, and Light. They are the most widely worshipped and hold great influence over nations and kingdoms."

  I nodded, absorbing the information. Six gods governing fundamental aspects of existence made sense. But something felt missing.

  "If there's a god of life… does that mean there's also a god of death?" I asked, watching her expression carefully.

  Elara hesitated. Her fingers tightened slightly around the herb she was holding. "Yes," she admitted, voice softer. "There were seven gods once."

  My interest sharpened. "What happened?"

  She glanced around, as if making sure no one else was listening, before lowering her voice.

  "The Church of Death suffered a great tragedy over a hundred years ago. A group of heretics targeted them, and their mission remains a mystery even now.

  ...Some say they sought forbidden knowledge. Others whisper that they aimed to unseat the god of death entirely."

  I frowned. "And what happened to the god of death after that?"

  She shook her head. "No one knows. Their followers were scattered, their temples destroyed, and since then, the balance between the gods has been… fractured. Some believe the god of death still exists but is no longer able to manifest in the world. Others think they were sealed away."

  A god being sealed or missing? That had serious implications. If gods could be harmed or erased, then divine power wasn't as absolute as I thought.

  Elara sighed, brushing her hair back. "This church follows the Goddess of Life. She represents warmth, growth, and healing.

  But even she has been affected by the loss of balance. Some say death is a part of life, and without its proper place, the cycle has become… unstable."

  I processed her words carefully. A hundred years wasn't that long in historical terms.

  If there were still remnants of the god of death's influence somewhere, I needed to know more.

  A sudden thought struck me.

  "What about their followers?" I asked. "You said the Church of Death was destroyed, but did any of them survive?"

  Elara frowned, her fingers absently pressing against the fabric of her robe. "There are rumors," she admitted.

  "That some remnants of their faith still exist, hiding in the shadows. But no one has seen them in years."

  A cold breeze passed through the courtyard, rustling the herbs. The moment stretched, filled with unspoken words.

  I exhaled slowly.

  My gut told me this wasn't just history. If the balance between the gods had truly been broken, then whatever happened a hundred years ago was still affecting the world now.

  "Is it forbidden to speak about the god of death?" I asked.

  She hesitated again before shaking her head. "Not forbidden, but… discouraged. Many people believe that speaking their name invites misfortune."

  "So their name is unknown, too?"

  She nodded. "Just like the other gods, we only call them by their title."

  I leaned back slightly, staring at the sky. This world wasn't as simple as it seemed.

  If gods could disappear, if divine balance could be shattered, then something deeper was at play. And if that tragedy happened just a century ago, there could still be clues left behind.

  But for now, I had what I needed.

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  "Thank you, Sister Elara," I said with a small nod. "That was… enlightening."

  She smiled, though there was still a trace of unease in her eyes.

  "I hope it helps. Just be careful what you ask, Grimm. Some things are best left buried."

  I wasn't sure I agreed with that. If anything, now I was even more determined to dig.

  I returned to the church, my mind still racing. Information was key, and I needed more of it. If I wanted to survive in this world, I needed knowledge—not just about customs but also about its economy, food, and resources.

  Books. That was my next priority.

  A church had to have books, right? Even if they were just religious texts, they could still provide insight into how people thought, what they valued, and maybe even some historical records.

  I found Father Lucian near the altar, quietly sorting through some worn-out scrolls. He glanced up as I approached.

  "Feeling better already, Grimm?" he asked with an amused smile.

  "Still a bit weak, but better than before," I admitted. "I was wondering… do you have any books I could read? I'd like to understand more about this world."

  Father Lucian raised an eyebrow. "Not many outsiders ask for books first. Most just want food and shelter."

  "I just don't want to be ignorant," I said with a shrug.

  He nodded approvingly. "A good mindset. We have a few scriptures and some old records. You're free to read them, though some are in an older dialect."

  That was fine. Even if I struggled with the language, I could pick up useful context.

  He led me to a small side room where stacks of parchment and dusty books sat on wooden shelves. It wasn't much, but it was a start. I picked up the first book with care, scanning the faded text.

  A lot of it was religious doctrine—stories of gods, saints, and divine punishment. But hidden between them were mentions of old kingdoms, wars, and natural disasters.

  'This confirms it. This world has a long history… but only bits of it are recorded here.'

  I flipped through another book. This one had more practical knowledge—trade routes, crops, and even mentions of rare spices.

  Spices.

  That caught my attention.

  If this world had a functioning trade system, then food wasn't just for survival—it was a business. And if their spices were limited, then good seasoning was a luxury.

  I set the book down and found Father Abel still watching me.

  "Father, can I ask something?"

  He smiled. "Of course."

  "What's the economic situation like here? What do people trade the most?"

  He chuckled. "That's not a question I hear often. Redgrave is a simple village. We trade mostly wheat, wool, and iron ore from the nearby mines. Bartering is common since coin is scarce. Only the bigger towns deal in larger commerce."

  I nodded. "And spices? Are they common?"

  His smile faded slightly. "Not here. Spices are expensive. Only the wealthy use them. Salt is common, but pepper and cinnamon? Those come from distant lands and are worth their weight in silver."

  If I could replicate modern seasoning techniques—salt curing, better fermentation, or even basic food preservation methods—I could make money.

  Maybe not instantly, but enough to establish myself.

  I stood up, stretching. "Thanks, Father. That helps a lot."

  He gave me a curious look but didn't question further. "Knowledge is always valuable. Use it wisely, Grimm."

  I needed a plan.

  Surviving a near-sacrifice was one thing, but surviving this world was another. I had no knowledge of its economy, politics, or dangers.

  Worse, I had no money, no connections, and no identity beyond the name I'd stolen from a manga. That meant I needed a foundation—something stable to keep me afloat while I gathered information.

  Freeloading at the church was out of the question. Even if they were kind, charity had limits, and I wasn't about to test them.

  I needed a job, something that would let me move freely while staying under the radar.

  When I found the priest later that day, he looked up from his scriptures with mild surprise.

  "You're recovering well," he noted. "Is there something you need?"

  I chose my words carefully. "I don't want to impose any longer. I was hoping to find work—perhaps here in the church or anywhere you could recommend."

  His expression shifted to something unreadable.

  "That's quite responsible of you. Most in your position would have asked for more time to rest."

  Rest wasn't an option. Sitting idle meant stagnation, and stagnation meant vulnerability.

  "Do you have any particular skills?" he asked.

  I hesitated. Back in my world, I was nearly a civil engineering graduate. Here? That meant nothing. "I can read and write," I said instead.

  "And I have a decent understanding of numbers." That was the safest answer—something that wouldn't raise suspicions but still held value.

  The priest hummed in thought. "We always need scribes, but you'd require religious training. If you're looking for physical labor, the church handles purification rites for the dead. The bodies have been accumulating since the graveyard keeper disappeared a month ago. That position is still vacant."

  A graveyard keeper.

  It was an unassuming job, one that wouldn't put me in the direct line of power or conflict. Yet it also came with something valuable—access to information.

  "I'd like to take that job," I said.

  The priest studied me for a long moment. "It's not an easy role," he warned. "The keeper is responsible for ensuring the dead are properly laid to rest. That means counting the bodies, keeping records, and making sure they don't… return."

  I caught the hesitation in his tone. "You mean making sure they don't become undead."

  His gaze darkened. "Yes. That's why all corpses are purified before burial. Without proper rites, some bodies may rise again. The graveyard keeper must ensure that doesn't happen."

  That explained why the position had been abandoned. If the previous keeper vanished without a trace, it wasn't hard to guess what might have happened to him.

  "What would I need to do before I'm officially given the role?" I asked.

  "You would require basic religious instruction," the priest said. "The inquisitors will need to approve your appointment, as those who tend to the dead must be trusted not to abuse their position. You'll also need to report to the church weekly and keep a meticulous record of the bodies."

  It was reasonable. Dangerous, but reasonable.

  Still, this job had its advantages.

  I'd have a reason to leave town regularly, allowing me to explore and gather information. I wouldn't be under constant watch, but I'd still have a place to return to if I needed shelter.

  The inquisitors—the church's enforcers—would need to approve my position, which meant I'd have to go through some form of scrutiny. That was a risk, but one I could manage if I played it smart.

  "I understand," I said. "When can I start?"

  The priest smiled faintly, though there was something wary in his eyes.

  "I will arrange for you to begin your teachings tomorrow. Until then, rest."

  I nodded, though my mind was already turning.

  The previous keeper disappeared. Bodies were piling up. And for some reason, I felt like I'd just walked into something much bigger than I realized.