Blue sky. Birds singing.
A clean, lovely morning.
I should really get to the garden—trim the tired hedges, pull the weeds. Maybe polish the stained glass; the dust's been thick for weeks.
Ahh, such a good morning. Truly a good morning.
"...If not for this stink."
I push open the door to the altar and fight the urge to cry.
Hot, coppery rot punches up my nose. As far as I can see—nothing but a sea of blood. Meat scattered everywhere, tossed like scraps.
When heroes die in battle against monsters, some 'blessing of God' or whatever sends them to the church.
But it isn't God who puts them back together. The fiddly, filthy work always falls to the people on the ground.
Which means it falls to me.
"Damn it, what a pain! What kind of death turns you into... this?"
The meat doesn't answer. My voice just rings around the little chapel.
I'll have to stitch every piece to every piece, then resurrect the lot... By the time I'm done, the sun will be kissing the hills.
So much for the garden. So much for polishing the glass.
* * *
"Mm... ugh."
Katarina drags her fingers through her tangled blond hair, rubs her eyes, and pushes herself upright. For a few heartbeats she stares into nothing. Then—startled—Katarina yanks the thin cloth higher over her chest.
"W-wait, why—why am I... not wearing anything?!"
"Let's not be picky. Did you expect me to sew your shredded clothes back together along with the rest?"
"Eek! Who's there?!"
Katarina looks at me and lets out a sound halfway to a scream. There's a fresh-sprout badge on her shoulder—the mark of a beginner hero. Figures.
"First time dying? As you can see, this is a church. I'm the priest."
"I... died? I actually died?"
"You did. Badly. You were minced—coarse grind. If I'd packed you tight and fried you, we could've served hamburg steak."
"U... ugh."
Memory catches up; terror shakes her. She starts to tremble.
"You'll catch a chill. Here—put this on. It's only rough cloth, but it's warm."
"Th-thank you."
"Of course. That'll be ten copper coins."
"You're charging me?!"
"Naturally. Even priests don't live on air. The resurrection donation is three silver as well—your generous support is appreciated."
"Um... did my things come with me? My staff and pack?"
As she threads her arms into the cloth dress, I hand over a wicker basket. Inside: blood-soaked rags and clods of mud.
"These were all that were transferred with you—pardon, with your pieces. Usually a hero's gear arrives too. If it didn't, something—monster or otherwise—took it before you stopped breathing."
"N-no way..."
Her face goes pale; the shaking starts again.
A bad feeling.
"You do have a bank account, yes? I can accept payment by card—pardon, I mean, I can accept your donation that way."
"I'm... I'm sorry."
Broke. Completely.
I press my hands to my head. A whole day of tedious, perfect work, and this is how a diligent, God-fearing priest is repaid. Really, Goddess?
"...Your name?"
"Katarina."
"Katarina, if you'll sign a pledge, I can allow payment later. The church stands with heroes of humble means. Work like a cart horse, gather coin, then return. Interest applies, so don't dawdle."
"U... uuu..."
Why is she crying? If anyone should be crying, it's me.
"I can't go adventuring anymore. My staff and armor are gone."
"Don't be absurd. Hunt slimes barehanded if you must, or take a part-time job in town. Buy a cheap staff to start."
"But without that staff... ugh. I can't be a hero. I quit. I'll just find work in some dingy tavern."
Oh no. No, no, no.
Unpaid labor? Spare me. And if she quits, the central church will cut our subsidy for her line. That's money I can't lose.
I swallow the scream clawing up my throat and fix on a holy, patient smile—the kind you wear like a mask. The mask holds, even as the morning's sweetness curdles in the air.
"O brave hero—how pitiful, to give up so soon."
"Don't say that! You have no idea how scary it was!"
I rest a hand on Katarina's trembling shoulder.
"Listen, hero. Fear is something you can smother with knowledge. Once you understand what you're facing, it loses its bite."
"Knowledge? But I don't even know what kind of monster killed me!"
"I can guess. Your staff—did it have a jewel or crystal fixed to the tip?"
"Eh? Yes, it did..."
I knew it. I dig through the basket of rags and mud, fingers finding a feather black and sticky with blood.
"This came with you. Most likely from a monster crow. They're drawn to shiny things—mages with jeweled staves are easy prey."
"I-I see... but, um, I was shredded into bits, wasn't I? Could crows even do that?"
"This time of year they hatch their young. A mage's body, saturated with mana, makes excellent feed for the chicks."
"Then... you mean—"
"You were eaten. Pecked apart by the nestlings until you were mince."
Katarina covers her mouth, eyes wide. She won't remember the pain—memories at death usually burn away during resurrection. A little divine mercy to keep new heroes from quitting too soon.
"Well, nothing to fear now. Knowing your foe is half the battle. They nest atop oak trees; your belongings are likely there. Fire magic works, but risks burning the mountain and your gear. Best to wait until the parent leaves and use water magic to knock the nest down. The chicks' meat is tender—delicacy-grade. Grill them slow over coals; they sell well in the markets."
"You... know a lot about this."
Katarina gapes, and I smile serenely.
"Of course. Every day, heroes fall mid-adventure and end up here. You collect plenty of stories that way."
And plenty of unpaid debts from penniless ones like you.
Last month, I calculated my income and hours—four copper coins an hour. Kids make more with chores.
I choke back the scream rising in my throat and keep the priestly smile.
"Retrieve what's precious with your own hands. Plan and prepare. Do that, and God will surely favor you. May His grace be upon you—and may you remember your donation."
Ah, Lord, maybe favor me once in a while too.
* * *
"...You again?"
Katarina, the blonde mage, lies before the altar once more. This time there's a hole through her chest, blood soaking her robe.
Still, she beams.
"Priest! I did it—I got my staff and my pack back!"
"That's wonderful. You neglected the parent, though, didn't you?"
"Heh, yeah. I was cleaning the chicks when mama bird stabbed me from behind. Right through."
Unbelievable. She says it like stubbing a toe. Do you know how hard rebuilding a heart is? Still, better than stitching minced flesh.
"But today, I've got money."
"Splendid. Then I'll take payment for two resurrections, one cloth garment, and cleaning the blood from the carpet."
"You're charging for the carpet?"
"The stains didn't wash out."
"Oh, come on, it's going to get bloody again anyway. It was red to start with—just dye it in blood!"
What is wrong with this woman? I'll dye you in blood.
"Oh, right! I brought a gift!"
From her pack she pulls a bundle wrapped in oak leaves—fresh bird meat.
"Ah, chick meat. God will be pleased. Let's roast it over the coals."
"Then, can you tell me how to deal with the parent bird? While we eat?"
She looks up with sweet, pleading eyes. Bold woman. Still, points for bringing tribute.
"Fine. I'd rather you not die again so soon."
"Yes! Oh, I'll eat too—pass the salt and some skewers?"
"Donations accepted for salt and coal usage."
And so, for once, the little blood-soaked church fills not with the stench of death, but the warm scent of roasting meat.
Of course, the garden and the stained glass will have to wait yet another day.
Notes:
• Katarina - A female adventurer known for her cheerful demeanor but cursed with a tendency to die repeatedly.