How strange…
This was the first time Damian had seen anything like it.
Something was off with the Specters' corpses. The graveyard seemed to ignore them, and he couldn't extract any attributes or skills from the bodies at all.
Did all their power vanish upon death? Or was it simply not extractable?
He tried burying Gordon's body in the neighboring grave, covering it with soil and setting a headstone.
Same result as before: no yield, no skills or attributes, corpse change in 24 hours.
Again!
He even tried swapping out the headstone, but it was exactly the same. The grave grade didn't change either.
It looked like either the trigger conditions for Specter corpses were different, or Specters simply weren't compatible with this graveyard.
Or was his burial process wrong?
Thinking it through, most of a Specter's power comes from their Demon Star and Surplice. Their souls are peculiar too, belonging to Hades.
Put simply, Specters are undying.
This graveyard, though, belongs to the Sanctuary. It holds the dead of Saints across the ages.
A shame—but Specters are Specters. They don't belong to the bright earth; they belong to the gloomy Underworld.
Maybe there really is a clash between the two.
As for "corpse change"?
Don't tell me they'll turn into zombies.
Would he have to cosplay as a demon-hunting Taoist to put them down?
Caw, caw, caw…
A big crow wheeled in the sky, shrieking a report.
"Is Aphro ready? Whatever—time to move."
Glancing at the sunset, Damian turned and vanished into the graveyard.
Before long he stood beneath a towering cliff in the Sanctuary.
He wore the Pegasus Cloth, a golden mask on his face, and a sack at his waist—a fully geared look.
On a boulder at the cliff's base he found several lines spelled out in rose petals.
"A gap in the barrier—I left footprints. To pass the Demon Palace Roses, follow the white roses. Don't forget a mask against the poison."
"If you get spotted or killed, keep your mouth shut."
"Payment on success: one month of hotpot and tiramisu."
"Proceed at your own risk!"
When he'd finished reading, Damian waved his hand and scattered the petals.
"Thanks, Aphro."
He smiled.
Raise a soldier for a thousand days, use him for an hour. He'd fed this glutton plenty—and now the payback was rich.
He often traded food and treatment for Aphrodite's help—say, having him fetch scrolls from the Pope's library, or bring back some Underworld specialty. Even the flower seeds in the graveyard were cultivated by Aphro.
This time was different.
Aphrodite couldn't do this one for him. He had to go himself.
He studied and sensed carefully, and sure enough he found footprints on the escarpment.
Pushing off, he sprang up and ran straight up the sheer wall like a ramp.
The cliff was at least a thousand meters high—the Sanctuary's highest peak—but it was nothing to Damian.
Halfway up, he sensed something off.
Under his spiritual sense, a keen barrier wrapped the surroundings—nearly airtight. Not even birds or insects could get through.
It was a barrier Athena herself had laid in the mythic age—powerful and steady—protecting the Goddess's Hall, the Pope's Hall, and the Twelve Temples.
Because of it, any enemy from outside who wanted to attack Athena in the Goddess's Hall could only break through the Twelve Temples one by one.
The reason Aphrodite, stationed in Pisces Temple, could run around the graveyard in women's clothes without anyone noticing—and without passing through the Twelve Temples—was because he'd found a flaw in the barrier.
The gap was tiny and shifted around, but big enough for a single person.
Following Aphrodite's footprints, Damian leapt and slipped through the invisible barrier with a few nimble moves.
Those footprints marked the barrier's thin spots—saving him time and trouble.
He vaulted and landed smoothly in Pisces Temple.
Scarlet roses covered everything. Vines and thorns climbed the ancient columns and walls, and the floor was carpeted with blossoms.
Royal Demon Palace Roses!
In ancient times, Demon Palace Roses were planted around royal courtyards to repel invaders, and they were lethally poisonous.
Inhaling their pollen or being pricked by a thorn would immediately cause bodily functions to fail. The five senses would be lost, and one would peacefully die without pain.
The road from Pisces Temple to the Pope's Hall was buried beneath countless Demon Palace Roses and thorns. Every generation's Pisces Saint could coexist with them only by developing a highly poisonous constitution.
Aphrodite could live among them thanks to his physique.
Others could not. To pass, one had to wear a mask to filter pollen and avoid even a single thorn.
Aphrodite wasn't in Pisces Temple now—only the white-rose code remained.
White roses—right on cue!
Following the white markers, Damian threaded through the vast temple without so much as a scratch. The mask blocked the toxic pollen, and he slipped out of Pisces's range in no time.
An ancient, splendid building rose ahead.
The Pope's Hall.
Home to Popes across the ages, and the Sanctuary's brain.
Behind it stood a tower-like mountain, a sky-piercing pillar visible from anywhere.
That was Star Hill, the sacred site where the Pope watched the heavens to foretell worldly events.
And it held what Damian needed.
"Busy day today. His Holiness summoned a Saint candidate—and a little girl at that."
"Heh, that kid is really pretty. So cute."
"Yeah—too cute. I can't wait to see how she looks when she grows up."
"She'll be a knockout—curves and all."
Two palace guards chatted, wearing expressions every man understood.
Guard duty was boring—understandable.
A sudden gust made them both shut their eyes. When they opened them again, nothing seemed amiss. Weird—where'd that wind come from?
"I'm in."
Drawing a deep breath, Damian suppressed his Cosmo—and the Cloth's own Cosmo—to the barest minimum and slipped through the main doors into the Pope's Hall.
So long as he didn't get close to Saga, he wouldn't be discovered.
Saga didn't like crowded places, so the hall's guards were few.
The vast hall was empty and cold, no one in sight—but Saga's Cosmo filled it all.
Damian had barely gone a few steps when elegant, limpid harp notes drifted out.
The melody was unhurried and delightful, speeding and slowing in turn, making one want to lean in and listen.
After two minutes of careful advance, Damian stopped. He saw the Pope Saga seated, Aphrodite in his Gold Cloth, Marin of Aquila, and Shaina of Ophiuchus.
And the one playing the harp—was Pansy!
(End of Chapter)
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