Sanctuary.
Not far from Athens, the largest city in Greece, stood a sacred mountain cut off from the mundane world.
Legend had it the Sanctuary was created by the goddess Athena with divine power, hidden behind dozens of layers of barriers imbued with "the will of the gods," untouched by outside interference and absent from any map. Even a reconnaissance satellite with meter-level resolution could never discover its existence.
Aside from Saints and people directly connected to them, no one else was allowed to step into the Sanctuary.
Among ordinary people, the Sanctuary was a secret known only to a handful at the level of heads of great powers and presidents.
The Sanctuary produced Saints and little else, so most resources were supplied as tribute from the outside.
All manner of supplies were delivered to the Sanctuary's entrance by outsiders, then carried one sack at a time into the Sanctuary's warehouses on the backs of Saints.
Sunrise.
On the winding mountain road outside the colosseum, Saint candidates in a line shouldered heavy burlap sacks and hauled supplies.
So young, and yet each bore loads several times their body weight, eyes firm and determined.
From afar, the scene looked like industrious ants marching in line, ferrying food toward their nest.
Toil, smallness, and strict order.
Damian, dressed in the gravekeeper's distinctive black robe, arrived at the Sanctuary's grand hall.
On this day every year, the Pope would proclaim the goddess's will here to the Saints and perform a prayer ceremony, issuing the goddess's decree to the entire Sanctuary.
Except for the Gold Saints guarding the Twelve Temples, nearly all Saints, along with the candidates selected by Saints, would attend.
Many Saints had come from all over the Sanctuary, with disciples in tow, filing into the grand hall.
In a blink, the hall was packed and bustling.
Many candidates who had been accepted as disciples by Saints stared wide-eyed at the hall's lavish decor, heads swiveling.
Damian brought Pansy to the prayer ceremony.
No one noticed Pansy's arrival.
The little girl wore the gravekeeper's black cloak, hiding her winsome face and long black hair.
"This cloak is so ugly."
She was a hundred times unwilling, but didn't dare defy Damian's order.
She remembered very well what had happened yesterday, and those Specters had lost contact.
I'm livid!
If I could just enter the Underworld freely, I'd have those guys strung up.
As she walked the hall amid the flow of people, Pansy was surprised to find the odd looks from the crowd weren't aimed at her.
Everyone was looking at the heroic, handsome Damian, yet all pretended not to see him, keeping as far away from senior brother as possible, as if afraid to get near.
It seemed this senior brother wasn't very well liked in the Sanctuary.
Damian's magnetic voice drifted over faintly: "Way too few women, even fewer female Saints. A bunch of big lugs together—if they're not training, they're brawling. Every one of them so aggressive, and their builds aren't much to look at. Just look at those flat chests—barely even men!"
Pansy: "…"
The grand hall was a temple from ancient Greece, capable of holding several hundred people.
Most of the Saints had arrived; only the Pope was fashionably late.
Besides Silver Saints, there were some Bronze Saints, and then disciples of every kind of Saint.
Among them were Marin, Seiya, and the others.
Some Saints chatted, others talked about the disciples they'd just taken.
The Cloths were all colors, faintly glowing, while only Pansy and Damian wore the gravekeeper's black robes, looking a bit mismatched—cranes among chickens.
He couldn't help it—Damian wasn't a Saint.
At a glimpse of the gravekeeper's exclusive black robe, everyone chose to avoid and ignore him.
Gravekeepers were a special occupation in the Sanctuary. They held little status, but no one wanted to provoke them.
By tradition, to be interred in the Saints' graveyard after death was an absolute honor, protected by Athena, where one's soul could find final rest.
Better not to offend a gravekeeper.
"What a pain. Shaina isn't here. Looks like she still hasn't returned…"
Not seeing Shaina, Pansy was disappointed. She knew she'd keep suffering. As she looked around, she spotted a tall, powerfully built figure.
It's him!
A Saint candidate known for rash brutality.
"Don't worry. Shaina's on a mission in Sicily and probably won't be back for a while. I'll help you train."
"Senior brother, I'm not looking for Ms. Shaina…"
Hearing that, Pansy's mouth twitched and she waved her hands repeatedly.
"No need to be polite. Look how excited you are. This is what senior brothers are for."
"When we get back, I'll teach you how to train muscle—no, train your chest muscles—turn you into a muscular young lady: healthy and awesome. That's how you get popular."
"As soon as you master chest training, I guarantee you'll become a true Saint!"
"See? I have pecs, and you don't!"
"Senior brother… I—"
Pansy's mouth twitched. She was screaming inside.
I'm still a little girl. How am I supposed to have pecs?
"No need to thank me. Look how excited you are. This is what senior brothers are for."
Damian beamed, giving her no chance to refuse, then plunged into the crowd with a stack of cards in hand.
"Candidate, please take this card. If you want a prime gravesite after you die, come find me at the graveyard. Fair prices, honest deals. Anyone with this card gets 12% off their burial plot!"
"Hold on to it; don't throw it away!"
"You, beautiful candidate, please take this little card. I'm the Sanctuary's gravekeeper, and I also specialize in therapeutic massage—erasing scars, beautifying and rejuvenating. I'll make your skin whiter and rosier. After my treatment, those candidates and even Saints will look at you with new eyes, sneaking glances…"
"Don't be shy."
"You there, little friend—come, come…"
"Do you have someone you like? I have a method to make your muscles grow fast. Just train and you'll get strong and healthy, muscles popping, and you'll attract Saints' attention. I see great potential in you, so I'm recommending it now at a low price."
"Little miss, I also make all kinds of delicious pastries—many you won't find anywhere else. If you want some someday, bring this card and come find me. I'll treat you for free."
"If you want to buy a nice burial plot, come to me. Honest deals for young and old alike—no empty words."
"Hey, hey, hey, kid, don't be scared. If you're a Saint, you'll die sooner or later. Face it calmly. Pick your grave now so you don't get hit with price hikes later."
Watching Damian's antics, Pansy was utterly baffled.
What on earth was Damian doing?
This book will not incorporate the Saint Seiya Ω storyline, so Saints can rest easy.
Thanks for reading!If you enjoyed the chapter, don't forget to drop a Power Stone and leave a review.Your support keeps the cosmos burning and helps me write more epic Saint Seiya battles!