"By order of His Holiness the Pope, no one is allowed to inspect Jamian's body. Bury it at once."
At the graveyard entrance, the guards delivering the corpse relayed the Pope's decree.
Huh?
This body was probably not ordinary.
"Fine. Come with me."
Though puzzled, Damian still led the two guards carrying the stone coffin slowly into the graveyard.
At a freshly dug pit, Shaina stood waiting for the burial.
Along the way, black blood had seeped faintly from the coffin's seams. The black blood was oddly fresh, and the guards' steps were unsteady, staggering as if the coffin were very, very heavy.
"It seems he only just died."
"If I recall correctly, Jamian is very thin and light."
"Yet they're struggling to carry this coffin. That's very strange."
Watching the two brawny guards wobble, Damian grew thoughtful.
As the coffin was about to be set down, he let out a breath.
The guard lowering it felt a sudden gust; his foot slipped.
Clang!
One guard missed his footing, and the coffin dropped from his hands, the blood-smeared corpse sliding out.
The face was a mangled blur, three stark bloody claw marks raked across it, as if a massive talon had torn down from the crown. The features were ruined, the eyeballs gone, leaving two red holes. The body was twisted and deformed, hands and feet warped into writhing, tentacle-like limbs.
The blood was black.
From the face alone, the corpse was unrecognizable, but from the shattered Cloth on him, Damian still knew who it was.
Crow Jamian!
Damian had seen Jamian a few times. The once-slight man was now grotesquely swollen and contorted, no longer human. Without the Cloth, he would never have recognized him.
He had died together with his Cloth.
"Wha—this… this…"
The two guards were dumbstruck.
This was Jamian?
They had seen corpses, but never anything this horrifying.
Shaina reflexively stepped back three paces.
Damian stamped down, booting the entire coffin—and the body—into the grave.
"We saw nothing. Your task is complete."
He winked at the two guards, then began shoveling dirt.
They fled the graveyard in a panic.
Watching Jamian being buried, Shaina laid a flower on the grave and left.
From start to finish, she said not a word.
Death!
It is a Saint's fate; there's no need for grief.
Jamian had died a Saint's death—only too miserably, and too soon.
"There's a bizarre Cosmo in the body—and another, a powerful one."
Damian was perplexed by Jamian's corpse.
He could clearly sense two Cosmos in it. The one that actually killed him was one of them, while the powerful Cosmo was familiar—Saga's—brutal and evil, forcibly erasing the other evil Cosmo.
Saga was likely covering up Jamian's true cause of death.
He looked to the headstone, full of expectation.
[Corpse: Jamian]
[Rank: Crow Silver Saint]
[Yield: Agility +5]
[Extractable Ability: Command Crows]
[Grave Grade: Bronze]
Without any extra adornment or construction, this grave would top out at Bronze grade.
Whatever—collect the stat first.
Damian set his hand on the Silver Saint's headstone, and a clear current flowed into his body at once.
Instantly, he felt much lighter; his bones and muscles became more supple.
That was the benefit of Agility—increasing flexibility and responsiveness across the board, making every movement quicker.
Beyond that, a blood-smeared scene surfaced before his eyes.
Damian frowned.
A strange Western town appeared. Its inhabitants had been slaughtered.
The streets were smeared with blood and bodies.
The corpses were odd—their hearts had all been dug out. From children to the elderly, every heart had vanished without a trace.
"Damn it. According to the crows, there are no survivors here. Some weirdos have appeared on the west side of town—it looks like they're conducting some kind of ritual."
Jamian looked to the crows in the sky and spoke to Shaina and the other Saints beside him.
The scene shifted.
An eerie altar appeared.
Before it stood a figure in a black robe. He was hunched, yet massive, the robe stretched tight over a swollen bulk.
Rip!
The robe burst, exposing his hunched form.
He was a deformed creature, a hunchback covered in tumorous masses. Behind him bulged a huge fleshy growth, sinister and exhaling black miasma, as if breathing.
"Foolish Saints—you've taken the bait!"
The monster opened a huge mouth, voice grating and harsh. The mass on his back unfurled like a giant flesh flower in bloom.
"Die…"
He clearly uttered the word, but what reached their ears was a bizarre, soul-raking noise.
It crashed straight into the spirit, shaking the soul and robbing the body of control.
Jamian's vision shook and spun. Even Shaina and the other Saints nearby reeled, dizzy and unsteady on their feet.
"Crows, help me!"
Jamian got out the words—and blackness swallowed everything.
Damian's sight cleared, and he realized he too was swaying, on the verge of collapse.
Even he had been affected by that noise.
"A deformed monstrosity?"
Steadying himself, Damian was baffled.
He'd never seen anything like that among Saints.
Were they attendants of some god?
Or some kind of alien?
In addition, strange knowledge had surfaced in his mind.
Command crows?
Fitting for a Crow Saint—the skill matched the constellation.
How did it work again?
Caw, caw, caw…
Crows were regulars in the graveyard. A few were always about.
One perched on an old tree nearby, cawing away.
Damian only glanced at it, and the crow, as if summoned, flapped over at once.
Caw, caw, caw…
The black crow circled overhead, cawing noisily.
"Master, master, master…"
To Damian's ears, the caws carried another meaning.
Master?
I can understand crows—and more?
"Crow, land on my hand."
He held out his left hand.
The big crow flapped twice and settled on his hand, rubbing his fingers with its sharp beak, almost fawning.
So "command crows" was the ability to communicate with them—and a natural affinity.
It looked useless, but the potential was huge!
A steal!