Flames leaped up.
Damian picked up a few dry twigs at hand and tossed them into the fire. The flames slowly climbed, engulfing the twigs as the occasional crackle of bursting wood sounded.
Pansy glanced up at Damian. In the firelight his austere features looked even more enigmatic and compelling, and in those deep black eyes two tiny, burning flames were reflected.
For a moment, no one spoke. Time felt frozen to Pansy, and even Aphrodite stole a few extra looks at Damian.
Something about Damian seemed different today.
Why no joy at receiving a Cloth?
He seemed especially withdrawn.
She'd heard he'd called the Cloth ugly and even asked the Pope for the Gemini Gold Cloth. Could that really be true?
Forget it—best not to guess at a madman's thoughts.
The roast pig's skin gradually turned golden. Amid the rich aroma came the faintest hint of char. Now the whole surface gleamed with a film of golden fat. Damian gave the spit a few final turns, sprinkled on some homemade spices for a last roast, then lifted a skewer of pork and murmured, "Done—now that smells amazing!"
Damian began to wield the carving knife.
With a few swift strokes, he sliced off several wide, golden slabs of meat, each nearly half a palm in size.
The slices seemed to sprout wings as they flew onto everyone's plates, stacked neatly.
Shaina and Aphrodite forgot all pretense of ladylike poise and tucked in immediately, lips slick with shining fat.
Seeing them eat, Pansy finally popped a richly fragrant piece into her mouth.
"Mm—ah!"
Pansy let out a soft cry, with a hint of pain that made everyone look up at her.
Her fair hand covered her lips, brows knitting with a flicker of discomfort. Realizing they were looking, she flushed and murmured timidly, "I… burned myself a little by accident…"
The corner of Damian's mouth twitched, his expression unchanged, but Shaina and Aphrodite both covered their mouths and tittered.
Eyes lowered, Pansy looked a little shy.
She tore off a smaller piece from the top and began to chew.
The moment it touched her tongue, her spirit lifted. The aroma felt almost alive, flooding her mouth with saliva—more delicious than anything she had ever tasted.
To her surprise, one bite made her crave more. She was nearly entranced. She never imagined this mortal ambrosia was made by that lunatic senior brother. Remembering the earlier egg tarts, she couldn't help growing wary.
Aphrodite, mouth gleaming with oil, praised in that bull's timbre: "Damian, what exquisite skill! I didn't expect roasted meat could be this delicious. Where did you learn it?"
"It's not my roasting—it's Pandora's quality."
Damian answered flatly.
Pan… Pandora?
Pansy's delicate body trembled.
This pig was Pandora?!
She had been feeding Pandora the other day—Damian treated the pig like a treasure—and now he killed it just like that?
She hadn't expected Damian to turn on a pig so coldly.
Poor Pandora… Unconsciously, Pansy's "tears" slipped from the corner of her mouth.
"Damian, your cooking is simply astonishing—breathtaking."
Aphrodite drew a pink rose-embroidered handkerchief from his chest and dabbed the oil on his red lips, praising in a pinched tone.
A satisfied blush colored that stunning face, enough to leave other men dazzled.
His movements were elegant, and the ten slender orchid fingers tipped with glossy crimson nails caught the firelight's gold, like ten flamboyant red blooms opening at once.
On charm alone, it could topple a legion of men.
Even Shaina and Pansy stared, dazed.
They were women, yet had never seen a man's hands so lovely—slender, alabaster, bonelessly supple—especially those ten flickering crimson nails, enough to stir envy.
"Abu, what did you stuff in your chest again?"
Damian looked at the cross-dresser's chest, where two peaks rose, and couldn't help asking.
"None of your business!"
Aphrodite rolled his eyes, patted his chest, and basked in self-satisfaction.
Damian shook his head slightly. He'd once said if Aphrodite came to the graveyard again he had to wear women's clothes—and the man had taken it to heart and grown addicted to dressing up.
At this rate, the Twelve Gold Saints might end up with a female Gold Saint.
No—neither male nor female.
Perhaps too happy, Shaina had drunk a lot, talked nonsense, and was drowsy.
Seizing the chance, Pansy smiled sweetly, big eyes shimmering with what looked like a black glint, and said softly, "It's so good. I've never had roast this delicious in my life!"
She deliberately leaned closer. "Damian, be good to me from now on, okay? Don't bully me anymore."
Looking at that delicate, lovely face, Damian's smile warmed from the heart. "All right. I'll be good to you from now on."
He was about to say more when he suddenly shuddered all over and narrowed his eyes.
In an instant, his gaze became a blade.
He wasn't into little girls.
Just now, her beauty had muddled his mind and stirred a nearly irresistible tenderness.
Damn it…
This whole Cloth fiasco had been her hypnosis on Shaina.
And now she dared try hypnotizing him?
Little girl.
You really have a death wish!
Without realizing it, Damian clenched his fists, killing intent leaking out.
Thinking her hypnotic trick had worked, Pansy didn't notice. If she could beguile this unhinged senior brother, she could flip the script.
Suddenly, she shivered for no reason, as if some terrifying presence had fixed on her.
"Damian…"
A cry of faint surprise sounded by his ear, snapping him back. He drew in the killing intent at once.
Pansy, Shaina, and Aphrodite were all staring at him, eyes puzzled.
Damian steadied himself, took a deep breath, and said quickly, "I'm fine. Just thinking of the moon back home."
They all wore the same "tell-us-another" look.
Papering it over, Damian took a sip of wine, then glanced at the Pegasus Cloth casket in front of him, head throbbing.
Pansy was only a small problem for now. The big problem was the Cloth in his hands.
As long as the Pegasus Cloth stayed with him, it meant he had personally cut the Saint's main plot.
Wasn't he supposed to lie low till the end of time?
At this pace, Saori Kido would soon summon the Saints for the Galactic Tournament, then Athena would be assassinated, and the Twelve Houses would begin in earnest.
Was he going to copy Seiya and charge the Zodiac for the goddess?
No way!
If taking the Pegasus Cloth meant taking on Seiya's god-slaying chores, then better to toss the Cloth.
Isn't it sweet to stay in the graveyard, grinding skills and stats?
It all depended on the Pope now. Worst case, he'd make one run to the Pope's hall. He wasn't afraid of Dark Saga anyway.
Suddenly, Damian felt a Cosmo probing the graveyard.
It had ill intent—killing intent surged.
He stood. "Everyone, something's come up. Carry on!"
.
At the graveyard gate.
Damian had barely reached the entrance when he saw an exquisite silhouette.
Her figure might not have had Shaina's wasp waist and long legs, but her curves were fuller, her womanly allure stronger.
Just from the big S-curve, he knew it was Sister Marin.
But behind Marin came several Sanctuary soldiers.
These soldiers were actually the Silver Saints' followers, called retainers. They took orders from the Silver Saints—Shaina had a few of her own.
The Sanctuary was far from harmonious—factions abounded. Many Silver Saints kept retainers and followers; female Saints recruited retainers especially easily.
These retainers weren't weak, just hadn't received Cloths or awakened their Cosmo, so they weren't Saints.
Judging by the look of them, they were here to make trouble.
"Damian, the Pope has already ordered you to hand over the Pegasus Cloth and return it to Seiya."
"I personally selected the Pegasus Bronze Cloth for Seiya, because he can call upon the constellation power of Pegasus. He is the true Pegasus Saint."
"And you—other than muscle—have nothing."
"You are not qualified to obtain the Pegasus Cloth."
"Hand it over."
Marin's stance was unexpected—overbearing and aggressive.
No question, though she called it the Pope's order, the posture could be summed up in four words.
[If you won't give it, I'll beat you]
Marin, are you really going to throw a tantrum on my turf?
"I'll hand over the Pegasus Cloth, sure—but on one condition."
Damian grinned wickedly and made his demand: "...Take off your mask."
"I want to see your face!"