The Sanctuary.
Shaina and Marin, who had been sparring, suddenly stopped at the same time.
Both turned toward Athens.
“Did you feel that, Marin?” Shaina asked.
Marin did not answer.
She gazed toward Greece and thought silently to herself.
Ryosho’s Cosmo vanished after burning to its limit.
Is he dead?
Ryosho!
Even after I warned you, could this tragic end still not be avoided?
…
Japan, Graad Coliseum.
As Seiya walked toward the ring, his pupils suddenly contracted.
He stopped in his tracks and stared toward Greece in disbelief.
“How can this be?”
“Ryosho’s Cosmo has disappeared.”
“What’s wrong, Seiya?
Are you scared?
If you are, you’d better surrender now.
Otherwise, I’ll beat you until you’re crying for your parents!
Ahahaha!” Bear Geki stood atop the Milky Way Ring, looking down at Seiya, who had frozen below, and burst into loud laughter.
Seiya ignored Bear Geki’s taunts and continued staring toward Greece in disbelief.
How could this happen?
Ryosho was so powerful.
How could he be dead?
Damn it!
I’m in Japan.
There’s no way I can get to Greece!
What happened to you, Ryosho?
…
“Dear passengers, boarding has begun for the flight to Karas International Airport in Pakistan.
Please proceed to Gate 2.
We wish you a pleasant journey.”
“Dear passengers…”
As the announcement repeated over the speakers, Cynthia held Manos’s hand and stared anxiously at the entrance to the departure lounge.
“Cynthia, it’s time to board…”
Manos finally looked away from the entrance.
He sighed deeply to himself, then spoke to Cynthia.
“But Brother Ryosho still hasn’t come back.” Cynthia’s voice trembled as though she were about to cry.
Manos’s aging eyes were also growing moist, but he forced a reassuring smile.
“We’ll wait for him on the plane.
Ryosho is a Saint, and he has superpowers.
He’ll definitely make it back before the plane takes off.”
“Really?”
“When has Grandpa ever lied to you?
Besides, even if he doesn’t make it in time, Ryosho will be waiting for us at Rozan.
If he didn’t need to look after us, he could simply fly there himself.”
“Brother Ryosho can fly?”
“Of course.
The Saints of Athens can do anything.
Supersonic punches, Teleportation, Telekinesis.
All of that is easy for them.”
“Will you board the plane with Grandpa now?”
Cynthia glanced once more at the entrance to the departure lounge.
Then she lowered her head and quietly murmured her agreement.
…
“Ow, ow, ow…”
Ryosho sucked in a sharp breath.
He rose from the ground, stretched his aching body, and looked around.
The moment he saw his surroundings, he froze.
Clusters of green ghostly flames flickered across the barren land.
In the distance, people resembling walking corpses filed along a mountain path in the same direction.
One after another, they reached the edge of an enormous pit resembling a volcanic crater and threw themselves inside, letting out shrill, despairing screams as they fell.
Ryosho’s expression changed.
“Yomotsu Hirasaka!”
How had he ended up here?
Had he lost his battle against Lizard Misty?
His gaze wavered.
That should not have been possible.
Misty was certainly strong, but defeating him in a single blow while he wore the Crateris Cloth should have been nearly impossible.
Had someone ambushed him?
He carefully recalled every moment of his deadly battle with Misty, but unfortunately, he found no clues.
However, if he had not actually died in battle, there was only one person capable of sending his soul directly to this place.
Cancer Deathmask.
If Deathmask had secretly struck him with the Praesepe Underworld Waves, it was entirely possible that Ryosho would not have noticed.
Damn it!
To eliminate him, Saga had actually sent a Gold Saint!
Clang, clang…
Clang, clang…
Just then, the sound of a hammer striking a chisel came from the direction of the entrance to the Underworld.
Ryosho frowned.
He did not believe there could be another living person on Yomotsu Hirasaka besides Deathmask.
He took a deep breath.
Even if his opponent was a Gold Saint, casting him into the Underworld would not be so easy.
And if Ryosho wanted to return to the world of the living, he would have to rely on Deathmask.
Cynthia was still waiting for him.
His life as a Saint had only just begun.
He could not die in a place like this.
Yet he would never defeat his opponent while consumed by fear.
With that thought, he strode fearlessly toward the sound of hammering.
“Take your pick.”
“Dead man!”
As he approached the abyss, a cold voice rang out from an entrance lined with coffins.
It was not Deathmask.
Ryosho’s eyes widened.
How was that possible?
At the far end of the countless coffins stood a figure dressed in a black robe, holding an iron hammer and chisel as he worked on a stone coffin.
Beside him rested another stone coffin, decorated with an exquisite relief of a four-winged angel.
Omertà, the Coffin of Silence.
Ryosho recognized the stone coffin at once.
At the same time, he recognized the black-robed figure standing with his back to him.
Cancer Deathtoll.
He was the previous Cancer Gold Saint, also known as “The Coffin Maker.” He possessed the divine artifact Omertà, the Coffin of Silence, and was rumored to have been Deathmask’s late master.
Ryosho’s gaze darkened.
Deathtoll was far more formidable than Deathmask.
During the previous Holy War against the Underworld, he had switched sides several times in the middle of battle, toying with the Spectres at every turn.
Compared to Deathmask, Deathtoll was skilled in a much wider range of abilities, including physical combat and spatial techniques.
He also possessed Omertà, the Coffin of Silence, an artifact passed down from the Age of Myth.
His overall strength far surpassed Deathmask’s.
But Ryosho did not understand.
Why was Deathtoll, who had died long ago, here?
His black robe was almost identical to the one worn by the fake “Saga.”
Could Ryosho’s suspicions have been correct?
Had the dead truly been resurrected?
Had Hades, the King of the Underworld, awakened ahead of schedule and begun interfering in the Earthly Realm to clear the way for the coming Holy War?
“What’s wrong?
None of them suit you?”
Deathtoll rose gracefully from the ground like a noblewoman.
He turned and looked at Ryosho from beneath his broad hood.
A sinister aura swept over Ryosho, sending a chill through him.
“Cancer Deathtoll, why are you here?
Who resurrected all of you?”
“Oh?”
Deathtoll sounded surprised.
“Aside from Deathmask, someone in this era actually recognizes me?
In that case, there’s no need to conceal my identity any longer.”
As he spoke, he removed his black robe, neatly folded it, and placed it to one side.
Beneath the loose robe, the Cancer Cloth covered his body.
It was as black as ink and radiated an unnatural, eerie light.
“A Surplice?”
“No.
It’s different from a Surplice.
That entire battle armor is filled with sinister malice.”
Ryosho had never seen such armor among the Saints.
Deathtoll answered him.
“It is a Leaf.”
“Battle armor that can only be worn by evil spirits who wander Hell, bound by their resentment and doomed never to find release.
The Leafs.”