York furrowed his brow, looking at the vast ruins in the distance. People were laboring diligently on the ruins, clearing away the rubble and searching for those buried bodies. Most were already decayed and dry, yet people could still recognize them at first glance as their family members.

From time to time, cries came from the ruins, the hysterical grief tugging at York’s heartstrings. He gently wiped the cross on his chest and bowed his head in prayer.

When York looked up again, he noticed that a crowd had suddenly gathered on the ruins, seemingly in a heated discussion about something. Faintly, he could hear cursing.

Fearing chaos, York strode over to maintain order. As he squeezed through the crowd, he saw a grieving woman clutching a partially rotting corpse, crying bitterly.

Such tragedies had become commonplace in the aftermath of Gray Stone Town’s disaster, and York couldn’t understand why this particular incident caused such an uproar.

"Priest... Father York..."

Seeing York, the woman called out his name in distress, and without a word, she exposed the corpse completely to York.

York understood why she was so sorrowful.

The deceased was the woman’s son, but the body seemed to have been desecrated, stripped of all clothing and ornaments.

York knew that before the disaster, their family had been among the wealthy in Gray Stone Town. Someone had robbed the deceased of his belongings.

"What happened?" York asked softly to the person beside him.

"We searched here a few days ago and found no bodies. But today, a corpse suddenly appeared; we dug it out, and it was in this state."

The person was the town’s sheriff, with little police force remaining after the disaster. Like York, his face bore the same weariness.

"We suspect someone dug it up elsewhere, took all the valuables, and reburied it here."

"Desecration!"

York’s expression was furious, growling softly from his throat.

The disaster had already caused such immense grief, and York hadn’t expected someone to desecrate bodies amidst such tragedy. Even someone as gentle as York was filled with anger.

"Are there any clues?" York asked.

"None," the sheriff looked up at the surrounding high walls, "at night, you can’t see anything here."

The woman continued to weep, softly cursing the sinner who desecrated the body, vowing to make him experience the pain of a thousand arrows piercing his heart.

York knelt beside the deceased, took the stiff hand, and prayed over the body.

"Thank you, Father," the woman said.

"It’s nothing."

After finishing the prayer, York stood up again and looked around, noticing a suspicious figure in the distance.

Though his vision was blurry, York recognized him—it was Gami.

In an instant, York recalled last night’s confession.

"I did something wrong; I took wealth from the dead that didn’t belong to me."

Now, thinking about the change in Gami’s attire, the incident became very clear—it was Gami who did it.

York suppressed his anger, walked through the crowd, and headed toward Gami. Gami noticed York approaching, showing a hint of panic, but soon calmed down, a strange smile appearing on his face.

Gami was always like that, standing in the shadow of an alley, showing that smile to the people on the street. People said he was like a snake flicking its tongue.

"Did you do it?" York’s voice was low and deep.

Gami’s eyes showed a flash of panic, but he quickly regained his composure, "What do you mean, Father?"

"Don’t play dumb, it was you, wasn’t it?"

York grabbed Gami’s hand, noticing the silver ring on Gami’s finger, with traces of dark red blood in the patterned crevices.

Gami broke free from York’s grasp, stepping back, with more shadows covering him.

"Are you accusing me, Father?" Gami said defiantly, "You need evidence."

"The evidence is your confession to me last night!"

York pressed closer again, thinking that Gami had changed his ways, only to find him continuing down a dark path.

"Confession? Did I confess to you?" Gami retorted, "If I did confess, how do you know the one who confessed was me?"

York was momentarily at a loss for words, the rising anger cooling slightly. According to church doctrine, a priest must protect the confessor’s privacy during confession, even if he knows who the person is, he must pretend not to know. Besides, during last night’s confession, York didn’t see Gami’s face in the darkness.

"I won’t shield a criminal," York said.

"You accuse me of being a criminal, but where’s the evidence?"

Gami remained firm, "Someone confessed to you in the dead of night, you suspect that person is me, and you suspect I did all this. Father, you can’t slander an innocent person."

York didn’t know what to say for a moment. As Gami said, he indeed had no direct evidence to prove Gami’s crime. The only testimony was Gami’s own confession to him.

"Are you going to tell others about... no, the confession made to you by that person, so that others can judge?"

Gami pursued the issue relentlessly, "Without established facts, wouldn’t that violate your faith?"

York’s face was grim and silent, while Gami’s smile grew, tapping York’s chest cross with his hand.