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..."
