Miss Hebe is Slaughtering Her Way Out of the Lostbelt!

Nitocris realized that long before Hebe had spoken those words, she had already begun to doubt the Red King's actions.

That dissatisfaction and struggle had not faded over the long passage of time. Instead, like a smoldering fire, it burned ever fiercer.

Amid that bleak despair, Hebe calmly reached out and brushed the corner of Nitocris's eye, wiping away the cold tears.

I'm... crying?

Nitocris reached up in confusion, realizing that at some point, her sealed-off heart had already made its judgment.

"Everything will be fine," Hebe said softly. "Everything will be fine. Everything will fall into order."

Hebe's voice was neither loud nor impassioned.

Her gaze held a detached serenity that, in Nitocris's eyes, became an unspoken certainty.

In that instant, Nitocris almost wanted to reach out and smooth away the slight furrow between Hebe's brows.

In that instant, Nitocris repeated Hebe's promise to herself over and over.

What Does Imhotep Have to Do with Merlin?

Hebe guided the people of Thebes out of Egypt, ensuring that Egypt's true bloodline would survive.

Bestet's divinity would travel east with them, allowing it to endure even after leaving Egyptian soil.

At the same time, however, she ordered Seno to establish an organization called the "Silent Temple," building temples in and around Memphis under the banner of preserving knowledge, when in truth they were shelters meant to withstand natural disasters.

To those in the know, Hebe's decisions were equally baffling. Did she intend to lead the people across the Red Sea, or find a habitable oasis within Egypt itself and turn it into an ark?

Hebe often recalled a novel from her previous life. It described a kind of person known as a Wall-Facer.

They devised strategic plans through thought alone, never communicating with the outside world in any form. Everything they did was merely a disguise for their true intentions.

Wasn't Hebe now a Wall-Facer herself? She had to conceal her true intentions beneath appearances.

The person Hebe needed to deceive was Ozymandias—the pinnacle of Egypt's secret transmission system, a god-king who had surpassed "Dusk," maintained his sense of self at the rank of "Crimson Dawn" for centuries, and ruled over the Great Red Sand Sea.

And precisely because of that, the more complicated the plan, the more likely it was to contain flaws.

Especially while she remained under Ozymandias's watchful eye.

Ozymandias can already influence every Calamity of the Ennead on his own, Hebe thought coldly. But he doesn't know that I've already seen most of the cards in his hand.

With that thought, Hebe said, "Not every Calamity of the Ennead is a masterless phenomenon. At least one Archon will spare no effort to destroy Egypt."

"Who?" Nitocris's long ears perked up.

"Set—or rather, August Archon · Remnant Wolf," Hebe said, naming him.

Set was the ancient Egyptian god of strength, war, deserts, storms, and foreigners. He had once contested Osiris for authority, usurping his power through conspiracy, only to be defeated in his war against Horus.

Just as Horus was Scar Father's incarnation, Set was Remnant Wolf's incarnation.

Considering that the noble blood of the pharaonic line was an inheritance of Horus's authority, it was perfectly reasonable for Remnant Wolf to seek the destruction of Horus's empire.

If there was any Calamity of the Ennead that Ozymandias could not control, then clearly it could be none other than the "Breath of Set"... but that was not actually the case.

The Red King's full title was the god-king who ruled over the Great Red Sand Sea, all oases, and all of Upper and Lower Egypt.

In other words, when Ozymandias cast aside the "name of Pharaoh" and instead called himself the "Red King," he had already aligned himself with Remnant Wolf.

It was the greatest irony in the world.

Hebe did not voice this dreadful speculation, but Nitocris had already reached the conclusion herself.

Her face turned deathly pale, and her body seemed on the verge of collapsing. But Hebe reached out to support her shoulder, pressing her other hand over Nitocris's palm as warmth passed between them.

"Don't be afraid. We'll take it slowly."

Nitocris fell silent. She did not dare look at Hebe, afraid the girl would notice the weakness in her heart, so she turned instead and met Anubis's moist eyes.

The jackal gently nudged Nitocris's palm.

It had once been defeated by Set's mighty power, demoted from an independent Beast God to Set's offspring. Yet it had always loved Egypt and the people who lived upon this land.

It remembered the simple people celebrating the river's flood, remembered the bountiful years when they sowed seeds into fertile soil, remembered the cries of newborns through countless ages, as well as the sighs of the elderly at the edge of death.

It remembered that bright-eyed child who, when it had come from the wilderness into the mortal world, had broken a meat pie in half and offered it to him... Yes, it would protect them. Whether against Set or against the tyrannical king, it would raise the banner of rebellion.

Anubis would forever be the god of the Egyptian people.

And so Nitocris gathered her courage and reached out as well.

Her palm was broad and cold, yet it wrapped around Hebe's hand instead.

Nitocris said softly, "I will walk with you, and with those you trust, from this moment until the distant future."

Hebe was somewhat surprised. "Is this Anubis's contract?"

"No, Imma. This is my contract."

Nitocris answered.

Hebe let out a breath of relief. At last, she had grasped the most important bargaining chip in her palm.

The lines on her palm twisted, forming words visible only to her.

"'Magic Queen' Nitocris was a pharaoh versed in spells and the underworld. She welcomed proper, peaceful deaths—but do not underestimate her resolve to make her wishes come true."

Ozymandias had set foot upon the wrong path, and you would commit acts of defiance. Just as with every betrayal throughout history, there was nothing new under the sun.

It was already evening.

Yet Hebe's plans had not been fully finalized. She calmly tapped the tabletop, and bright words, sharp as hammer and chisel strokes, lit up one by one in her field of vision.

Establish a Society.

After she had advanced beyond Tourist privileges, more and more of the simulator's functions had gradually been unlocked.

This function was not limited to the real world... From the very beginning, Hebe had intended to use it within the simulation.

She was curious: since the chessboard she crafted within the simulation could remain for later generations, could the secret society she established continue in the same way?

A dark green tabletop unfolded within Hebe's consciousness. The golden words "Establish a Society" faded away, replaced by an empty card slot. Then, several cards emerged from the mist like stars suspended high in the sky.

Acquaintance "Arthur," believer "Mostima."

Establishing an occult society required either an acquaintance or a believer. She could choose only one.

Given Mostima's current circumstances, she clearly would not be of much use. The answer left to Hebe was obvious.

Hebe's palms dampened slightly. She had not been this nervous even when she had met the Red King or negotiated with Nitocris.

She let out a breath.

"I'm Imhotep now. What does that have to do with Merlin?"

The Acquaintance "Arthur" card flew into the slot, and a translucent clock began to turn soundlessly.

As the clock hands reached their end, an entirely new card appeared.

Society Headquarters.

An invisible brush traced across the card, sketching bookshelves neatly filled with books, display counters holding antiques, glass cases preserving fossils, and windows draped in velvet curtains.

Before the broad desk, thirteen pure white candles burned in silence, their faint flames flickering like starlight.

Pale gray mist flowed between those scenes, lending the entire occult society headquarters an indescribable air of strangeness and mystery.

This was a scene Hebe knew better than any other—Fox Lily Antiques.

As the card gave off a faint glow, she returned to the Foxglove Curio Shop and sat once more before that broad desk!

In the next instant, a candle flame swayed slightly, and a familiar figure appeared before the broad desk.

In the Depths of Buckingham Palace, within the palace that housed the Iron Throne.

This plain yet solemn palace was built entirely from steel. At each of its four corners stood a shrine like a fireplace—yet rather than statues of gods, these four shrines contained flames.

These four flames rose ceaselessly without fuel: the first was a cold blue-black, the second a blazing incandescent white, the third a dim yellow that swelled and shrank unpredictably, and the fourth a quietly burning crimson.

Scar Father, the Regent of February, was the true god who governed authority, and cold steel was His symbol. He favored everlasting rule and was pleased to see unchanging governance endure forever.

Yet King Arthur knew that permanent rule was no different from suicide. Even the mildest reform was better than flawless stagnation.

In a sense, King Arthur had forsaken Scar Father's precepts. Yet she had not fallen from the throne of the present world. The authority of Albion's royal house had been divided, while King Arthur herself continued to rise ever higher.

All of this was because she had followed the teachings of another Regent, Celestial Flint.

Yet everyone knew that the person who had truly brought about this change in King Arthur was Merlin Ambrosius.

Legend held that Merlin was a nightmare sage versed in the knowledge of forests, wastelands, and light. She had saved Albion from danger many times, yet on the eve of being granted the honor of becoming Albion's queen by King Arthur, she vanished into the waters of a lake.

The tales of Merlin, Arthur, and Morgan were always favorite topics of conversation among the people of Albion. Their details and developments varied greatly, but their endings were largely the same.

—King Arthur was consumed with remorse because of it, and to this day, she had continued to await the return of her queen.

And at this moment, the Eternal King who ruled all of Albion, one of the few Dusk beings in the present world, silently yawned.

She felt a little sleepy.

When Arthur opened her eyes again, she found that she was no longer seated upon the Iron Throne.

All around her were bookshelves lined with neatly arranged tomes and display counters containing countless antiques. Blue-violet velvet curtains hung low, while cobalt-blue starlight spilled through the crack of the only window.

Pale gray mist flowed across the floor like a river.

Thirteen pure white candle flames flickered, and behind the broad desk sat a figure whose every detail was shrouded in Grey Fog.

"Greetings, monarch of later generations." The figure spoke with a smile. "I am Imhotep. I am speaking with you from three thousand years ago."

A Promise Across History

"Greetings, monarch of later generations. I am Imhotep. I am speaking with you from three thousand years ago."

White candlelight flickered as Hebe met Arthur's eyes through the curtain of flames.

Hebe shifted slightly to one side, while Arthur sat upright in a high-backed chair. She gave no response at all, as though she had not heard a word Hebe said.

Her gaze swept across the towering bookshelves, the antique fossils enclosed beneath transparent glass domes, the gray mist flowing across the floor, and the somewhat aged floorboards revealed through gaps in the mist.

This was the wasteland, a world that could only be reached through dreams.

A full five seconds passed before Arthur finally raised her eyes.

Her upper body leaned back slightly, resting comfortably against the chair's back. Her left elbow bent against the armrest, her long, straight legs crossed. Though she was clearly only a guest, an invisible majesty filled the entire space.

"Merlin?"

Arthur spoke abruptly.

Hebe's heartbeat seemed to skip a beat.

The candle flame swayed faintly.

"I am Imhotep of Kemet," Hebe replied softly.

The ancient Egyptians called their homeland Kemet, a word meaning "the black land irrigated by the river." The desert was called Deshret, meaning "the red land."

Arthur gave no indication of whether he believed her.

Hebe frowned inwardly. Even Ozymandias hadn't been this hard to fool. What was with this woman?

She decided to be direct. "King of the future, I wish to ask for your aid."

"God Set is about to destroy Kemet, and the Pharaoh who rules Kemet has already strayed from the path of God Horus. This time, when disaster descends, no god will reveal a miracle again."

"God Set possesses three natures: destruction, calamity, and nothingness. Only when Kemet's river runs dry, the sun dims, and the oases turn to desert will God Set's fury cease. Only when the last Kemetian dies alongside the extinction of their culture will He stop His endless hunt."

"O King of the future, you are beloved by God Horus, a living god who wields sovereign authority. I beg you to accept some of the Kemetians in the future, to let them recover and thrive upon your lands."

Horus was another name for the Second Ruler, Scar Father, while Set was the visage of the Eighth Ruler, the Crippled Wolf. They had been locked in a deadly struggle since ancient times.

"They will bring considerable wealth and highly classified knowledge. All you need to do... is accept them as your subjects."

Hebe felt somewhat uneasy.

She knew Arthur was not an easy king to reason with. She also knew that the promises she made now might not be fulfilled after history changed.

"Very well."