Miss Hebe is Slaughtering Her Way Out of the Lostbelt!

"If you would... hm?"

Hebe realized that the answer she had heard was not a refusal.

"I agree." Arthur interlaced her fingers over her knees and repeated herself.

Even through the mist and candlelight, Hebe felt that Arthur had been staring straight into her eyes all along.

The monarch's gaze grew ever more scorching, radiating a terrifying aggression and desire to conquer.

"Th-thank you for your mercy."

After a brief but agonizing silence, Hebe gave a dry laugh.

The flickering candle flame suddenly leaped upward, and the velvet curtains before the window billowed high.

Cobalt-blue starlight merged with the secret candle flame into a pool of water, obscuring the scene from view.

Arthur narrowed her eyes and reached out to seize the rising flame.

Yet the instant she touched it, her hand closed on nothing.

The King of Albion awoke upon her throne and silently rubbed her fingers together.

A layer of charred blackness, as though burned by fire, covered her slender fingertips.

In India, along the great river basins of the Far Eastern subcontinent, the nobility believed time to be a candle flame.

The wick was cold and cruel; the outer flame violent and wild.

"Time..." Arthur murmured.

She had initially been certain that Merlin was meddling behind the scenes, but when the marks of time's burn appeared, she was no longer so sure.

This meant that the man calling himself Imhotep truly stood an immense distance away from her on the scale of time.

"But does that matter?" the King of Albion laughed softly.

For a monarch, let alone a mere sense of familiarity, even the slightest possibility was worth any price.

Arthur's fingers tapped against the armrest of her throne.

Boom!

A thunderous roar, like the beating of drums, erupted without warning.

Then solemn bells and horns sounded together from the depths of the Throne Hall.

The flames in the shrines at the four corners of the Throne Hall suddenly surged several meters high. The phantasmal forms of the Knights of the Round Table stepped forth from them and bowed their heads toward the monarch upon the throne.

Lancelot, Gawain, Galahad, Tristan... every member of the first Round Table was present except Mordred.

Then, amid the shadows cast by the rising hearthfire, heavy footsteps rang out. The man wore black armor, his face as stern and cold as steel.

—Agravain, hard as iron.

He had not originally been a Knight of the Round Table, but Merlin's disciple and assistant. After coming of age, he had served as an adjutant.

However, that was already the distant past.

The Knights of the Round Table had long since become part of the legend of King Arthur, and the foundation of the Eternal King's achievements.

When Arthur ruled Albion with the authority of the Eternal King, these Knights of the Round Table had answered the summons once more as Heroic Spirits, gathering beneath Arthur's banner to fight for her.

Agravain dropped to one knee below the steps, awaiting King Arthur's decree.

"My lords!"

The monarch who bore the blood of the red dragon and the heart of a lion recounted, word for word and in every detail, all that she had seen in the wasteland.

As she spoke, the faces of the Knights of the Round Table changed.

What rose upon their faces was not fear, but... realization and wild delight.

"So that's how it is! So that's how it is." Agravain muttered, letting out a sigh of sudden understanding.

After answering the summons once more as Heroic Spirits, they had already realized that this was a wonderful new world—metal had become the skeleton of cities, while electricity raced through conduits, driving this era forward.

Yet someone had not witnessed all of this with their own eyes.

"Find him," the monarch on the throne said softly. "Royal Sister's fortune-telling is indeed marvelous, but this time, I will be faster than her."

Thus, the ecstatic Knights of the Round Table silently faded once again into the hearthfire and shadows. In the name of the Eternal King, they would place every detail of every person in Albion before Arthur.

Among the many Knights of the Round Table, Bedivere's steps slowed slightly. "My King, the agent from the Night Duty Bureau's operations unit has been verified. You may summon her now."

"Mm." Arthur nodded noncommittally. "I recall her codename was... Mostima?"

"Your Majesty is most perceptive."

"Then let her come before me."

"As you command." Bedivere bowed once more and left the Throne Hall alongside Agravain.

Amid the leaping shadows cast by the hearthfire came the monarch's suppressed laughter, like the shriek of blades and the clang of metal.

Bedivere and Agravain walked side by side for some distance.

Albion's rare sunlight struggled through the clouds, spilling onto the paths in the courtyard.

"My King unleashed divine power beyond the Daylight rank at Cape of Birds on the border, completely destroying that frontier." Bedivere said. "The Sword in the Stone's effects will raise temperatures in that area for twenty years, making it suitable for growing crops, but also prone to breeding secret cults."

"Since the remnants of Cape of Birds slid into the Atlantic Ocean, the El Niño phenomenon will worsen over the next five years."

"Several fishing grounds on the eastern side of the United States Federation were affected and destroyed. They are deeply dissatisfied."

Agravain sneered. "To hell with them."

"I'm afraid the Dragon King and the Speaker will have something to say about it," Bedivere reminded him.

"When has the current Dragon King ever been well-behaved? She is merely an immature little girl." Agravain still sneered, though his expression was no longer quite so disdainful. "There is only one king I revere: His Majesty Arthur, the Eternal King who rules all of Albion."

"We should give her a response regardless." Bedivere calmly turned his gaze toward the lake. "When Her Highness Morgan previously sought clues concerning the Sage through fortune-telling, she also informed the royal family and Parliament."

"Mm..." Agravain nodded with an indifferent expression, ultimately offering no further objection.

The current Dragon King, Talulah, had always been somewhat unruly. They had long grown accustomed to it.

Fortunately, compared to the Dragon King, the Speaker from Victoria's bloodline was much easier to deal with.

Thus, the matter was settled in just a few words, becoming a lightly noted entry in the Night Duty Bureau's files.

Though the Knights of the Round Table were Heroic Spirits, they had also been granted official positions in the present world by the king.

Among them, Bedivere served as Cabinet Steward, while Agravain, in addition to acting as an aide, held the post of Night Minister, dealing specifically with supernatural and mysterious affairs.

Whether it was the "rebellious" Andon or Mostima and the others, all of them counted as Agravain's subordinates.

In the Night Minister's eyes, he could not escape blame for the Cape of Birds incident.

"I do not think His Majesty means to blame you for this, Sir Agravain." Bedivere stopped and spoke softly. "A borderland was shattered by His Majesty using the Sword in the Stone, and Andon was caught up in it. He must surely be dead beyond doubt. The Orthodox Church claims that he was warped after becoming obsessed, but that is not the truth."

"Andon received the 'blessing' of an unknown existence and was elevated to the Daylight rank."

Bedivere paused. "—Before his ascension, he had also renounced his faith in the 'Holy Grail.'"

In other words, the existence that had blessed Andon was at least an Archon.

Since the two great wars, power above the Daylight rank had vanished from the waking world. It seemed to have been that way since ancient times, and the Archons were the same.

Agravain suddenly spoke. "What could Andon possibly possess that would draw an Archon's attention?"

That Archon had even concealed its identity to bestow a blessing upon him.

"Unless that Archon itself is in a... very bad state." Bedivere's voice gradually lowered. "It has been nearly half a century since the two wars. Although conflicts still rage across the world, there is no longer any warfire that threatens to set the entire world ablaze..."

The fascination with violence, destruction, and nihilism still existed, but no one was putting it into practice anymore.

Those were all symbols of the Eighth Archon · Remnant Wolf.

Agravain let out a heavy breath, his brow furrowing even more deeply.

"Making that Archon settle down is indeed difficult. Unless It is already close to 'death.'"

After a long silence, Bedivere took the initiative to move past the subject and looked at Agravain.

"His Majesty has already issued an order. What method will you use to search for our Sage?"

"...I am going to Cornwall," Agravain answered.

"Then I will investigate the household registration records for all of Albion." Bedivere nodded decisively. "I wish you the answers you seek in Cornwall, Sir Agravain."

"And I wish you success as well, Sir Bedivere."

Agravain returned the gesture with simple courtesy and watched Bedivere's figure vanish at the end of the corridor.

The answers Agravain sought were not limited to "clues about Merlin." He also intended to inquire about August Archon · Remnant Wolf.

The knight was quite certain that he would gain something.

Because he knew that the library known as the Silent Bookstore had stood in the countryside of Cornwall for centuries, and that since a century ago, the Silent Bookstore had maintained a good cooperative relationship with the Night Duty Bureau.

Rumor had it that the Silent Bookstore came from Egypt's scorching lands.

Hebe still did not know that a single meeting in which she concealed her identity had actually triggered a census across all of Albion.

She was presently surprised by the female Pharaoh's invitation.

"Inviting me to join the festival parade... at a time like this?"

Hebe studied Nitocris carefully. Once she realized that Nitocris was indeed serious, she let out a long sigh.

Then she placed the Papyrus Scroll on the table, and rows of data slowly surfaced upon it.

Nitocris's gaze fell on the Papyrus Scroll. She realized that the data seemed extremely important, yet she did not know what it represented.

"This row represents the Nile River's water level. This row represents the frequency and range of the Breath of Set. This row represents the area of the oases. This row represents how frequently monsters and spiritual entities cause trouble... These are the figures from a year ago."

Hebe swept a hand over the Papyrus Scroll, and the symbols began to flicker and change.

Those numbers were shocking!

"And what you see now is the situation one year later—meaning, right now."

"Do you understand now?" Hebe spoke softly. "The Nile River's water level is steadily declining. In at most two more years, the flood season will no longer come—actually, you should already have noticed that this year's flood season arrived later than last year's, and the fertile land left by the floods has shrunk by a third. I think that, within five years at most, the endlessly flowing Nile River will enter a long dry season."

"Next are the oases. Their area is rapidly shrinking, and our settlements are gradually dying out. This year alone, twenty-nine villages were swallowed by the yellow sands—Breath of Set shattered the protective barriers, destroying the roads and settlements alike, and naturally burying the oases as well."

The situation was not merely unpromising; it was utterly bleak.

Under such circumstances, how could Hebe possibly be in the mood to attend a festival parade?

"But if even the King of Ibis does not attend the festival rites, what will the people of Memphis think?" Nitocris narrowed her eyes and abruptly spoke.

Hebe froze. After a long while, she slowly nodded.

"What you said does make sense. Fine, I'll go."

The people's hearts were as fluid as water, their movements as fleeting as smoke. If the King of Ibis, standing at the pinnacle of the priesthood, failed to appear at the rites of a major festival, it could easily cause unnecessary trouble.

Still, this could not go on forever. She did not have that much time to seek amusement, and the more she appeared before the public, the more easily she would be exposed to Ozymandias's notice.

Frowning, Hebe realized that she needed to make preparations for what came next.

The girl pondered quietly, failing to notice the flash of uncontrollable delight that crossed the female pharaoh's face after she agreed to attend the festival parade.

Soon, the fourth month of the Egyptian calendar arrived. The day of the spring equinox each year marked ancient Egypt's grandest festival of the year: Shamou.

The festival had existed since the Third Dynasty. At first, the ancient Egyptians celebrated the arrival of spring, so it was also regarded as their "Spring Festival."

Preparations for the Shamou Festival had begun as early as a month ago. Priests and commoners alike had already immersed themselves in anticipation of the coming celebration. They began curing salted fish, drying wild vegetables, making wine and bread, and preparing the spices and garlands to be used during the festivities.

Starting a week earlier, Hebe had gradually received garlands sent by members of the Silent Temple, fresh green onions packed in baskets, and even eggs painted with colorful pigments.

Egyptians believed that eating raw green onions and salted fish during the Shamou Festival would earn them divine protection and keep them healthy throughout the year.

As for the eggs, Egyptians painted patterns onto them with colored pigments, then hung them from roof beams or beside their beds, waiting for the sun god to manifest.

During the festival, Egyptians held these painted eggs and tapped them against one another to pray for good fortune. If someone's egg did not crack, it meant that good luck favored them.