Miss Hebe is Fighting Her Way Out of the Lostbelt!

However, Nefertiti's participation in the ritual provided the Ennead with a second choice. More importantly, if Nefertiti were to become the tenth calamity, then the Red King, who represented the previous nine calamities, would instead become the one to be conquered.

It was as if a sacrificial offering bound to an altar had, in turn, presented the cultists performing the ritual to an evil god.

Reversal of fate!

However, Ozymandias was powerless to stop it.

He could feel that the war in the Wasteland was nearing its decisive moment... After the Holy Grail withdrew from the competition, the Cruel Wolf, facing the combined might of multiple rulers, appeared even more outmatched.

To become the foundation for a dead man and endure eternal torment? That was worse than death for Ozymandias!

The instant he made his decision, Ozymandias did not hesitate. He chose mutual destruction.

He had no intention of compromising.

"If you can stop me, then try again!" Ozymandias roared with savage laughter. "Egypt as a whole should die for me!"

The effect of the god of medicine at this moment was like trying to scoop up a raging fire with a cup of water; it would even hasten Ozymandias's demise.

After his death, the ascension ritual would fail.

The Calamity of the Ennead, bound by it, would sweep across all of Egypt, truly destroying everything.

Ozymandias gazed with grim satisfaction at the tottering girl. He had to admit that his grand ambition had been ruined by such a minuscule insect. No amount of vicious words could adequately describe the hatred Ozymandias felt in his heart at that moment.

This king of gods, who had once prided himself on being the sun, now cursed everything with unrestrained glee.

"Imhotep, why do you no longer try to stop me?"

Knowing he was about to die, Ozymandias cast aside all restraint, even abandoning the dignity befitting a king.

"Had I achieved unparalleled success, my subjects would not have suffered this calamity, and all of Egypt would have ascended to the Wasteland as an eternal kingdom. I would have enforced the laws of the sun in the Wasteland... Yet you have destroyed my grand ambition and led Egypt's fate into the abyss!"

"In other words, those who suffered died because of you! Imhotep, you are the most foolish and wicked sycophant, deserving to have your entrails gnawed by scarab beetles, to be buried by the shifting sands, a sinner forgotten by all..."

Ozymandias was, after all, the Crimson Dawn. Even as he was gradually falling, his curses were still potent.

Hebe coughed violently, fragments of internal organs spewing from her mouth and nose, instantly decaying in the air. Her fingers gradually turned to sand, as if they might be scattered by the wind at any moment.

Ozymandias's curses continued.

He did not just hate Hebe. He had realized that without assistance, Hebe could not have escaped Memphis smoothly, let alone reached him.

And this traitor was the King of Sheep, whom he had deeply trusted and even entrusted with great responsibility!

—How dare he betray me, how could he betray me?!

From this perspective, Ozymandias's hatred for the King of Sheep surpassed even his hatred for Hebe.

"Khnum, you are also a great sycophant!" Ozymandias's voice spread like a gale from the heavens. "You shall be struck by lightning, scorched by the sun, and torn apart by the wind, dying alongside the rebels of Memphis!"

"And you, Nitocris. An outdated, ancient, and weakly insignificant god of the underworld..."

Perhaps it was because he mentioned a pharaoh older than himself, but Ozymandias's voice carried a certain gravity. Yet, his voice of cursing did not falter in the slightest.

Memphis was a military capital, with a standing army of considerable size, composed of the firstborn sons from noble and commoner families.

The King of Sheep had withdrawn all the troops, leaving only a minimal guard force in the city for maintaining public order.

It was precisely because of this that when Hebe dispatched the Silent Temple to transfer the civilians, they encountered no resistance at all.

Led by the King of Sheep, this army arrived at its destination ahead of schedule and set up camp.

They were well-rested and intercepted Nitocris on the coast.

The King of Sheep cast a gaze from afar across the banners. He still wore his tattered black robe, his eyes burning quietly like flames.

Nitocris's robes fluttered in the wind. Her face was pale, her expression icy. She offered no words to the tens of thousands of elite soldiers before her.

The female pharaoh still cradled the obsidian mirror in her arms. She tightened her grip on the edge, as if she might flip it over at any moment.

The King of Sheep raised his hand and gave his order with extreme calmness.

"All troops—lay down your weapons."

Nitocris's body stiffened. She saw considerable unrest erupt among the troops, but nobles like Sekhenkhet of the Temu-tiger Nobles quickly brought the disturbance under control.

They then proceeded to lay down their weapons and disarm.

The King of Sheep lowered his head slightly. "This is the last batch of Egypt's bloodline. Please accept them, Your Majesty Nitocris."

He seemed to have foreseen this day.

The number of troops was not small, and absorbing them into the mirror would be a considerable challenge.

More importantly, Nitocris's mirror already contained the city of Abydos, along with the entire population of Memphis.

This was like pouring water into a cup that was already overflowing; any slight misstep could lead to complete failure.

At this moment, Ozymandias's curses descended mightily from the sky, accompanied by his voice. The clouds roared with the fury of the wind, and a thousand violent and terrifying beams of destruction were about to fall from the heavens.

Anxiety and despair appeared on Nitocris's face. The curses had arrived at a critical juncture, and she was in the process of enacting her plan, unable to mount an effective counter.

However, a low voice suddenly rang out.

"O female pharaoh who commands magic, fantasy, and the underworld, worry not. Proceed with your great work..."

The pale, ram-headed figure swayed, shedding tears of hot, crimson blood.

His voice held a subtle tremor, as if enduring immense pain. "Before I die, not a single bolt of lightning will strike before you."

"Khnum!"

From within the clouds, Ozymandias's furious roar could be faintly heard. He began to reclaim the authority of the King of Sheep, forcing it back into its original form.

The tall, gaunt humanoid hunched over, shaking its head and letting out a loud bleat.

Crack, crack, crack.

A crisp shattering sound came from above the ram's head.

Fierce cracks spread from the ram's head, covering its entire body at an alarming speed.

However, the authority belonging to the King of Sheep was confined within this shattered body, making it difficult to return to Ozymandias's control.

The tattered black robe burned away, and beneath the broken shell, a slightly smaller ram, with powerful muscles all over its body, stood up like a human.

If the previous King of Sheep was more human-like in appearance but gave off a stronger sense of the alien, then the current ram, while more like a sheep, evoked feelings of closeness and trust.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," the ram said in a low voice. "I am not Khnum. The Khnum who truly governs the wisdom of creation died completely long ago."

"I am merely Hesharif, with strength but nothing more, a lowly Hesharif."

"Hesharif... Hesharif?!"

Ozymandias's roaring voice shook the sea of clouds.

How could it be Hesharif?

In Egyptian mythology, Khnum was a ram-headed, human-bodied creator god of wisdom. He shaped infants from clay, bringing them into the world.

In later mythological changes, Khnum was even regarded as the "god of craftsmen" who created the gods, a position of great nobility and honor.

Temples dedicated to Khnum could be found in the city-states along the Nile, as well as in the obsidian city of Heliopolis.

Hesharif, however, was entirely different. In mythology, he possessed nothing but strength.

He had no authority to create all things, no wisdom in craftsmanship and transformation, no noble status, and not even a single temple dedicated to him.

The only commonality between Hesharif and Khnum, perhaps, was that both were goats.

But how did he deceive Ozymandias for so many years after the true Khnum had perished?

The might of destruction followed the mark of the curse.

And Hesharif, merely grasping the authority of the King of Sheep, was attempting to use the King of Sheep's remains as fuel to reforge that authority.

Blazing flames climbed his arm, licking at the ram's flesh, yet he remained unmoved, chanting loudly in the Xisxos language.

"Miracle of Norton, forged once, the whip that scourges all sins."

His palm emitted a conspicuous light, and in moments, the King of Sheep's authority and remains transformed.

In the light, it gradually became slender, like a long whip, with sharp spikes extending from the grip like knuckle dusters.

However, Hesharif did not stop there. In his view, a weapon forged once could not withstand the curse.

Before the iron staff's form was fully revealed, Hesharif sprinkled his own flesh and blood onto this once-forged weapon, while softly chanting in the Phrygian language.

"The edge of Saint Veleslana, forged a second time, the sword that slays kings."

The staff in Hesharif's hand changed again. A deep golden orb of light appeared from the hilt, then slowly spread outwards.

As this light moved, the weapon became more ferocious. Its tip began to emit a terrifying sharpness, and a killing intent that seemed to cleave all things rose from the blade.

With a mere sway, it cut sharp gaps in the clouds above.

Yet Hesharif continued his chant, his voice low and gentle, in a language that seemed to come from Canaan.

"When He comes, who can stand? For He is the fire of the refiner and the fuller's lye. He laid the foundations of the earth and established the vault of heaven, renewing all things on earth, lest they decay... finally forged, the staff that shakes the gods."

Hesharif had, on countless nights of excessive clarity, fantasized about the scene when this day would arrive.

Hundreds of years ago, whenever he thought of this moment, his entire body would tremble, and just the thought alone would make his heart surge with excitement.

Afterward, his heart became anxious in its torment; he was consumed by worry, both yearning for liberation and fearing its true arrival.

But when the moment truly arrived, his heart became incredibly calm.

The mighty ram raised the heavy, dark staff.

His bones let out groans of being unable to bear the load, his muscles tore and bled, and sweat mixed with blood gushed from every pore.

—Hesharif, Hesharif, oh mighty ram, what were you thinking in that moment?

In that instant, miraculously, the ram's mind recalled his last meeting with his father.

His father, who seemed omnipotent in his eyes, took him to a temple dedicated to Geb. Under the gaze of the divine statue, he taught Hesharif the triple-forging incantation, word by word.

"Remember it, child, but you must never use it until the crucial moment arrives."

"By Geb, I will die tonight, but you must become the new Khnum and deceive His Majesty's eyes. Child, you will become the hero who saves the world, even if the price is..."

Just as Hebe wielded the Sword in the Stone, this long staff housed the will of Skyflint. How could it be swung without paying any price?

But Hesharif laughed heartily. He finally understood that this was something only he could do.

Because he was the only Hercules on the fertile land of Egypt.

Hercules was synonymous with hero!

Hesharif swung his arm and threw the long staff into the sky.

Flames erupted from the void in the clouds, surging in all directions, instantly turning the sky fiery red.

Ozymandias's final curse vanished before the might of Skyflint.

Hesharif leaned back with satisfaction, laughing like all the heroes in myths, and then fell silent.

Ozymandias knew he had lost, lost completely, with no possibility of a comeback.

To endure his own nature for a prophecy of unknown truth, to give up his long life, and to completely impersonate another person... Damn it, even though Ozymandias hated "Khnum" to the extreme, he had to admit that Hesharif truly lived up to the title of hero.

Ozymandias's life was rapidly draining away. He gazed at the increasingly sandy Hebe and said mockingly.

"I must admit, I have been defeated by you insects, but if I lost, do you think you have won?"

"The might of Geb ultimately has its limits. When my life comes to an end, an unprecedented natural disaster will sweep across all of Egypt."

"Now, you who have overdrawn your Mark cannot repeat your achievements. Imhotep, go to the underworld and weep over your mistakes!"

The response was Hebe's calm eyes.

The girl struggled to curl her lips, showing a smile to the mad god-king.

Immediately, illusory pansies flew up from the sea of clouds, sweeping through the Great Temple like a tide.

In Hebe's increasingly dimming vision, words that only she could see shone brightly: [Avalon, the Ideal Land of Eternal Waiting]—a blueprint for the future, a lamp that illuminates the darkness, a key that opens hope.