However, Nefertiti's participation in this ritual gave the Ennead a second choice. More importantly, if Nefertiti became the Tenth Calamity, then the Red King who represented the first nine calamities would instead become the one to be conquered.
It was like a sacrifice bound to the altar turning around and offering the cultists conducting the rite to the evil god.
The order of heaven and earth had been turned upside down!
But Ozymandias no longer had the strength to stop it.
He could sense that the war in the wasteland was on the verge of being decided... With the Holy Grail withdrawing from the competition, the Remnant Wolf was even less able to withstand the heavy blows of multiple rulers.
Become the foundation stone for a dead man and endure eternal torment? Ozymandias would rather die!
The moment he made his decision, Ozymandias did not hesitate. He chose mutual destruction.
He had no intention of making any compromise.
"If you can stop me, then try it again!" Ozymandias laughed viciously. "All of Egypt may die for me. That is only fitting!"
At this moment, the God of Medicine's efficacy was nothing more than a drop in the bucket. It would even help accelerate Ozymandias's death.
Once he died, the secret rite of ascension would fail.
The Calamity of the Ennead bound by it would sweep across all of Egypt and truly destroy everything.
Ozymandias gazed delightedly at the tottering girl. He had to admit that his grand ambitions had been ruined by such a tiny insect. No amount of venomous language could describe the hatred in Ozymandias's heart at this moment.
This god-king who had once called himself the sun now cursed everything with relish.
"Imhotep, why are you no longer trying to stop me?"
Ozymandias knew he was about to die, so he no longer had any reservations. He even cast aside the dignity belonging to a king.
"If I had achieved my great undertaking, my subjects would not have suffered this calamity. All of Egypt would have ascended into the wasteland and become an eternal kingdom, and I would have enforced the laws of the sun there... Yet you ruined my grand design and led Egypt's fate into the abyss!"
"In other words, those sufferers died because of you! Imhotep, you are the truly foolish and wicked traitor. You should have your heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys devoured by scarabs, be buried beneath raging sands, and remain a sinner remembered by no one..."
Ozymandias was, after all, Crimson Dawn. Even as he gradually fell, his curses remained immensely potent.
Hebe coughed violently. Fragments of her internal organs sprayed from her mouth and nose, instantly rotting away in midair. Her fingers were gradually turning to sand, as though they might be scattered by the gale at any moment.
Ozymandias's curse continued.
He did not only hate Hebe. He had realized that without someone's help, Hebe could never have escaped Memphis so smoothly, much less arrived before him.
And this traitor was the King of Sheep, whom he had deeply trusted and even entrusted with great responsibility!
—How dared he betray him? How could he betray him?!
From this perspective, Ozymandias's hatred for the King of Sheep even surpassed his hatred for Hebe.
"Khnum, you are also an utterly vile traitor!" Ozymandias's voice spread from the heavens like a raging storm. "You shall suffer the punishment of thunderbolts, the scorching sun, and tearing gales, and die alongside the rebels of Memphis!"
"And you, Nitocris. An outdated, ancient, feeble little god of the underworld..."
Perhaps because he was invoking a pharaoh older than himself, Ozymandias's voice became somewhat solemn. Yet there was not the slightest hesitation in his curse.
Memphis was a military capital. It maintained a considerable standing army, formed from the eldest sons of noble and commoner families.
The King of Sheep had drawn away every soldier, leaving only a handful of guards in the city to maintain order.
That was precisely why, when Hebe dispatched the Silent Temple to relocate the civilians, they encountered no obstruction whatsoever.
Led by the King of Sheep, this army had arrived at their destination in advance and set up camp.
They waited at leisure for their exhausted enemy and intercepted Nitocris along the coast.
The King of Sheep cast his gaze from afar over the banners. He still wore that ragged black robe, his eyes burning quietly like flames.
Nitocris's skirts drifted in the wind. Her face was deathly pale and her expression cold, yet she said nothing to the elite force of ten thousand before her.
The female pharaoh still held that obsidian mirror in her arms. Her fingers tightened slightly around its edge, as though she would turn it over in the next instant.
The King of Sheep raised his hand and gave the order with extreme calm.
"Entire army—lay down your weapons."
Nitocris's body stiffened. She saw a considerable disturbance break out among those troops, but Temu-tiger Nobles such as Sekhenkhet swiftly brought the unrest under control.
Thus, they laid down their weapons and lowered their guard.
The King of Sheep lowered his head slightly. "This is the last batch of Egypt's bloodline. Please accept them, Your Majesty Nitocris."
It was as if he had anticipated this day long ago.
There were no few soldiers, and taking them into the mirror would be difficult.
More importantly, Nitocris's mirror already contained an entire city of Abydos, along with all of Memphis's residents.
It was like pouring water into a cup already close to overflowing. One misstep, and all previous efforts would be wasted.
At that moment, Ozymandias's curse descended mightily from the sky. Along with his voice, furious winds roared through the clouds, and a thousand violent, terrifying beams of destruction were about to fall from the heavens.
An expression of anxiety and despair appeared on Nitocris's face. The curse had come at the worst possible moment, and she was in the midst of performing her great work, unable to mount an effective countermeasure.
Yet a deep voice suddenly rang out.
"O female pharaoh who commands magecraft, fantasy, and the underworld, do not worry. Please, carry out your great work..."
That pale sheep's head swayed as crimson, scalding bloody tears streamed down it.
A faint tremor lay concealed in his voice, nearly impossible to detect, as though he were enduring immense pain. "Before I die, not a single bolt of lightning will fall before you."
"Khnum!"
Ozymandias's furious roar faintly echoed from within the clouds. He began to reclaim the authority of the King of Sheep, intending to revert him to his original form.
The tall, lean humanoid bent over. He shook his head and let out a loud, shrill bleat.
Crack, crack, crack.
Crisp sounds of shattering came from above the King of Sheep's head.
Savage cracks spread from that sheep's head and rapidly covered his entire body.
Yet the authority belonging to the King of Sheep was confined within that shattered body, unable to return to Ozymandias's control.
That ragged black robe burned away. Beneath the broken shell, a somewhat shorter ram with powerful muscles all over its body rose to stand like a man.
If the King of Sheep from before had looked more human while giving off a stronger sense of otherness, then this ram, though closer to a sheep in appearance, inspired a feeling of familiarity and trust.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," the ram said softly. "I am not Khnum. Khnum, who truly governed the wisdom of forging, died completely long ago."
"I am merely Hesharif, lowly and possessed of nothing but strength."
"Hesharif... Hesharif?!"
Ozymandias's roar shook the sea of clouds.
How could it be Hesharif?
In Egyptian mythology, Khnum was a wise creator god with the head of a ram and the body of a man. He molded infants' bodies from clay and allowed them to be born into the world.
As mythology changed in later ages, Khnum was even regarded as the "God of Craftsmen" who created the gods. His status was noble, and his honor supreme.
Whether in the city-states along the Nile River or in Heliopolis, the City of Obsidian, there were temples dedicated to Khnum.
Hesharif, however, was entirely different. In myth, aside from strength, he possessed nothing else.
He possessed neither the authority to create all things, nor the wisdom of forging and transforming objects. He had no noble status, not even a single temple dedicated to him.
Perhaps the only thing Hesharif and Khnum had in common was that they were both goats.
But how had he deceived Ozymandias for so many years after the real Khnum died?
The light of destruction followed the mark of the curse.
Hesharif merely gripped the authority belonging to the King of Sheep. He was trying to use the King of Sheep's remaining body as fuel, smelting and reforging that authority.
Blazing flames climbed up his arms, licking at the ram's flesh and blood. Yet he remained unmoved and chanted loudly in Hyksos.
"Miracle of Norton, first forging, the whip that painfully scourges all sins."
A striking light shone from his palm. Within moments, the King of Sheep's authority and remains transformed together.
Within the light, it gradually became slender like a long whip, though spikes like brass knuckles extended from its grip.
But Hesharif did not stop there. In his view, a weapon forged only once could not withstand the curse.
Before the form of the iron staff had fully emerged, Hesharif had already scattered his own flesh and blood onto this once-forged weapon while chanting softly in Phrygian.
"Sharp Edge of Saint Veleslana, second forging, the sword that slays kings."
The long staff in Hesharif's hand transformed again. A deep golden mass of light emerged from the handguard, then slowly spread outward in both directions.
As that light moved, the weapon became more savage. Its tip began to bloom with terrifying sharpness, and a keen killing intent that seemed capable of splitting all things rose from its blade.
A mere swing sliced a sharp breach through the clouds overhead.
Yet Hesharif continued chanting. His voice was low and gentle, seemingly in some language from the land of Canaan.
"When He comes, who can stand? For He is the fire of the refiner and the alkali of the launderer. He laid the foundations of the earth and established the vault of heaven, renewing all things in the world so that nothing decays... Final forging, the staff that shakes the gods."
During countless nights when he had been far too awake, Hesharif had imagined the scene of this day's arrival.
Hundreds of years ago, whenever he thought of this moment, every piece of flesh on his body would tremble without end. Just imagining it made his blood boil.
After that, torment had made his heart anxious. He worried over gains and losses, longing for deliverance to come while fearing the day when it truly arrived.
But when that moment truly came, his heart became incomparably calm.
The mighty ram raised that heavy, pitch black staff.
His bones groaned under unbearable strain. His muscles tore and bled, and blood mixed with sweat erupted from every pore of his body.
—Hesharif, Hesharif, mighty ram... At this moment, what were you thinking of?
In that instant, the ram miraculously recalled the last time he had seen his father.
His father, who had seemed omnipotent in his eyes, brought him to the temple dedicated to Geb and, beneath that statue's gaze, taught him the incantation for the threefold forging word by word.
'Remember it, child, but before that crucial moment arrives, you must never use it.'
'By the god Geb, I will die tonight. But you must become the new Khnum and deceive His Majesty's eyes and ears. Child, you will become the hero who saves the world, though the price is...'
Just like when Hebe used the Sword in the Stone, this staff housed the will of Celestial Flint. How could it be swung without paying even the slightest price?
Yet Hesharif laughed triumphantly. At last, he understood that this was something only he could do.
Because he was the only demigod upon this hot land of Egypt.
Demigod was synonymous with hero!
Hesharif swung his arm and hurled the staff toward the heavens.
Flames erupted from the hole in the clouds and swept in every direction, turning the sky the color of fire in an instant.
Ozymandias's final curse vanished like smoke before the mighty power of Celestial Flint.
Hesharif fell backward in satisfaction, laughing like every hero in myth, and then fell silent forever.
Ozymandias knew that he had lost. He had lost completely, with no possibility of turning things around.
For the sake of a prophecy whose truth was unknown, he had endured his own nature, abandoned a long life, and completely disguised himself as another person... Damn it. Even though Ozymandias hated "Khnum" to the extreme, he still had to admit that Hesharif truly deserved the title of hero.
Ozymandias's life was rapidly draining away. He gazed at Hebe, who was gradually turning to sand, his tone mocking.
"I must admit that I was indeed defeated by insects like you. But because I have lost, do you think you have won?"
"The mighty power of the god Geb will eventually reach its limit. When my life comes to an end, an unprecedented natural disaster will sweep across all of Egypt."
"Now that you have overdrawn your mark, you cannot perform your great work again. Imhotep, go to the underworld and weep as you reflect on your mistakes!"
What answered him was Hebe's calm eyes.
The girl curled her lips with difficulty and smiled at the mad god-king.
Then, illusory pansies flew upward against the sea of clouds and swept across the Great Temple like a tidal wave.
Within Hebe's gradually dimming field of vision, words visible only to her glittered: The Ever-Distant Utopia, Avalon—A blueprint leading toward the future, a lamp that illuminates the darkness, a key that opens hope.
Before you continue