The Street of Memphis shimmered with a golden-red glow in the sunlight.
The air was filled with the earthy and spice scents unique to the Nile River. Crowds thronged the streets, vendors' cries rose and fell, children chased and played in the Street, and in the distance, the Temple of Sun God Ra, as if watching over every inch of the city.
Ian stood under a palm tree on the street corner, his gaze fixed on the old man who was walking unsteadily ahead.
The old man, dressed in a faded linen robe, clutched his Talisman tightly in his hand, his steps faltering, yet his expression unusually vigilant. He glanced back every now and then, as if wary of someone.
Can I see the baby in your arms?
Under the other party's bewildered gaze.
Ian also uttered some rather bold and uncouth words. There was no way around it; he had hardly ever asked anyone for favors growing up, so his methods of asking for help were indeed somewhat clumsy.
"Don't come any closer! I know you all want to take it!" The old man huddled in the shadows of the alley corner like a frightened wildcat, his cloudy whites gleaming sickly in the darkness. His withered fingers gripped the amulet around his neck tightly, his knuckles turning white from the force, as if it were the last straw in his life.
"I meant no harm."
Ian tried to explain again, "I just... wanted to see."
"Have a look?"
The old man snorted coldly, his eyes full of suspicion.
"Do you think I'm too old to tell good from bad? Let me tell you, this thing was given to me by the Sun God himself! If you dare touch it, you're offending a deity!"
He was indeed somewhat delirious, just as the people in the tavern had said.
As he spoke, he actually raised the Talisman, as if praying to the sky. Ian looked at his devout and obsessive appearance and a doubt arose in his heart.
Does he really believe this thing was a gift from Ra?
Or... was he simply deceived by some Wizard?
"Don't do this, I'm really not a bad person." Ian stopped three steps away from the old man and slowly raised his hands to indicate that he meant no harm. The alley was filled with the stench of rotting food and animal excrement, and the dim yellow light shining from the back door of the tavern in the distance stretched the shadows of the two men, casting them distortedly onto the mottled mud brick wall.
"Sir, I'm just curious about your amulet." Ian deliberately lowered his voice, as if soothing a frightened animal. "It looks quite special. May I take a look?"
He rephrased it in a slightly more normal way.
"Liar!" The old man suddenly sprang to his feet, brandishing his strange cane at Ian. The bronze ornament at the tip of the cane drew a dangerous arc in the air, almost grazing Ian's nose. "You've all used sweet talk to swindle it away! First the priest, then the merchant, and now a stranger like you!"
"You thief! You think I don't know what you're up to? I won't let you succeed!" the old man roared, clearly treasuring his Talisman.
Faced with the old man's wild, unrestrained punches.
Ian nimbly stepped back, the hem of his robe sweeping across the pile of garbage on the ground. He could smell the sour stench emanating from the old man—a mixture of long-term homelessness, malnutrition, and madness.
Something's not right.
Ian frowned. He had thought that although the old man was advanced in years, he wouldn't be so agitated. But the other man's reaction had completely exceeded the normal protective instincts of an ordinary citizen towards valuable items.
He observed briefly.
They also discovered something suspicious.
The so-called " Fragment of the Eye of Ra " on the old man's neck was emitting a faint magical fluctuation, but there was an unnatural sense of distortion mixed in with that fluctuation.
This is not just a counterfeit; it is also affecting the old man's mind. As for whether it has eroded the old man's mind, we will only know after Ian gets his hands on it.
"I swear to Anubis," Ian tried to swear on the Ancient Egyptians' most revered god of the underworld, his tone earnest, "I just wanted to take a look; I won't take it."
In a world with a God, such an oath does indeed carry some weight.
The old man's movements suddenly froze, a flicker of hesitation crossing his wrinkled face. But in an instant, that spark of reason was swallowed up by a torrent of obsession.
"Even the oath was a lie!" he screamed hysterically, spittle flying everywhere. " Anubis has long since abandoned me! All the gods have abandoned me!"
His words were clearly contradictory, after all, he had just said that Ra protected him, but now he said that all the gods had abandoned him, but there was no need to worry about why it was so contradictory.
After all, this is a very typical line of thinking from a mentally ill person.
At the end of the alley, several curious passersby stopped and peered in their direction. Ian knew time was running out and he had to act quickly. He sighed, and his right hand quietly slipped into his sleeve to grasp his wand. The young Wizard wasn't trying to rob them; he just wanted to know where this counterfeit came from.
In the unfamiliar ancient times, Ian didn't want to be a villain.
"I'm so sorry, sir," Ian said softly, his green eyes appearing particularly deep in the dim light, "But this matter is too important."
"It could very well concern the resurrection of a friend of mine." Yes, Ian was, after all, a man of extraordinary wisdom, and he wasn't without suspicion about what the Titaness Claire was planning.
Things have come to this.
To know the truth.
Ian could only resort to special methods— Wizard always have special ways of Legilimency with Muggle, such as Legilimency, which most Wizard love to use and which isn't illegal in the Ministry of Magic.
" Legilimency!"
A silvery-white light flowed from his fingertips and slowly wrapped around the old man's forehead. This was certainly not ordinary Legilimency, but the Legilimency of Legilimency Master. An almost invisible silver light burst forth from the tip of his wand, like a spider's web under the moonlight, instantly connecting Ian's temple and the old man's forehead.
The old man's pupils suddenly dilated, he jolted violently, his gaze instantly became unfocused, his body trembled slightly, and his resistance froze in mid-air, as if controlled by some invisible force.
The air in the alley seemed to freeze; the dust motes remained motionless in the light.
Ian felt his consciousness being pulled into a spinning tunnel, the surrounding scenery distorted Transfiguration like a stirred-up watercolor painting. Brick walls melted and reformed, the ground undulated like waves. When the dizziness finally subsided, he found himself standing in a transparent bubble, floating above the river of the old man's memories.
" Merlin's beard," Ian muttered to himself, "This memory is distorted enough."
Countless fragments of memory swam past him like fish in a river, some bright as pearls, others dim and murky. Ian focused his mind, guiding the bubbles toward the memories related to the amulet.
The bubble broke through a viscous barrier of memory, and the scene before him suddenly became clear. Ian found himself standing in the courtyard of a wealthy merchant's residence in Memphis. This was not Memphis as it was now, but the city at least five years ago—the buildings were newer, the Street were cleaner, and the lingering sense of despair was gone from the air.
Under the pomegranate tree in the center of the courtyard, a well-dressed middle-aged man was having breakfast. This was clearly the old man—or rather, his appearance before his madness. The middle-aged man's black hair was streaked with only a few strands of silver, his face was full and ruddy, and he wore a badge ring on his finger, a symbol of his status as a businessman.
A young woman and two children sat around him, their laughter flowing like a clear spring in the morning light. Clearly, this was a scene of a happy and prosperous family life.
"Father, did you have that dream again last night?"
The Girl asked, her eyes sparkling with curiosity.
The man— Ian now knew his name was Nakht —set down the dates, his expression turning serious and mysterious. "Yes, my little star. Ra has revealed himself to me again."
Upon hearing this, Ian raised an eyebrow. Was this the beginning of everything?
He stood amidst a blur of light and shadow, like an observer, watching the old man from his memory—the young Nakht, dressed in a neat linen robe, with a handsome face.
His eyes held a hint of wisdom and confidence.
He wasn't in this disheveled state before.
He was a temple scribe, responsible for recording daily offerings and Divine Decree. He once had a happy family; his wife was gentle, and his children were intelligent.
They live a comfortable life and are respected by others.
Until that day—at night, Nakht sat alone in the temple courtyard, holding a papyrus scroll covered in hieroglyphs. He was preparing for the ceremony the next day.
Suddenly, a dazzling light appeared in the sky.
A figure slowly emerged from the light.
That is -- the Sun God Ra.
He wore a long golden robe and an eagle-headed crown; his eyes burned like the sun, and his voice was deep and majestic.
"You are the one I chose."
The young old man knelt on the ground, trembling and bowing his head.
"Great Ra, I... I am but a lowly scribe."
"But your heart is pure, and your will is steadfast." Ra's voice seemed to penetrate the soul, "I will bless you, and you shall carry my blessings until the time comes when you are needed."
This was the man's first encounter with the so-called Sun God Ra. At this time, he had not yet obtained the Talisman, and the young old man was so excited that tears welled up in his eyes, and he kowtowed repeatedly.
I will serve you to the death!
The young elderly man was clearly moved.
but.
Ian stood in the corner of his memory, his brow furrowed. He watched all this, a cold smile rising in his heart. This so-called " Ra " was such a terrible Acting Skill. The other man's tone was stiff, as if he were reciting a script; his movements were rigid, like an actor deliberately imitating the majesty of a deity.
This is not the coming of God.
This was an elaborate scam.
Just as Ian was making his judgment.
Memories suddenly rushed through him, the courtyard seemingly erased by an invisible hand, replaced by a lavishly decorated bedroom. The Oil Lamp cast flickering shadows on the wall, and Nakht knelt alone before a small statue of Ra, praying. He looked tired and anxious, with deep dark circles under his eyes.
"Great Sun God," Nakht whispered in prayer, "Please grant me another Divine Decree to guide my way."
As he prayed, the air in the room suddenly grew heavy. The flame of the Oil Lamp turned eerily blue, then shot up sharply, projecting a huge humanoid figure of light onto the ceiling—the image of a deity with the head of a falcon. Ian squinted, once again thinking that the special effects were far too fake.
The true divine spirit is not so dramatic.
" Nakht, my faithful follower." The " Ra " spoke, his voice echoing like thunder in the room, but Ian keenly noticed a slight, unnatural tremor in his voice.
It's like someone is deliberately lowering their voice to speak.
"You have been chosen to carry out a sacred mission, and I will bestow upon you a holy relic to guard."
The so-called Sun God Ra opened his mouth.
Nakht trembled all over, his forehead pressed against the ground.
"Your humble servant heeds your will."
He reached out, and a golden light fell into the old man's palm. It was a box, with a shimmering crystal shard embedded in its center.
"This is a fragment of the ' Eye of Ra '." Ra's voice carried an undeniable authority. "It will grant you wisdom and power."
The young old man was so moved that tears welled up in his eyes, and he kowtowed repeatedly.
I will protect it with my life!
The ancient man named Nakht had clearly been fooled. Ian couldn't help but roll his eyes. The script was far too straightforward, like the homework of a third-rate drama school student. What was even more suspicious was that he noticed the light and shadow subtly flickered when " Ra " said those words, as if someone behind the scenes was adjusting the angle of the magical projection.
The memories shift once again.
Now Nakht stood in his home. Trembling, he opened the box God had given him—inside was a blue, glassy shard with jagged edges.
The surface has strange patterns.
"This is the fake Eye of Ra?" Ian leaned closer to examine it, his brow furrowed. Even from his memory, he could tell that this so-called "artifact" was nothing more than ordinary blue glass with simple enhancements. The real Fragment of the Eye of Ra would emit a unique solar magic fluctuation, just like he had read about in his Hogwarts A History of Magic textbook.
It's not a fragment of God at all, but a low-grade Magic Crystal. However... it contains some Alchemy remnants, so it does possess some protective and precognitive abilities.
certainly.
Just as Ian had predicted, no one could guarantee the effectiveness of a poorly made counterfeit. Ian continued to observe, trying to find more clues.
After seeing the old man wake up, he treasured the pendant, wearing it day and night. He even quit his job at the temple, moved away from his original home, and lived alone, all to "guard" this so-called "sacred object." His wife couldn't understand his madness and eventually left him with their child.
His friends gradually distanced themselves from him.
Nakht began to become paranoid, devoting his entire fortune to "protecting the sacred relics."
And all of this was because of a Wizard who impersonated Ra.
"In an age of gods, to dare to impersonate the supreme god, that Wizard must be some kind of dark Wizard." The following fragments of memory assailed Ian like a storm—ultimately, when the temple priest declared his so-called " Divine Decree " to be a blasphemous lie, he was expelled from the merchant guild and reduced to a beggar on the streets.
The most heartbreaking part was the last memory fragment.
One rainy night, Nakht huddled in a corner of an abandoned temple, clutching a worthless piece of blue glass, while in the distance his old house was being taken over by a new owner.
Unfamiliar light shone through the window.
"Enough," Ian said softly, feeling a wave of unease. He waved his wand—it still answered his call in the world of memories, so Ian also severed the connection to those memories. Reality rushed back like a tide. The alley, the stench, the dim light, and the old man slumped on the ground opposite him, his eyes unfocused.
"That's not the real Eye of Ra." Ian crouched down to look the old man in the eye. "You've been fooled, Mr. Nakht."
Upon hearing his name, the old man— Nakht —stood up, a glint of clarity flashing in his eyes. "How... how do you know my name?"
"I saw your memories," Ian confessed. "The ' Ra ' who appeared to you was an imposter, most likely a dark Wizard in disguise. A true god would not ask a believer to go bankrupt."
Nakht's lips trembled, and cloudy tears welled up in his eyes.
But it protected me and allowed me to see the truth.
He certainly didn't want to believe this fact.
"I think I know what you saw. It's just a dream, a dream carefully crafted for you by someone else, designed to make you become addicted to it." Ian's temples throbbed. Using Legilimency didn't cause this discomfort, but the other person's memories made him uneasy.
There must be some reasons that are extremely important to him.
(End of this chapter)