The Vizier's plan was well thought out.
Although constrained by Nitocris's own strength, despite coveting the female pharaoh for a long time, they had been unable to make a move.
But Alaric's appearance had revealed a flaw.
Through this person who was intimate with the female pharaoh, they could place a potion with special effects into her food.
While the pharaoh was wary of others, even palace maids, she would surely have no defenses against this "beloved."
After all, today's intimacy had not been feigned. Given Nitocris's loyalty, she would never go that far with someone who had not entered her heart.
Unfortunately, the Vizier had considered many things, but he had overlooked one crucial point.
Or rather, he had not considered it at all: Alaric's own will.
No, perhaps he had considered it, but in entirely the wrong direction.
"As a foreign traveler, a wandering bard, you have no property in this country, no place to settle down, do you?" the Vizier tempted him.
"Though you've gained the female pharaoh's favor, she's merely a puppet. Aside from fleeting affection, what can she give you?
I'm different, I am the one with real power. As long as you submit to me, I'll reward you with countless amounts of gold. Though you lose the female pharaoh, these…"
As he spoke, he patted the female slaves beside him, who immediately struck seductive poses.
Only then did Alaric notice that these female slaves all bore a certain resemblance to Nitocris, and their attire was also somewhat similar to the female pharaoh's.
It seemed this Vizier had coveted Nitocris for a long time. Unable to obtain her, he had these ordinary women dress up in her likeness as substitutes.
Truly… disgusting.
That was how Alaric felt.
Seeing these female slaves dressed like the female pharaoh, Alaric felt a sense of violation, as though something that belonged to him had been defiled.
It was akin to the nauseating feeling of someone gratifying themselves to a photo of your girlfriend.
What had once been complete indifference toward the Vizier, a cat-and-mouse amusement, had now turned entirely into pure killing intent.
At this moment, he truly wanted to kill the disgusting man before him.
At such an advanced age, he still dared to harbor thoughts about his Nito and commit such vile acts, utterly shameless, living past his years like a bandit!
Yet the Vizier remained completely unaware, still droning on.
"These riches and beauties are things you could never earn in a lifetime.
But right now, you have a chance to obtain them, as long as you cooperate with me. But if you refuse, the outcome is death, "
As he spoke, he pointed toward the burly guards below.
Only then did he realize that the guards had already drawn their weapons, pointing them warily in Alaric's direction, assuming a battle stance as if facing a great enemy.
What he failed to notice was that cold sweat was already streaming down their foreheads, their calves trembling slightly.
"W-what's going on? What are you doing?" the Vizier demanded.
Though puzzled by his subordinates' reaction, he immediately turned his gaze to Alaric.
With sharp instincts, the Vizier attributed the source of the anomaly to this foreign bard he had deemed "useless."
Perhaps this man from the East truly possessed some sort of trick.
He was about to speak, but Alaric cut him off.
"Are you done talking?"
Alaric's voice was icy, like eternal permafrost. Even the Vizier, who wielded immense power, could not help but shiver.
"To defile Nitocris to such an extent, you are unforgivable!"
With his words, pure killing intent instantly enveloped the Vizier, just as it had earlier engulfed his lackeys.
However, the Vizier was far luckier… or perhaps far unluckier?
Because the lackeys had only felt the aftershock, while the Vizier experienced Alaric's true killing intent in its entirety.
The terrifying killing intent plunged him into an icy abyss.
Before his eyes rose mountains of corpses and seas of blood, as if countless vengeful spirits whispered of the terror of the man before him.
At that moment, the Vizier could no longer even feel his own body.
He wanted to scream, to curse, to turn and flee,
But he could do nothing.
Alaric's mental power was overwhelmingly strong.
The pure killing intent produced by such power shattered the Vizier of Upper Egypt, who controlled most of the nation, in an instant.
After all, in the Harry Potter world, Alaric had personally killed Voldemort, suppressing countless Death Eaters.
In the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, he had been a religious leader of a major power, igniting boundless war.
And in the world of Warcraft, he had served as the bane of the orcs, leading the Alliance in campaigns across the land, feared by trolls and orcs alike as a god of death.
The killing intent produced by such a person, how could a mere Egyptian chancellor, an intriguer who had never even fought a war, hope to withstand it?
Though the Vizier's reaction was pitiful, he was still a ruler of sorts, not an ordinary man. So while he had been crushed by the killing intent, he had not yet been completely devoured.
But the female slaves beside him were another matter entirely.
They were merely affected by the spillover of Alaric's killing intent aimed at the Vizier, yet even that was enough to drive them nearly insane.
Some lost control completely, their bodies going limp as they collapsed to the ground, others laughed and cried like madwomen, screaming hysterically, plunging the hall into chaos.
"Hmph!"
Alaric had originally truly intended to kill the Vizier.
But thinking of Nitocris's wish to take revenge with her own hands, he spared the man at the last moment.
As the killing intent receded, the Vizier gasped for breath like a drowning man finally pulled ashore.
Only then did he realize that he had long since lost control of his bowels, filth smeared between his legs, reeking foully.
Yet he had no time to feel disgust.
The tragic situation of the female slaves beside him terrified him.
Though Alaric's killing intent had nearly rendered him unconscious, he had at least endured to the end.
The slaves could not.
Their natures were too weak and submissive, and they were instantly swallowed by the residual killing intent, the price being complete madness.
The damage to their minds was permanent. Even after the killing intent faded, they would never recover.
Looking at the insane and the foolish around him, listening to their chaotic screams and mutterings, the Vizier felt a chill run down his spine.
"You… what exactly… are you?" he asked hoarsely.
He could no longer believe that the man before him was merely a foreign bard.
What kind of bard could possess such terrifying killing intent?
That level of killing intent could only be forged through the sacrifice of tens of thousands, perhaps hundreds of thousands, of lives.