The wind in the alley swirled with dust, tugging at the hem of Ian's robe.
The old man, or rather, Nakht, still clutched the so-called Fragment of Ra's Eye tightly, a final trace of stubbornness flickering within his cloudy eyes.
"You're saying all of this was a dream?"
"The revelation of the god Ra... was fake?" Nakht's voice rasped like sandpaper scraping together. His already hunched figure now seemed even more twisted. He staggered unsteadily, taking light, unfocused steps as though walking on cotton. Both hands clung desperately to the so-called Fragment of Ra's Eye.
His lips trembled slightly, and his gaze was filled with shock and confusion.
Ian did not answer immediately.
He watched the old man's trembling fingers. The blue glass shard emitted a faint glow under the dim light, resembling a crude magical item.
The young wizard slowly nodded, his voice low but clear.
"That wasn't a true Divine Oracle, Mr. Nakht. Someone wove a dream to make you believe you were the 'Chosen One,' and then used you."
The moment those words fell, the old man staggered backward several steps.
"A dream... just a dream someone made for me? The work of a wizard..." he muttered hoarsely, his expression shifting repeatedly.
"That wasn't a Divine Oracle? Ra himself never descended?" His face twisted abruptly, first shock, then anger, and finally, bewilderment.
His lips quivered as if he wanted to argue, yet he could find no proof to refute the claim. He recalled those nights when Ra appeared in his dreams and proclaimed him the chosen guardian with a majestic voice. But if the god had been false, then what meaning remained in everything he had lost, his family, his wealth, and his dignity?
For a man who had already lost everything, this was an unbearable truth. To accept it would mean admitting that all his suffering and sacrifices had been meaningless.
At that moment, his mind's automatic defense mechanism began to activate.
Ian noticed the shift in his emotions.
But he didn't continue explaining.
He simply stood there quietly and watched the old man's expression transform within seconds, from shock to doubt to anger and finally into an almost mad roar.
"Liar!" Nakht suddenly howled, shoving Ian aside as he staggered backward. "You're the liar! You're just like them; you want to take it away!"
His voice echoed through the empty alley, startling several pigeons into flight from the rooftops. Ian neither argued nor explained. He merely watched the old man calmly, with a hint of pity in his eyes.
"I'm not here to deceive you," he said. "I'm only telling you the truth."
"The truth?" the old man sneered. "What do you know about truth? You have no idea what I've lost! My home, my wife, my children...all because of this fragment. It changed my life! And now you're telling me it was all a dream? A dream fabricated by someone else?"
His voice trembled until it nearly broke into sobs.
"Yes," Ian nodded.
"Someone used magic to enter your dreams and disguise themselves as Ra to make you believe you were chosen. They trapped you in that illusion and made you abandon everything to 'protect' a meaningless stone."
Ian was telling the truth, but in this world, the truth was often the hardest thing to accept.
The old man's body jolted violently, as if struck by lightning. He shoved Ian away with such force that Ian took half a step back.
"Get away!" He roared, glaring at Ian with open hostility. "I don't need you telling me what's right! I don't need you destroying my last faith!"
What kind of dark magic did you use to spy on my memories? Do you think I'd believe a madman like you? Something granted to me by Ra could never be fake! How dare you call it a dream?!"
The movement was too sudden for Ian to stop the old man. The old man had already stumbled into the depths of the alley.
Like a wounded beast, he disappeared into the shadows, his figure quickly consumed by the twilight.
Ian stood where he was, watching the retreating silhouette for a long time. He felt neither anger nor frustration. He understood that truth was often harder to accept than lies, especially when someone had relied on a lie for half a lifetime.
"Something isn't right."
Ian slowly closed his eyes. The scene he had witnessed in the old man's memories resurfaced in his mind: the figure of "Ra" appearing in the dream, speaking stiffly and moving rigidly, like a poor imitation.
But what unsettled Ian even more was the texture of the dream itself.
It was too perfect.
It didn't resemble a natural dream at all but rather a carefully staged performance. Every detail was precisely arranged, and every line struck directly at the heart as if the designer possessed a profound understanding of human psychological weaknesses.
This was not ordinary Illusion Magic.
It was a form of advanced mental manipulation.
"This doesn't feel like ordinary dark magic," he murmured to himself. No matter how he analyzed it, that twisted magical fluctuation, the deliberately manufactured sense of "divinity", just didn't feel right.
"... feels more like some kind of ritual."
Just as he was lost in thought, the temperature in the alley suddenly seemed to drop.
"You shouldn't be investigating this matter." A cold female voice emerged from the darkness.
Ian's muscles instantly tensed, and his fingers quietly slid toward the wand hidden in his sleeve. He slowly turned and locked his gaze onto the shadows at the end of the alley.
A figure in black robes stood there. A hood concealed most of the figure's face, revealing only a pale chin and lips curved in a faint, ambiguous smile.
"Who are you?" Ian asked calmly, though he had already slipped his wand into his palm.
The other person did not answer. Instead, the figure stepped forward. They were completely cloaked in deep black robes, their hood lowered to obscure their face. Their footsteps were nearly soundless, as if they were gliding rather than walking.
Ian showed no surprise. He merely turned fully to face them.
Sunlight finally illuminated the stranger's slender yet upright figure. Faint ancient runes, like spell marks carved directly into the skin, could be seen along the arm beneath the black robe.
"You'd better stop investigating," the robed figure said in a low, hoarse voice. "Some things are not meant for you to know."
Ian smiled faintly.
"Are you here to warn me?"
He stared at her. "Let me ask you, was the curse on that old man your doing?"
At his question, the woman in black let out a soft laugh, like drops of icy water striking stone.
"If it were me, you wouldn't still be standing here alive."
The statement was both a denial and a warning. Ian wasn't intimidated; instead, his interest deepened.
He narrowed his eyes.
"Then what do you know?"
He pressed further.
The robed figure fell silent for a moment, as if weighing whether to speak. Finally, she answered in a low, calm voice that bordered on cruelty.
"Sixteen wizards who investigated this matter all died in 'accidents.'" Their souls were torn apart, and their bodies reduced to ash. Do you really think you'll be the exception?"
There was unmistakable brutality in her words.
Ian smiled.
"If you don't try, how will you know?"
The corner of his mouth lifted slightly. He was a wizard who didn't fear Anubis, so how could he be frightened by a few threatening words?
Now, Ian was interested in the identity of this sudden newcomer.
The black-robed woman fell silent for a moment, then let out a sigh filled with complicated emotions.
It sounded both pitying and mocking.
"A very curious wizard, aren't you?" She said, seemingly surprised by Ian's response. She raised her head slightly, and the sunlight finally revealed part of her face, a young, pale visage with ancient runes engraved across her cheeks and forehead like sacred brands.
"That curiosity is why most wizards die."
Her tone carried a clear warning.
Ian's gaze swept across the runes, his brows knitting slightly. Those symbols did not belong to any magical system he recognized. They resembled ritual markings.
"Aren't you a wizard, too?" He asked cautiously.
The woman shook her head, a mysterious smile curving her lips.
"I am not a wizard." She slowly raised her arm, and the runes glowed faintly gold in the sunlight. "I am a servant of the great god Ra."
She lifted her hand and pulled back her hood.
A young, pale face appeared before Ian. She looked to be in her early twenties, with ivory-white skin and long black hair cascading over her shoulders. The most striking feature, however, were the runes carved into her face. These were not tattoos. Thin strands of some mysterious metallic thread were embedded beneath her skin, forming intricate ancient characters that shimmered faintly with golden light.
Ian's pupils contracted slightly.
A servant?
Or a wizard?
Staring at the runes on her face, he asked quietly, "A priest?"
The woman did not answer. Instead, she gently raised her hand and pointed toward the distant night sky.
There, the spire of the Sun God Temple appeared faintly beneath the moonlight.
"If you truly want to know the truth," She whispered, "go to the Sun God Temple again at night."
Ian's eyes narrowed.
"What do you mean?"
But the woman had already stepped back. Her black robe suddenly flared... and in the next instant, she twisted and transformed into a massive hawk.
With a powerful beat of its wings, the bird soared into the night sky. A sharp cry split the twilight as the bird ascended rapidly and disappeared into the clouds, vanishing from Ian's sight.
Ian stood where he was, staring in the direction she had left, his brow furrowed tightly.
"The temple at night..." He murmured. "What exactly is hidden there?"
There was something deeply strange about the entire situation, a servant of a god inviting Ian to investigate her deity's temple at night. Something unsettling defied easy understanding.
Sixteen wizards... all dead?
'Was it divine punishment?'
'Did even the servants of Ra fear the impostor?'
Clearly...
This was no ordinary deception.
An enormous mystery lay behind it all. That woman was no ordinary priest or typical wizard. Ian had never seen anything like the runes on her face or the strange energy fluctuation. Perhaps she was something far older.
Or maybe she was the true guardian of the Eye of Ra.
At that moment, Ian suddenly recalled the woman's final words: "If you want to know the truth, return to the Sun God Ra's Temple at night."
The sentence stirred his heart.
Was she guiding him?
Or setting a trap?
Ian couldn't quite make sense of it, but he didn't hesitate. He knew the answers weren't found in the streets or in dreams but inside the temple on the western bank of the Nile River.
Night had not yet fallen.
He was already prepared to uncover the truth.
After the mysterious woman transformed into a hawk and vanished into the sky, Ian looked up at the blazing sun overhead. Several hours remained before nightfall. Stroking his chin thoughtfully, he decided to wander around the city for a while.
After all, an aimless wizard roaming the streets of ancient Egypt for too long would inevitably attract attention. Blending into the crowd was the best disguise.
With that in mind, he tucked away his wand, adjusted the collar of his linen robes, and made himself appear more like an ordinary foreign traveler. Then, he headed toward the bustling marketplace of Memphis.
The streets were lively and noisy.
Memphis was always vibrant. Stalls crowded both sides of the wide, stone-paved roads, and merchants shouted their wares in overlapping voices. The air was thick with the scents of roasting food, spices, and the muddy smell of the Nile, so rich that it almost felt tangible.
After all, it was a great metropolis.
Much like New York, London, or Shanghai in later ages, it was crowded and overflowing with life.
"Travelers and merchants from every corner of the world gather here."
Ian strolled leisurely, his gaze passing over dazzling displays of goods. Gold ornaments spread out by Nubian merchants glittered in the sunlight. Phoenician traders sold deep purple dyes. Vendors pushed wooden carts, hawking fresh wild fruits and coconuts. In the distance, a group of children laughed and chased one another.
They nearly bumped into him before giggling and running away.
Ian didn't mind.
He stopped at a grilled-meat stall where lamb skewers sizzled over charcoal, the fat dripping and sending up curls of smoke. The vendor, a wrinkled old man, immediately flashed a grin upon seeing Ian pause, revealing uneven yellow teeth.
"Care for a skewer? The finest lamb, marinated with desert spices, I guarantee you've never tasted anything this good!" Vendors, whether in ancient times or the modern era, always knew how to boast.
"Alright."
Ian took out a few local copper coins as payment, accepted the skewer, and took a bite.
The meat was tender, and the spices burst across his tongue, spicy with a hint of sweetness, genuinely unique.
"Not bad," He commented with a nod.
The old man beamed with pride. "Of course! It's a family recipe that's been passed down for generations; even the pharaoh's royal chefs tried to steal it!"
It was clearly another exaggeration but understandable for advertising, the oldest form of marketing. Ian raised an eyebrow and smiled faintly without comment as he continued walking.
As he turned a street corner, the sound of drums and flutes caught his attention. A crowd had formed a circle around a street performer displaying fire-eating and acrobatics. His bare torso was painted with colorful patterns, and he moved with serpentine agility, earning waves of applause.
Ian stood at the edge of the crowd, watching with interest.
After finishing a routine, the performer picked up a clay bowl to collect tips. When he passed Ian, their eyes briefly met.
His eyes were an unusual amber color in the sunlight, sharp, watchful, and assessing, like a cat's.
Without drawing attention, Ian dropped several copper rings into the bowl. The performer nodded slightly and moved on to the next spectator.
"Interesting…" Ian murmured softly.
He had already realized that the performer was also a wizard, and not one native to ancient Egypt, either. The reason why someone had come this far to perform on the streets was likely a cover for something else.
Still, they were essentially the same kind of people. There was no need for hypocrisy; Ian had no intention of reporting him. He might be a study tyrant, but tattling was not one of his favorite pastimes.
Ian continued wandering aimlessly until he overheard several men speaking in hushed tones while passing a narrow alley entrance.
"...Another disappearance. This time, a young woman."
"Shh! Keep your voice down! Do you want to die?"
"But this is too strange! That makes the third one this month..."
Their voices weren't particularly quiet, so Ian slowed his steps, pretending to adjust his boots.
In reality, he was listening carefully.
He heard:
"They all vanished at night. Not even a shadow left behind."
"I heard… someone saw dark figures near the temple…"
Their discussion contained quite a bit of information.
(End of Chapter)
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