One day ago, outside Hamunaptra.
The campfire burned fiercely. Not only were those gathered around it warm and relaxed, but even those who had lain down early far from the flames, wrapped in thick blankets, fell asleep with smiles on their faces.
Tonight was their last day at Hamunaptra, and it had been a day of great harvest.
Tomorrow, everyone would pack up and leave this place, far away from those murderous black-robed freaks—as for whether Mr. Henderson would ask his investors for more funding to hire Soldiers for a Carnage here... that was his business.
In short, these foreign scavenging vultures were all glowing with joy, either clutching vessels made of gold or wearing several strings of complex and precious gemstone necklaces around their necks.
Although they hadn't found Seti's largest and deepest treasure chamber, they had certainly filled their pockets.
Evelyn had drunk quite a bit, swaying as she knelt on a rug, clutching half a bottle of red wine; her flushed face looked beautiful in the firelight. O'Connell had just finished maintaining his firearms and was conveniently packing his luggage.
Then he realized his girl had drunk too much.
Evelyn brushed back the curls by her ear and looked at the somewhat awkward O'Connell with bedroom eyes, occasionally tilting the bottle to her mouth for a gulp.
The red liquid slid down from the corner of her mouth.
"Evelyn..."
"I know." The woman squinted and waved her hand like a drunkard. "I'm not like my... brother. See, I have moderation."
Gulp, gulp.
Two more large mouthfuls slid down her throat.
"You... certainly aren't like your brother." O'Connell carefully moved forward a few steps, hovering his hand behind the woman's back. "I just can't figure you out..."
"I know! I knew it!" Evelyn tilted her head back, let out a few silly laughs, and slapped O'Connell's shoulder boisterously. "You must be wondering, right? Why would someone like me come to a place like this?"
"Pretty much." O'Connell nodded.
"Egyptian blood flows through my veins..." Evelyn tilted her head, and O'Connell could smell the heavy scent of wine on her. "My father was an explorer..."
"And so was my mother."
"Yes... you could never understand."
"Those records, those people and stories from thousands of years ago; they are so clever... beautiful, and so mysterious, so fascinating—"
"And so...?"
O'Connell's 'And so' seemed to provoke the drunken woman. she stood up abruptly, looking down at O'Connell while gesturing wildly!
"Mr. O'Connell!"
"Mr. O'Connell! I may not be a brave adventurer... perhaps, I'm not a qualified archaeologist either!" the woman shouted muddledly, a drunk who couldn't control her limbs, swaying slenderly in the orange firelight.
"Even! I'm not even a qualified treasure hunter! Not like you, a warrior who can fight bravely! A precision marksman."
"Mr. O'Connell!"
"But even so, my role is still greater than the heavens!"
"I am proud of my profession!"
O'Connell looked up at her dotingly, his lips curling into a smile as he asked, "So... what is your profession?"
"I am—"
The woman exhaled the wine fumes from her chest and stared blankly at the flames for two seconds.
"I am..."
The passionate fervor from a moment ago vanished. Like a deflated balloon, the woman lowered her head and whispered, "Museum-library-administrator..."
Thud.
Right after saying it, the woman collapsed from her standing position into a sitting one, leaning forward to look at O'Connell.
"The museum library administrator... she's going to kiss you now... Mr. O'Connell."
Two arms climbed up the man's arms, moving along to his shoulders, his neck—until they reached his face.
"Call me Rick." The man looked at the woman, and the woman looked at the man.
The two were close enough to smell each other's breath: alcohol, tobacco, the faint scent of leather, and gun oil—
"...Rick."
The man and woman slowly drew closer, and both closed their eyes.
An explosion-like roar tore through the night camp at the very moment their lips were about to meet.
Boom!
Rumble—
A sandstorm that blotted out the sun had arrived!
"Get up! Everyone get up!" Henderson drew his revolver and fired two shots into the sky. "Quick! Everyone into Hamunaptra! Get inside!"
The local workers were no fools. When the sky changed slightly and the roar became deafening, some had already started slipping toward the ruins.
Then they discovered with horror that the massive entrance that had been excavated and blasted open was now blocked by countless enormous rocks, leaving not a single gap.
Turning back, Henderson was also in despair.
"Don't go for the dynamite! Find the camels! The camels!"
"Watch the gear, guard the treasures we brought out!"
Coarse sand lashed against faces, and as it swept through the crowd, it also blinded them.
O'Connell quickly threw himself over Evelyn, one arm around the sleeping woman, the other pulling up the rug beneath them. As they rolled, he wrapped them both in it like a sleeping bag.
The man looked out from the top: a wall of yellow sand.
Aside from the constant screams and gnawing sounds coming from within the sandstorm, there was also a rustling noise like a rising tide.
'The sound of a swarm of insects crawling after forming a carpet.'
Mori Tsukisa's words suddenly echoed in his ears.
"O'Connell! O—"
Crunch, crunch.
The storm extinguished the campfires. Some flimsy tents were caught in the swirling winds and blown into the sky, while falling wooden poles and metal hooks injured many people.
The workers wailed, running blindly like blindfolded cattle. Screams and footsteps were incessant, only to be swallowed by the overwhelming sound of crawling.
O'Connell looked down at the woman with her eyes tightly shut and sighed. He used his arms and legs to create a 'human' frame for Evelyn; even if she were accidentally stepped on, she wouldn't be harmed because of it.
Unless... those insects found them.
O'Connell could no longer judge how long the terrifying howling lasted. After about a minute or two, the whistling of the sandstorm gradually faded.
This made the screams sound even more piercing.
The man rolled over and pushed aside the rug. Looking around, he saw a field of white bones and mummified corpses. When he lifted his boot, there was only ordinary sand beneath it.
These insects ate very cleanly.
All the leaders were dead.
Henderson and the other Americans had all become mummified corpses. With their eyes and internal organs gone, they lay face down in the yellow sand in a gruesome manner. As for the ancient egyptian scholar who had been directing the locals' excavation, the skin all over his body had vanished without a trace.
Completely gone, not a single bit left.
The entire camp was a mess, with only two or three nearly insane workers and O'Connell's group remaining.
Incidentally, Mr. Jonathan had slept comfortably and soundly in his tent, not startled awake at all, nor had any insects or sandstorms blown his tent away.
The man opened his eyes muddledly, only realizing the situation was wrong when he saw O'Connell's serious expression.
"Are we in trouble again?"
The word 'again' was used quite accurately.
Jonathan rubbed his eyes and sat up, following O'Connell's gaze outward.
Hoofbeats, familiar hoofbeats galloped from the entrance of the ruins.
The leading Black-Robed Figure held up a gleaming scimitar.
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